Deadlines

Men disgusted me! It was almost laughable, and Mr. Abdul was no exception.

As I walked out of the faculty building, his words lingered in my ears like the stench of a dead animal.

"Are you sure I’ll let you go off easily?"

My brain replayed his words. The audacity.

He was a married man, even 'old enough to be my father,' as they’d say, yet he acted like every female student secretly wished to end up in his bed. Men like him never saw women like me as people. I was merely an object of gratification to him.

Now outside, I could hear students laugh around me, some rushing to catch the last shuttle while others gathered to talk about their plans. I wondered what it felt like to be that carefree. But I guess it's true what they say—ignorance truly was bliss.

When I got home, Ada was already there, legs sprawled across the couch with a laptop resting on her thighs. She didn't even look up.

"The landlord came."

I froze.

"What did he say?"

She shifted her gaze toward me. 

"He'll be collecting rent next week instead of next month."

"What?"

My heart sank.

"He said building maintenance is coming up, so everybody should pay early."

Of course. Life always knew exactly when to tighten its wicked grip on me. Then, she redirected her gaze at the laptop.

"I'm serious this time. I can't keep covering for both of us. It’s time for you to step up," she said as a matter of fact.

"I know."

"I mean it," she reiterated.

"I said I know."

An awkward silence settled between us. This fake friend of mine wasn't wrong. She had been patient. Too patient.

I walked into our room and shut the door behind me with my phone lying beside me on the bed where I'd left it that morning. I unlocked it and opened my OPay app.

N2,050.

I stared at the balance until the screen went off. That amount couldn't feed me for a week, let alone contribute to rent, transportation, handouts, and every other expense university life demanded. I tossed the phone away on the bed and leaned against the wall.

People liked saying money wasn't everything, but poor people never said that because it was... in so many ways imaginable. Money determined where you slept, what you ate, and how people perceived you. Even the concept of morality seemed to belong to those who could afford it.

Suddenly, an Instagram notification lit up my screen. Someone had just replied to one of my stories, and I opened it obliviously.

It was a man. Not someone I knew personally; just another older admirer who had found me through mutual followers months ago. His message was simple.

"You deserve better than this school stress. Come, let me spoil you one of these days."

Normally, I would have ignored it, but this time, I didn't. Something unfamiliar settled inside me—not attraction or curiosity, but a calm, calculative mind.

For the first time, I wasn't looking at a man. I was looking at a solution.

And perhaps that was the beginning of everything.