Chapter 13: New Beginnings

Wedding set for next month.

The compound buzzed with preparations—tailors dey sew aso ebi, women dey fry chin-chin, drummers dey rehearse talking drum for compound. Mama’s old wrappers were aired out, waiting for the big day.

I attend another party. Maybe because I now sabi say Auwalu don also come back to life, when I see am again, smiling on top high seat, he just look like stranger.

He sat tall, regal, his eyes distant. It was as if our lives had never touched. My heart ached, but I forced myself to smile.

I waka comot from palace.

I walked the long road home, letting the evening breeze cool my burning cheeks. The city lights blurred as tears pricked my eyes.

Papa say my fiancé na young general—big, broad forehead, round eyes—not too fine.

He tried to prepare me, but I couldn’t help feeling nervous. Marriage was a leap into the unknown.

I dey waka up and down, nervous.

My feet paced furiously, my mind swirling with worries. Would he be kind? Would I find peace?

One deep voice call from back, “Miss Ronke.”

I stopped, the sound unfamiliar but not unfriendly.

I look up.

He stood under the jacaranda tree, uniform crisp, smile wide. My heart thudded.

No be the man wey I throw him handkerchief inside pond?

Recognition dawned. My cheeks heated. Fate, it seemed, loved irony.

“You…”

I stammered, words failing me for once.

He just smile, his face warm.

His smile was genuine, easy, the kind that put people at ease. I felt myself relax, just a little.

“I be your fiancé, Tobi Adekunle.”

He said it with pride, as if he’d won a prize. I couldn’t help but laugh, the tension easing from my shoulders.

I softly repeat his name, then turn leave.

The name tasted new, unfamiliar. I wondered what our future would hold.

Papa na scholar, always get wahala with military men, but Tobi Adekunle actually fine.

His laughter was deep, his manner gentle. Maybe, just maybe, happiness could grow in unexpected places.

Back for party, I no see my sister, begin worry.

A knot of fear twisted in my stomach. I asked the maids, but no one had seen her.

Morning pass, I no even dey hear their talk.

The chatter faded into background noise. My focus narrowed to a single worry—where was Zainab?

Suddenly, one small palace maid come greet me. “Aunty Ronke wan see you.”

Her voice was urgent, eyes darting around nervously. I followed her without hesitation.

I follow the maid, waka go another palace.

The corridors felt longer, shadows deeper. My heart pounded with every step.

This road too familiar—na my old Jasmine Hall from my last life.

The scent of jasmine filled the air, bringing back memories I tried to bury. I steeled myself, ready for anything.

When I see the woman wey sit down, na Halima Jinadu. I squeeze my hand.

She sat with the poise of a queen, eyes sharp as cutlass. I clenched my hands, steeling myself for whatever would come.

The golden hibiscus hairpin for her hair—na Auwalu give me that one last life. The matching one still dey under his pillow for Royal Suite.

A pang of jealousy cut through me. Memories of Auwalu’s gentle hands flashed before my eyes.

I pressed my lips.

I swallowed my anger, determined not to let her see me break.

Halima Jinadu wave make I come.

She gestured with lazy grace, her smile cold.

Small mockery dey her eyes.

Her gaze lingered, half-amused, half-threatening. I felt exposed, like a goat on market day.

“Na Ronke be your nickname?”

Her voice was light, but her eyes searched my face for weakness.

I freeze. Before, only Auwalu dey call me that. Even papa no call me so.

The name felt intimate, sacred. Hearing it from her lips unsettled me.

I deny sharp sharp. “No be my nickname.”

I forced my face into a mask, refusing to let her see how much it hurt.

“True? But yesterday, His Majesty sleep for my palace and call “Ronke, Ronke” like say na only that name sweet for him mouth.”

The words dropped like cold water, chilling me to the bone. I struggled to keep my composure.

My eyes shrink, I kneel down slowly.

My legs buckled, but I forced myself to kneel, showing respect even as fear twisted in my gut.

“Maybe His Majesty mishear.”

My voice was barely a whisper. I clung to dignity, praying she wouldn’t press further.

She be queen now, power full her hand. If she decide to deal with my sister…

I no even wan think am.

The consequences flashed before me—palace intrigues, silent punishments. I had to tread carefully.

So I bow my head, add, “Next month, I go marry.”

I offered the news like a peace offering, hoping it would satisfy her.

She play with coral bracelet for her hand.

Her fingers traced the beads, her gaze never leaving my face. The tension was thick, almost suffocating.

Then e fall, break for ground.

The sound was sharp, final. The room seemed to hold its breath.

“This one na royal gift. Why Miss Ronke break am?”

Her voice was icy. I swallowed, throat dry.

“Go kneel for palace gate two hours.”

I grit my teeth, go kneel for palace gate.

I rose, pride bruised but spirit unbroken. The sun beat down, sweat trickled down my back, but I lifted my chin. If this was the price for protecting my sister, so be it.

Sun for afternoon just dey burn my body, sweat soak my wrapper, but I no gree cry. I dey count each bead of sweat as prayer for my sister.

The heat was relentless, but I endured. Each minute was a lesson in patience, in sacrifice. I prayed quietly, asking the ancestors for strength, for peace, and for a future I could finally call my own.