Barrister Ada

Chapter 8: Friday

Chapter 8: Friday

The envelope stayed in Aunty’s drawer.

_“DON’T TRUST EVERYONE AT SCHOOL. -A FRIEND”_

I saw it every time I closed my eyes.

The shelter was quiet after lights out. But my room was not.

Aunty Ngozi sat on the edge of my bed. No wrappers tying, no customers shouting. Just her. And me.

“Ada,” Aunty said. Her voice was soft. “Friday is tomorrow.”

I pulled the wrapper tighter around my shoulders. “I know, ma.”

“The car will go to school with or without you,” she continued. “If you go, you face that note. If you stay, you lose the scholarship.”

My throat burned. “What if it’s him, ma? What if it’s my father?”

Aunty didn’t lie to me. “Then we will deal with it. But what if it’s just fear, Ada? What if fear is the only thing holding you?”

My phone vibrated on the mattress. Tolu’s name.

I picked it.

“Ada?” Tolu’s voice was small. “If you don’t come tomorrow… Mrs. Ade said she’ll have to give your spot to someone on the waiting list. Please. The class is not the same without you.”

Silence after she spoke.

I looked at the photo under my pillow. My mother’s eyes. She never ran.

I was tired of running.

“I’m going,” I whispered.

Aunty exhaled like she’d been holding her breath. She nodded once. “Then you’re not going blind. We prepare you tonight."

The car was parked outside by 6am. My box was by the gate.

But Aunty didn’t let me enter yet.

“Sit,” she said, and pulled me into her small office.

First, she picked up her phone. I watched her face as she dialed.

“Mrs Ade? Yes, it’s Ngozi from the shelter.” She paused. “I’m bringing Ada back today. But someone is sending her notes. I need you to keep an eye on her.”

Mrs. Ade’s voice was low on speaker. “Understood, Ngozi. She will be safe with me. Send her to my office the moment she arrives.”

Aunty ended the call. Her hands were steady, but her jaw was tight.

Second, she called Wuse Market.

“Uncle Musa?” she said. “It’s Ngozi. Has any man been asking about Okafor’s daughter?”

The line crackled. Uncle Musa’s voice came through, rough from morning dust.

“Yes, Aunty. Cap. Dark glasses. He came again yesterday evening. Asked if ‘the girl’ has resumed.”

Aunty’s knuckles went white around the phone. “Did he say his name?”

“No,” he said. “But he didn’t come today. Not yet.”

She hung up slowly. For a few seconds, no one spoke. The fear in the room was real.

Then Aunty reached into the fold of her wrapper and pressed something cold into my palm.

A small safety pin.

“Keep this pinned inside your clothes,” she said, her voice dropping. “If anyone touches you. If anything feels wrong. You shout. You run. Straight to Mrs. Ade. Do you understand me, Ada?”

“Yes, ma,” I said. My voice shook.

Last, she tore a piece of paper from her notebook and wrote a number.

“Uncle Musa,” she whispered, pushing it into my hand. “He is outside the school walls. He knew your mother. If the hostel feels unsafe, if you see that cap, you call him. He will answer.”

I closed my fist around the pin and the paper.

I wasn’t going back blind. I was going back with eyes. With people.

The school gate was loud. Resumption noise. New students. Old students.

I carried my box through it. The photo was inside. Uncle Musa’s number was saved as “Outside” on my small phone.

My legs were shaking. But they moved.

Tolu saw me first. She dropped her bag and ran. She hugged me so hard my ribs hurt.

“You came.”

“I came,” I said into her shoulder.

Mrs. Ade was waiting at the admin block. She didn’t smile. She never did. But she gave me one nod.

“Welcome back, Ada. My office is open.”

That night, after hostel lights out, I wrote in my book:

_Friday. I chose fear + faith.

I’m not blind. I have Aunty inside. I have Uncle Musa outside. I have Tolu beside me.

Someone is watching me. But now... I’m watching too._