In a cramped, self-contained apartment off campus, Shade and Arike lived as strangers sharing a roof. They weren’t enemies, but they weren’t friends either. They coexisted: tolerated each other for the sake of convenience and the shared hope of graduation someday. It was a fragile arrangement, held together by routines and silence. But as life often shows, the people closest to you bear the weight of your world the most, whether they signed up for it or not.
Arike was the kind of girl whose laughter could echo down a corridor. She thrived outdoors. She liked the sun on her skin, music in her ears, and, above all, she loved the attention wrapped around her like perfume. She was easy to talk to and even easier to pick. Arike could turn a five-minute walk to the corner shop into a parade, collecting friends like loose change, mostly boys, and it was mostly brief.
Of the many things Arike loved: dancing, parties, long gists under streetlights, and whatnot, food was a close contender. If fun was her heartbeat, food was her pulse. She devoured meals with the glee of someone who had waited too long for joy.
To add to this, it was always a one-way feast. Arike ate alone, unapologetically. She would eye Shade’s carefully portioned stew with exaggerated hunger, but when her own suya and cold Coke arrived, she never offered Shade even a bite.
Shade was always noticed, but it didn’t seem to bother her.
Still, life was ordinary until Buchi came along.
Buchi was a mystery dressed in clean sneakers, oversized sweatshirts, and luxury cologne. He didn’t have a known job, yet his lifestyle seemed to indicate wealth.
He had a car, a gold Lexus 350 that looked too shiny to belong to any university student, and he lived like a man the school system could never contain.
He enjoyed Mall dates, shopping sprees, and dinners that cost three times the session’s tuition. Those were the circles Arike loved to associate with. So, when Buchi began to orbit around her, Arike glowed.
She started arriving home late: sometimes close to midnight, with the dazed smile of someone who had just touched the sky. Girl to girl, you know that energy your homegirl exudes when she has just been touched in the right places.
Sometimes Arike would be dropped off outside the compound, where Buchi would make a show of claiming her, with his hands on her waist or his lips brushing her neck. On days when he needed to be dramatic, he would leave his car door open, playing loud music like an invitation to a party, to draw attention to his public display of affection for Arike. Arike never resisted. She loved it and wouldn’t stop sharing her experiences with her friends. She liked being wanted.
Inside, she'd kick off her heels, toss her wig, and unwrap the evening's haul, usually a big bag containing creamy ice cream tubs, oily shawarma wrappers, or glossy pizza boxes. She ate with her legs splayed on the couch, smacking her lips loudly as if to spite Shade for being an indoor person. Shade would steal glances, shake her head, and continue with whatever she was doing. Arike never shared.
As whispers spread around campus about Buchi publicly grabbing Arike and being "the one" paying for her happiness, Shade, with a mix of seriousness and sisterly concern, asked, "What's going on with you and that Buchi guy?"
Arike laughed too quickly. “We’re just vibing now. He’s just a friend. That’s all.” Then she added with a wink, “I’m just in my happy girl era, nothing serious.”
Shade didn’t argue; she nodded slowly, as if swallowing the lies. She preferred not to say much because, previously, Arike had accused her of jealousy.
Barely two weeks later, Arike locked herself in the bathroom for longer than usual. When she finally emerged, her eyes were red and her hands trembled. She placed the pregnancy test on the table as if it were a ticking bomb. She was positive.
Shade remained motionless, observing Arike's breakdown. Amidst sobs and quick breaths, Arike confided in Shade that Buchi had become distant.
When she shared the news of the pregnancy with Buchi, he responded with bitter laughter. “You think I believe I’m the only one?” he questioned. “I expected you to be cleverer than this.” He added. Subsequently, he blocked Arike on Instagram, WhatsApp, and in person.
Arike found herself completely alone, truly experiencing solitude for the first time.
And suddenly, she turned to Shade, because all the friends she thought she had deserted her.
“Please, I don’t know what to do,” Arike whispered. “Help me.”
Although Shade had some knowledge on helping Arike navigate motherhood and blending in, she chose not to share it. Regarding abortion, Shade was already aware that it was illegal in Nigeria and that Arike couldn't have a medical abortion.
Shade sat quietly, feeling content.
Arike had been eating alone, and Shade believed she should dine alone.
Would you help a friend when times get tough for them, even if they lied to you or kept their benefits from you?
Original Story by DORCAS MICHAEL
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