Where Destiny Found Me

CHAPTER TWO: YOU DESERVED THIS

*AISHA POV*

The Lagos airport was chaos, which is to say it was normal.

Mummy was crying. Not the kind of crying where tears roll quietly down your cheeks, but the kind where your whole body shakes and your voice cracks on every word. Daddy stood beside her with his hand on her back, his jaw tight the way it always got when he was trying not to cry himself. Karim was angry—thirteen-year-old angry, which meant he wouldn't look at me and kept his arms crossed over his chest like I'd personally betrayed him by leaving.

"You'll call when you land," Mummy said for the hundredth time, gripping my arm like if she held tight enough, I wouldn't be able to leave.

"I'll call when I land," I promised for the hundredth time, even though we both knew it would be expensive and my parents needed every naira.

"You have your visa?"

"In my bag."

"Your admission letter?"

"In my bag."

"The phone number for the accommodation office?"

"Mummy, I have everything. I checked three times this morning. And yesterday. And the day before."

She pulled me into a hug so tight I couldn't breathe. I was wearing my hijab, wrapped carefully the way I always did, and I could feel her tears soaking into the fabric. She smelled like her signature perfume mixed with the spice from the jollof rice she'd made yesterday like home, basically. Like everything I was about to leave behind.

"Be good," she whispered. "Be respectful. Remember your prayers. Don't forget where you come from. Don't let anyone make you feel less than because of your faith or your background. You are brilliant, Aisha. You have always been brilliant. Don't let anyone convince you otherwise."

"I won't forget," I said, and I meant it with every fiber of my being. "I promise."

Daddy pulled me away from Mummy gently and held me at arm's length, studying my face like he was trying to memorize it. He was a tall man, my father, with lines around his eyes from years of squinting in the sun. But his eyes were soft when he looked at me the same soft eyes that had watched me learn to read, that had stayed up with me during my JAMB exams, that had cried when I got my admission letter.

"You earned this," he said quietly. His voice was rough, like he'd been practicing this speech in his head for weeks. "You worked hard. You studied when other girls were at parties. You stayed focused when everything around you was falling apart. You deserve this. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Don't let the privilege of those around you make you feel small. You're from Lagos. You're a fighter. Remember that."

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"And Aisha?" he continued, tilting my chin up so I had to look at him. "Fall in love if you want to. Study hard, but live too. Don't waste your youth being afraid. Your mother worries that's her job. But me? I want you to be happy. Whatever that looks like."

I felt tears start to burn behind my eyes. "I'll make you both proud."

"You already have," he said.

The airline announcer called for boarding. Final call. The moment that made everything real. The moment where I couldn't delay anymore, couldn't pretend I still had time.

I hugged my father. Then my mother again, holding onto her as long as I could. Then Karim, who finally let me, and whispered, "Don't forget us, ate."

(He called me ate sister. It broke my heart a little.)

"Never," I promised. "I'm coming back, okay? I'm always coming back."

Walking through security was like walking away from myself. With each step, I felt like I was leaving pieces of me behind the girl who spoke Yoruba in her sleep, who understood the weight of family responsibility, who knew that education was the only way out. That girl was staying in Lagos. The girl walking through security was someone new. Someone I hadn't met yet.

I turned back one last time, before the queue moved and I lost sight of them.

They were still watching. Mummy with her hand over her mouth. Daddy with his arm around her. Karim staring at me like I was a ghost already.

I waved.

Then I turned around and didn't look back.