SHE CALLED ME SIS

CHAPTER EIGHT — The Whisper That Followed Us

There’s a certain heaviness that comes from being watched.

Not just looked at — watched.

With eyes that carry judgment, curiosity, disgust, or worse… amusement.

That’s how it felt when we stepped into the school compound on Monday morning.

The whisper followed us.

Not behind our backs.

To our faces.

Loud enough to sting, low enough to deny.

“See dem.”

“Lesbo girls.”

“Dem dey do themselves.”

“Shame no dey catch them?”

Lani walked beside me, her shoulders straight, chin high — but I knew her silence was screaming.

Me? I was tired of folding myself into their expectations. Tired of pretending not to hear. Tired of trying to be invisible.

But being brave didn’t mean being fearless.

It just meant showing up anyway.

—

We got to class early. No one greeted us.

Our seats had been shifted to the back, again. No one touched our table, no one shared jokes anymore. Even Blessing — the girl who once begged me for notes — now walked past like I was contagious.

I sat down quietly and opened my textbook, pretending to read.

Lani whispered beside me, “Zara, don’t let it get to you.”

But it already had.

Not because of the stares or the notes or even the names.

But because I was watching her shrink.

Lani.

Bold Lani.

Now afraid to raise her hand in class.

Now avoiding the mirror in the hostel room.

She was fading in slow motion — and no one else could see it but me.

—

At break time, two boys blocked our path near the staircase.

“You people no dey shame?” one of them spat.

“Abeg leave them jare,” the other said, sneering. “Dem no even fine like that. Na girls dem dey deceive.”

I stepped forward, not even thinking. “Say it again. Say it to my face.”

He laughed. “What you go do? Kiss me?”

The slap came before I even knew I’d moved.

His face turned red. Not from pain — from embarrassment.

He reached for me, but a teacher’s voice cut through the tension.

“WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?!”

We froze.

Mr. Abdul.

Of all people.

His eyes darted between me, the boys, and Lani, who stood stiff, fists clenched.

The boys quickly played the victim. “She slapped me, sir!”

Mr. Abdul turned to me. “Zara, is that true?”

I didn’t answer.

Because the real answer — the why behind the slap — wouldn’t matter.

Girls like me, in situations like this, never had the right kind of words.

—

We ended up in the principal’s office.

Sitting side by side in front of her mahogany desk, the air felt thicker than usual. Her perfume — lavender and something sharp — filled the room like it was trying to cover the stench of the truth.

She looked at us over her glasses.

“I’ve been hearing things. Rumours. Very… disturbing ones.”

Lani shifted.

I kept my gaze straight.

“We’re not here to judge,” the principal said, in that tone that always meant she was about to judge. “But this school has a reputation to maintain. Discipline, moral values, excellence. I cannot allow distractions. Or… immoral behaviour.”

“Did we break any rules?” I asked, voice flat.

She blinked.

“There are rules,” she said, “and there are expectations. Unwritten, yes. But understood.”

“What exactly are we being accused of?” Lani asked, voice soft but firm.

The principal looked uncomfortable. “I’m advising you, not accusing. Behave accordingly. Keep your distance. Don’t draw attention. And perhaps… transfer, if necessary.”

Transfer?

Just like that?

Lani reached for my hand under the table.

I didn’t pull away.

Not this time.

“We understand,” I said eventually.

Not because we agreed.

But because survival sometimes means pretending to lose.

—

That evening, we walked back to the hostel in silence.

The streets of Yaba bustled around us — hawkers shouting, buses honking, people living loudly while we shrank inside ourselves.

In the room, Lani slumped on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

“I hate this place.”

“I know.”

“I hate that I can’t even be touched without someone looking like I’m dirty.”

I sat beside her, gently brushing her knuckles with my thumb.

“You’re not dirty.”

“I feel like I am.”

“No. You’re… you’re gold, Lani. Burnt maybe, but never ruined.”

She turned to face me. Her eyes glistened.

“I’m tired of hiding.”

I nodded slowly. “Then maybe we stop hiding.”

“But what if—”

“We’re already losing everything trying to play safe. We might as well lose boldly.”

She smiled, weakly. “I love you, you know.”

It was the first time she’d said it.

I felt it settle in my chest like a full breath after drowning.

“I love you too.”

—

The next day, we stopped sitting at the back.

We walked into school, hand in hand.

Not clutched. Not paraded.

Just held.

Naturally.

Like humans do.

The whispers started again. But this time, I didn’t hear them.

Because Lani’s hand was warm in mine.

And for once, that was louder than the world.