CHAPTER TWELVE — The World Outside Our Window
1480 Words
Waking up beside Lani felt like waking up for the first time.
Her skin was warm against mine, one leg thrown lazily over my waist, her breath steady, soft, peaceful. Like sleep didn’t scare her anymore. Like she’d finally found rest — in me.
And I found it in her.
The tiny room didn’t magically transform overnight. The zinc still leaked, the air was still hot, the fan was still missing. But none of that mattered this morning.
Because for the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel homeless.
I felt… found.
I traced her collarbone with my finger, gently, not wanting to wake her but unable to stop touching her. She stirred, eyelids fluttering before slowly opening.
“You’re staring,” she murmured, voice raspy with sleep.
“You’re beautiful,” I said.
She stretched like a cat, her bare arm brushing my chest as she yawned. “So, it wasn’t a dream?”
I smiled. “No dream. Just us. And one wrapper.”
She laughed softly, then suddenly froze. Her eyes shifted to the window. Her body tensed.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She sat up slightly. “Reality. It’s back.”
I turned toward the window. Outside, we could hear children shouting, the buka woman yelling prices, a generator coughing to life. Life was moving on like nothing had happened.
But we had changed.
And the world didn’t care.
—
We bathed quickly using the bowl in the corner of the room. No fancy soap, just black soap that left our skin squeaky clean and smelling faintly of mint.
She wrapped her wrapper high on her chest.
I tied mine around my waist.
No more nakedness. No more moans. Just silence and tight smiles, like we were trying to hold on to something that didn’t want to stay.
“You going to the tailor’s today?” I asked as I adjusted my scarf in the cracked mirror.
Lani nodded. “She wants me to learn hemming.”
“And me?” I held up the apron from the buka. “Back to cleaning fish heads and dodging frying oil.”
She gave me a quick peck on the lips. “Let them throw fire. We’re flameproof now.”
I laughed, even though my chest still felt heavy.
Because deep down, I knew — it was only a matter of time before someone tried to burn us again.
—
That afternoon, something happened.
A group of boys passed by the buka. Teenagers. From our old school, wearing mufti.
At first, I didn’t recognize them.
But then one of them shouted, “Lesbo!”
My heart stopped.
I looked up from the mop. They were standing just across the street, grinning like demons.
“You still dey wash pot here? Thought you and your babe don go hellfire!”
They laughed.
My hands gripped the mop tighter. Every muscle in my body stiffened.
The buka aunty heard the noise and came out, frowning. “What’s that?”
I didn’t answer. I just lowered my head and kept scrubbing.
But the boys didn’t stop.
One even pulled out his phone. “Smile now, make we snap you. Make the whole world see what happens to lesbians.”
Aunty hissed and threw a sponge at him. “Oya! Get away from here! Na my food dey feed una mama!”
They scattered, still laughing.
But their voices lingered in my head like poison.
—
I didn’t cry until I got back to the room.
And even then, it wasn’t the loud kind of crying.
It was the kind that sneaks up on you — silent tears that crawl down your neck, slow sobs that tremble in your chest, your hands too tired to wipe your face.
Lani came in and saw me hunched on the floor.
“Zara…”
“They came today,” I said, voice hollow. “From school. They called me names. Took pictures.”
She rushed to my side, wrapped her arms around me.
“I want to disappear,” I whispered.
She kissed the top of my head. “I won’t let them erase you.”
“But they’re not stopping,” I said, breath catching. “We kissed once behind a tank and they’re still hunting us. What will they do if they find out what happened last night?”
Lani didn’t answer immediately.
Then she said something that shocked me.
“Let them find out.”
I pulled back. “What?”
“I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of folding myself in half just to make room for other people’s hate.”
“They’ll ruin us.”
“They already tried. And guess what? We’re still here.”
I stared at her. At her fire. Her madness. Her strength.
And I loved her so much, it scared me.
—
That night, we didn’t touch each other.
Not like before.
We just lay there, side by side, hearts beating in the dark.
“I want to write again,” I said.
Lani turned toward me. “What kind of writing?”
“Everything. My thoughts. My pain. Our story.”
She smiled. “Tell them the truth. All of it.”
“I want the world to hear our love without twisting it into shame.”
“Then write it loud,” she whispered.
And so I did.
—
Over the next few days, I started a small blog using a free app on my cheap phone.
I called it: Two Girls in a Room.
The first post was titled: “We Haven’t Even Had s*x Yet, And You Already Hate Us”
It got 11 views.
Then 25.
Then 112.
Someone commented: “This is raw. I feel seen.”
Another wrote: “I’m not gay, but this story broke me.”
And then the DMs started coming in.
Girls from Port Harcourt.
Boys from Enugu.
A girl who said she’d tried to kill herself last year because her pastor called her ‘demonic’.
They all said the same thing:
“Thank you.”
I showed Lani. Her eyes watered.
“We’re not alone,” I whispered.
She squeezed my hand. “We never were.”
—
But peace never lasts.
Not when you’re different.
One Saturday, a knock came at the door.
We weren’t expecting anyone.
Lani opened it.
It was Madam.
Yes — that Madam.
Dressed in a wrapper and slippers, face bare, no makeup.
My heart nearly jumped out of my chest.
“What are you doing here?” Lani asked coldly.
She ignored her and looked at me.
“Zara, I need to talk to you.”
I stood, confused. “How did you find us?”
“I’ve been asking around. I… I had to come. Please.”
Lani didn’t move.
I nodded. “Let her in.”
Madam stepped into the tiny room, eyes scanning our clothes, the empty bottle of water, the torn curtain.
She sat on the edge of the mattress, like she wasn’t sure it would hold her weight — physically or emotionally.
“I didn’t come to fight,” she said.
“Then why are you here?” I asked.
Her voice cracked. “Because I was wrong.”
Lani raised a brow. “What?”
Madam looked down. “I judged you. I joined in the hate. I repeated what I was taught. But these past few weeks… I’ve been haunted.”
Silence.
She sniffed. “Zara, when I was sixteen, I loved a girl. Her name was Dupe.”
The room went still.
“I never told anyone,” she continued. “Not even your father. But she was my first love. She made me feel alive. And I ran from it. I called it sin. I buried it. And then I saw you two — and it frightened me.”
My throat tightened.
“I thought punishing you would silence that part of me,” Madam whispered. “But it didn’t. It just made me cruel.”
Lani crossed her arms. “So now what? You want a medal?”
“No,” Madam said softly. “I want forgiveness.”
Tears gathered in my eyes.
Because this? This was not what I expected.
I sat beside her.
“I don’t know if I can forgive you yet,” I said honestly. “But thank you for telling me.”
She nodded. “That’s fair.”
Before she left, she handed me a small envelope.
“Just… take this. Use it for food. Or whatever.”
It was ₦10,000.
Not everything.
But not nothing.
And that night, after she left, Lani and I sat in silence.
The world was still against us.
But somehow, we’d just gotten a small c***k of light from the last place we expected it.
And maybe… that was enough to keep going.
- Writer
