CHAPTER NINE — Trouble Doesn’t Knock
1343 Words
You’d think that once you choose to stop hiding, things get easier.
They don’t.
They just get louder.
Whispers become full-blown conversations.
Side-eyes turn to bold, unapologetic stares.
And silence from people who once called you “sister” becomes the loudest betrayal of all.
But somehow, walking through school with Lani beside me still felt like breathing — shaky, unsure, but free.
We were ready for the fire.
What we didn’t realize was… the fire wouldn’t come from strangers.
It would come from home.
—
That evening, my phone rang.
It was Daddy.
His voice was clipped. Cold. No “hello.” No “how are you.”
Just: “I want to see you. Now.”
Something twisted in my stomach.
When we reached the compound, I knew something wasn’t right.
Too quiet.
No laughter from the neighbor’s veranda.
No Afrobeats leaking from the gate boy’s radio.
Even the dogs were silent — like they sensed a storm coming.
Lani dropped her slippers at the door and collapsed onto the couch, face down.
“Today felt like a battle,” she mumbled into the cushion.
I was just about to sit when the gate creaked open again.
Footsteps.
Not one. Not two. Multiple.
Then I heard it.
“ZARA!”
My heart jumped. I froze.
It was my Daddy.
But this time, his voice didn’t sound tired.
It sounded like thunder wrapped in fury.
—
He stormed into the sitting room, two men behind him.
One wore a stiff grey suit, glasses perched like he just came from court.
The other was older, with the self-righteous aura some church elders wear like perfume.
Daddy’s eyes scanned the room like a hawk until they landed on Lani. Then me.
He didn’t sit.
“Is this what you’ve become?” he barked. “After everything I’ve done for you? Feeding you, clothing you, paying your school fees—this is how you repay me?!”
“Daddy—” I began, voice trembling.
“Shut your mouth!”
The room shifted. My knees weakened, but I stood firm.
“What did you hear?” I asked, afraid of the answer.
Daddy nodded at the man in the suit.
He stepped forward and pulled out a phone.
A video started to play.
At first, blurry.
Then clearer.
Lani and I.
Behind the water tank.
Laughing. Holding hands.
Kissing.
I forgot how to breathe.
Lani gasped. “Who recorded this?”
“It doesn’t matter!” Daddy bellowed. “Do you know the disgrace you’ve brought on me? Lesbians?! Under my roof?! Have you no shame?!”
Before I could respond, Madam appeared at the doorway, tying her wrapper, eyes puffy from sleep.
“What’s going on?”
“Ask your daughters!” Daddy snapped. “Ask what they’ve been doing under your nose!”
Madam’s eyes narrowed.
“She’s always in that room with her. Like couple,” he hissed. “You never noticed?”
Madam folded her arms. “I knew something wasn’t right. The way they act… always locking doors. Whispering. Holding hands. Shameless.”
Her words cut deeper than a blade.
“That’s not true,” I said, voice cracking.
“You think I’m blind?” Madam snapped. “Always locking doors like married people. See how she’s always shielding you like a bodyguard. You’re cursed, both of you.”
That was it.
Something in me snapped.
“You people don’t know anything! You just assume and judge!”
Daddy’s hand flew before I even saw it coming.
Slap!
Hot. Sharp. Loud.
My head swung to the side as pain burned through my cheek.
Lani screamed, “Don’t touch her!”
Madam charged forward, ready to land her own slap, but Lani blocked her. “Enough!”
“You see her?” Madam shouted. “Always defending her. Like a witch! I should’ve known something was wrong the moment she moved in.”
Daddy pointed at the door.
“Pack your things. Both of you. You’re leaving this house tonight.”
“Daddy…” I whispered, tears brimming. “Where will we go?”
Just a day ago, Madam had sent us out. Now, it was coming from my own father.
“Anywhere but here! I won’t house Sodom and Gomorrah!”
—
That night, we packed in silence.
Shame, betrayal, disbelief — they hung in the air like smoke.
Madam hovered by the door, eyes sharp, making sure we took only our clothes.
“Finally,” she muttered. “You should’ve left a long time ago.”
I said nothing.
What was there to say?
How do you speak to someone who once bathed you, fed you, prayed over you — but now watches you leave like a stray dog?
Lani held my hand as we walked out.
The night was cold.
But her palm was warm.
And in that moment, I didn’t cry.
Because sometimes pain brings clarity.
And all I could see now was the truth:
We were on our own.
—
We returned to the small hostel we’d managed to pay for — barely a room.
Just a mattress on the floor.
No fan. No curtain. No rug.
But it didn’t judge us.
Still, we were scared.
No food.
No money.
No backup plan.
Lani didn’t speak until we reached the room.
She dropped her bag, then sat on the mattress, quiet.
“We won’t survive this,” she whispered. “We’re not ready.”
I didn’t know what to say.
I just stood there, numb.
She lay down and turned to the wall.
I sat beside her, head spinning.
That night, we didn’t eat.
We didn’t speak.
We didn’t cry.
We just lay there, wrapped in silence and fear, wondering if we’d ruined our lives.
Rain tapped lightly on the zinc roof.
The mattress was thin.
We had no wrapper to cover ourselves.
But Lani curled beside me and laid her head on my shoulder.
We didn’t talk.
We just held each other — two girls the world had thrown away, clinging like lifelines.
—
Morning came like a slap.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Daddy:
“I’ve withdrawn you from school. I will not waste money educating someone who brings shame to my name. Do not call me again. I am not your father.”
I stared at the screen until the words blurred.
Then I handed it to Lani.
She read it.
Didn’t cry. Didn’t flinch.
Just nodded and set it aside.
And just like that…
We were school-less.
Jobless.
Homeless.
Days passed in a blur.
Sometimes we shared one sachet of pure water.
Sometimes we went to bed hungry.
Sometimes we stared at the ceiling in silence, too tired to even cry.
But we endured.
Because we still had each other.
And sometimes, that was enough.
Sometimes.
—
One night, the rain came again.
Heavier this time.
The roof began to leak, forcing us to shift the mattress to the corner.
Lani turned to me, her voice barely a whisper.
“Zara… do you regret it?”
“Regret what?”
“Us.”
I looked at her.
She looked so small in the dim light.
Eyes hollow.
Face pale.
“No. Never,” I said.
“Even now?”
“Especially now.”
She gave a faint smile. Weak. Shaky.
“You know what I miss?”
“What?”
“The way you used to look at me… like I was magic.”
I reached for her hand.
“You still are.”
Her lips trembled.
“Then why does loving you feel like a curse?”
I didn’t have an answer.
Not a real one.
Because maybe it was a curse.
In a world that called our love a sin, maybe we were cursed to carry this cross alone.
But if this was a curse, I still wouldn’t trade it.
Because in this loud, cruel world full of judgment and knives…
Lani was the only truth I’d ever known.
And truth — even when rejected — is still sacred.
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