CHAPTER 14: LOUDER THAN MUSIC
1137 Words
Friday night arrived wearing too much perfume and sequins. The air in Lagos was humid, sticking to my skin like something I couldn’t wash off. I stood in front of Zainab’s mirror adjusting the grey sleeveless jacket she’d picked out for me. Cargo trousers. Black boots. The only thing on my face was shea butter. She had begged me to let her style my edges, but I gave her a look that made her raise her hands and step back.
"You look… intimidating. In a cool way," she said, checking herself out in the mirror next to mine.
Her hair was curled into soft waves. Her dress hugged her in the way teenage girls hoped for when buying something new. She wore it like armor. I wore mine like warning.
The driver waited outside with the car running. I carried nothing but my phone and keys. No purse, no gloss, no extra anything. As we rode in silence, I stared out the window watching Lagos blur into movement. My stomach wasn’t anxious, just... prepared. Grandpa always said, “Keep your center steady—no matter the chaos.”
The venue was someone’s family house. A big compound with security and speakers loud enough to make the gate vibrate. There were lights strung up around the compound walls and drinks in red cups in nearly every hand.
Zainab was already bouncing in her seat. “We’ll stay for just a while,” she reminded me, like I had set the rules.
We walked in together. I kept close to the edges of the crowd, letting Zainab drift into her element. She waved at friends, laughed too loud, said hi to people she only half-liked.
I stayed near the drink table, holding a cup of soda like a security pass.
"Whoa," someone whispered, nudging another girl as they glanced in my direction. "That’s the new girl—Zainab’s stepsister."
"She’s fine sha, but... scary."
Good. Let them keep that energy.
"AYOO!" Zainab called, gesturing me over.
I walked slowly. She had gathered a group around her—some guys from our school, a few girls I didn’t recognize.
"This is my sister I told you about," she beamed. "Ayoola."
I nodded once.
A few greeted me. Most stared too long.
Someone tried to start a conversation about school. Another asked what music I liked. I answered with silence and minimal nods. I wasn’t trying to be rude. I just didn’t know how to perform excitement the way they did.
Then, like thunder without warning, he walked in.
Christopher Adefila.
He wasn’t wearing anything flashy—black jeans, black shirt, chain around his neck—but he didn’t need flash. He walked like the floor belonged to him, like even the music paused to notice him.
But this time, it wasn’t just a passing glance.
The reaction around us was immediate.
Some girls squealed near the speakers. A group of boys dapped him up like he was royalty. Whispers started rippling like the beat beneath the bass.
"That’s Christopher Adefila," one girl near me breathed. "He’s the commissioner’s son."
"He just joined this term ," someone else said.
"No joor," another corrected, "he’s been here since last year, he just always resumes late. Eli and him used to play ball together."
I kept my eyes forward, but I could feel his gaze scanning the room.
And then it landed.
On me.
Zainab, beside me, was still glowing from the compliments on her outfit when she followed my line of sight and gasped, “Ohhh... he’s looking at *you*.”
I didn’t reply.
He started walking toward us.
People noticed. Conversations quieted, just for a second, just long enough for the moment to stretch and press on my skin like heat.
Zainab whispered, “You guys *definitely* know each other.”
He stopped in front of me.
“Hey,” he said, voice low, steady.
I said nothing.
Zainab, ever the observer, looked between us like she’d walked into the middle of a silent argument.
“You good?” Christopher asked again.
I took a sip from my soda, then said, “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
He smiled slightly. “I didn’t expect to see you in a party.”
Zainab blinked. “Wait—you two know each other?”
We both ignored her.
He glanced at my outfit, at the way I stood like I was ready to walk out any second.
“I heard about your grandfather. I’m sorry.”
I nodded. That was more than enough.
He looked like he wanted to say something else. But I wasn’t offering space for it. Not here. Not now.
“Maybe we should talk,” he said.
“Maybe we shouldn’t,” I replied.
Zainab's eyes widened like she had just realized she was standing in the middle of a storm.
Christopher gave a short laugh, a kind of breathy laugh.
“Still the same fire.”
I turned away.
But before I walked off, I said, “Don’t confuse memory with permission.”
He didn’t follow.
---
**Later That Night**
Zainab found me sitting near the gate, away from the music. She dropped beside me, heels in her hand.
“What was that?” she asked.
“What?”
“You and Christopher.”
“Nothing.”
“Are you two... exes?”
I looked at her. “You think I date?”
“Okay, true,” she said, chuckling. “But still. You were talking like you knew each other. Like... *history* knew each other.”
“We did. A long time ago.”
“What happened?”
“He made someone think I betrayed her.”
Zainab blinked. “Ouch.”
“She wasn’t even my friend. Not really. But she was the only girl I’d ever said more than three sentences to in a row. Her name was Tolani.”
Zainab stayed quiet, knowing a story was coming.
“She liked him. He liked me. She got jealous. Said I was just like what people said I was—cold, mean, fake. Told people I couldn’t be trusted.”
“And what did you do?”
“Nothing. I left it.”
Zainab whistled low. “So that’s why you were so ice-cold back there.”
“Some people don’t deserve second rounds.”
“But he looked... I don’t know. Like he wanted to make peace?”
“I’m not looking for peace. I’m looking for distance.”
We sat there quietly. The wind was gentler now. The stars above Lagos were dim, blurred by city light.
Zainab sighed. “I think you’re the most interesting person I know.”
“That’s not always a good thing.”
“It is for me.”
She leaned on my shoulder. I let her.
- Writer
