CHAPTER TEN — Borrowed Time
1505 Words
Days blurred into nights.
And nights blurred into something worse — a hollow kind of living where time dragged its feet, and hope felt like a distant memory.
The room we stayed in was small, hot, and silent. Most days, it felt like it was shrinking. Like the walls were getting tired of holding us too.
We survived on bread crusts, boiled garri, and whatever leftover change we found in the pockets of old jeans. Sometimes, we didn’t eat at all. Just drank water and waited for the next morning like it was supposed to bring answers.
But it never did.
Every morning came with the same problems.
No food.
No money.
No school.
No plan.
Just us — and the fear that maybe, love wasn’t enough after all.
—
One morning, I woke up to Lani sitting on the floor, back against the wall, eyes wide open.
She wasn’t blinking.
She wasn’t crying.
She was just… there.
Staring.
“Lani?” I whispered, sitting up.
She didn’t respond.
I crawled over, placed my hand on her knee. “Talk to me.”
Still nothing.
Just silence and that same dead look in her eyes — like her soul had gone out to find air and hadn’t returned.
“I’m scared,” I said, even though I didn’t mean to say it out loud. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”
Her lips parted. Finally.
“I dreamt that we died,” she said.
“What?”
She turned her face toward me. “You and I. We were on the street. Cold. Hungry. People passed by like we were nothing. And then one day… we just stopped moving. And nobody even noticed.”
I reached out and pulled her close. “We’re not going to die.”
“You don’t know that.”
“But we’re still breathing. That’s something.”
She rested her head on my shoulder. “I’m tired of surviving.”
Me too.
But I didn’t say it.
—
That same afternoon, we heard a knock.
Both of us jumped.
We hadn’t had visitors in days. Weeks, maybe.
Another knock. Firmer this time.
I stood and walked slowly to the door, heart racing.
When I opened it, I froze.
It was Tari.
Of all people, Tari.
My old roommate from school.
She looked different — fresh braids, clear lip gloss, the kind of clean that only comes from sleeping on a real bed and eating real food.
“Zara?” she said, her voice soft.
I didn’t know what to say. My body blocked most of the room, hiding Lani from view.
“What are you doing here?” I finally asked.
“I heard what happened,” she said. “People are talking.”
Of course they were.
“How did you find us?”
“Someone from school… I begged them to tell me.”
I stepped outside, closing the door behind me.
I didn’t want her to see the state of the room. Or Lani’s face. Or the cracked plate we now used as our only bowl.
Tari held out a nylon bag.
“It’s not much. Just bread. Water. And two sanitary pads.”
I blinked. The kindness caught me off guard. It felt foreign, suspicious.
I took the bag slowly. “Thank you.”
She nodded. Then paused.
“I don’t agree with what you two did… but I don’t think you deserve what they’re doing to you either.”
I didn’t respond.
I wanted to say you don’t know what we did — but I was too tired to fight for understanding.
Before she left, she reached for my arm. “Zara… be careful. They’re not done with you. Your father is angry. Like, public disgrace angry. He’s trying to find a way to ruin you completely.”
I swallowed.
“What else?”
She looked around and whispered, “He’s been talking to people. Saying you need deliverance. That you’re under some evil influence.”
Lani.
I knew what he meant.
In his eyes, she was the demon.
She was the problem.
She turned me into something unrecognizable.
I nodded slowly. “Thanks for coming.”
She gave me a sad smile. “If you ever need… anything, you can message me. If I can help, I will.”
And just like that, she left.
—
I returned inside with the bag.
Lani sat up when she saw me.
“Who was it?”
“Tari.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What did she want?”
“She brought food. Pads too.”
Lani stared at me like she didn’t believe it. Like it was some kind of trap.
“She said people are still talking,” I added. “And that my dad… he’s trying to make things worse.”
Lani shook her head. “Of course he is. That man doesn’t want closure. He wants control.”
I handed her the water bottle and broke the bread in half.
We ate in silence, chewing slowly like we were afraid the bread might disappear if we blinked too fast.
—
Later that evening, Lani sat cross-legged on the mattress, notebook in hand.
“What are you writing?” I asked.
“A plan,” she said. “Even if it’s a stupid one.”
I crawled over. “Let me see.”
She turned the page toward me.
It was titled: HOW TO ESCAPE THIS MESS
1. Find a job.
2. Save money.
3. Get a better place.
4. Write WAEC again.
5. Apply for scholarship.
6. Maybe… dream again?
I smiled weakly. “Number six is the hardest.”
She looked at me. “That’s why it’s the last one.”
We stared at the list for a long time.
Then I picked up the pen and added a new number.
7. Don’t give up. Ever.
She stared at it.
Then nodded.
“Even if we’re tired?” she asked.
“Even if we’re dead tired.”
We lay back on the mattress.
The list stayed open beside us like a prayer.
Maybe foolish. Maybe impossible.
But it was something.
—
Two days later, I saw a flyer near the gate of the compound.
HELP NEEDED – SMALL BUKA CLEANER. N1,500 per day.
It wasn’t much.
But it was something.
I took the flyer, showed Lani.
She didn’t like it. “You want to clean tables and carry pot for N1,500?”
“I want to eat,” I said.
She looked away.
That evening, I started work.
The place was hot. Greasy. The aunty who owned it shouted a lot.
But I cleaned. I washed plates. I carried water.
I earned.
When I got back that night, my hands ached. My feet were swollen.
But I had N1,500 in my bra. And two meat pies in my bag.
Lani smiled for the first time in days.
“You’re mad,” she said.
“Hungry mad.”
We shared the pies. Laughed a little.
It wasn’t heaven. But it felt like breathing again.
—
One night, while folding our old clothes into a plastic bag — trying to sort what we could sell — Lani asked me:
“If you could start all over, would you still choose me?”
I didn’t even think about it.
“Yes.”
She paused.
“Even if you knew it would end like this?”
“It hasn’t ended.”
Her eyes softened. “But look where we are.”
I touched her cheek gently.
“Look who we still are.”
And that was enough.
That night, we didn’t feel like victims.
We felt like fighters.
Tired ones. Broken ones. But fighters all the same.
—
The next morning, I woke up to find Lani gone.
Panic gripped my chest.
I ran outside, barefoot, heart racing.
I found her down the road, talking to a woman at a small tailoring shop.
When I reached them, Lani turned to me.
“She said I can learn sewing here. If I help with errands, she’ll teach me for free.”
I blinked. “You want to learn tailoring?”
She nodded. “I want to do something. Anything.”
I turned to the woman.
She gave me a polite smile. “She looks sharp. I like sharp girls.”
I wanted to hug her.
Instead, I whispered, “Thank you.”
And just like that, a door opened.
A small one.
But enough to let light in.
—
We still had nothing.
No family.
No real home.
But we had a corner of the world that wasn’t trying to erase us.
We had two hands, two feet, and borrowed time.
And we were finally learning how to make that time count.
Not just to survive — but to slowly, stubbornly, rise.
Even if the world never clapped for us.
Even if love still felt like a curse…
We would love anyway.
Because that’s the kind of curse we were willing to carry.
Together.
Always.
- Writer
