PART THREE — THE WEDDING

Amara called me on a Tuesday night.

Her voice was shaking.

“Kelechi.”

“What happened?”

“My father has chosen someone for me.”

I sat up.

“What?”

“He wants me to marry him.”

“When?”

“Three months.”

I couldn't speak.

She began crying.

“I told him I don't love him.”

“What did he say?”

“He said love doesn't matter.”

I felt something break inside me.

“We're leaving.”

“What?”

“Lagos. We leave together.”

She was silent.

Then she whispered,

“Where will we go?”

“Anywhere.”

“We don't have money.”

“I'll figure it out.”

“You don't even have a job.”

“I'll figure it out.”

She laughed through her tears.

“You always say that.”

“Because I always mean it.”

We planned everything.

Friday night.

11:30 p.m.

She would leave through the back door.

I would wait near the old bus station.

We would take the first bus out of Lagos.

We didn't care where it went.

We just wanted somewhere our fathers couldn't find us.

The night before we left, Amara hugged me tightly.

“I'm scared.”

“So am I.”

“What if it doesn't work?”

I held her face.

“Then we'll try again.”

She smiled.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The next evening, I waited.

11:30.

Midnight.

12:30.

Amara didn't come.

I called her.

Her phone was off.

I called again.

Nothing.

Then, at 1:07 a.m., her number finally came online.

A message arrived.

“I'm sorry. Forget me.”

I stared at the screen.

I called immediately.

No answer.

I didn't know that Amara was sitting in a locked bedroom upstairs.

And the person who sent me that message...

was her father.