Romola could not forget that night at the hotel. The pain was engraved in her soul.

“I know Yetunde gave me something to eat. I can’t remember what. She said something. I dream about it now and then and I don’t know which part is true and which isn’t.”

“Go on.”

“Then everything goes blank after that. Every time I try to remember, it’s like I hit a wall. I think about it too much, I get a headache.” Romola stared at Vicky’s face. The woman was really listening to her. “The next thing I remember is going to a party with Olumide and feeling worried. Then Yetunde again and then my mom shouting. It gets pretty blurry from there until-”

“Until what?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Romola reached for her leg. For the place on her arm where the cut had struggled to ill and the scar refused to leave. “But that’s about all i remember.”

“Do you still get those headaches?”

“It comes and goes. Sometimes, I try to think back on things before that time. It seems blurry as well. Like there are parts of my mind that were wiped with an eraser.” Romola hugged herself, feeling smaller and smaller as she recalled the memory from the hotel. “The last thing I remember is that Olumide and I had a huge fight. That I remember clearly.”

“You and me both.” Vicky smiled.

Romola found her smile endearing and suiting for her plump fair face. “You were there?’

“No, Olumide and I have our own battles. It’s nothing new.”

She seemed nice but she was Olumide’s wife-to-be.

“I want to know something.”

“Ask away.” Victoria crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair.

“Where were you in all of this?”

“I worked in the hospital where Olumide brought you. And I was your care giver there.” Vicky said.

Romola fought the storm growing inside her. She was in the hospital and Olumide was seeing another woman in the hospital. Men. She won the battle of words but lost the war on the harshness of her voice.

“So what now? You want to prescribe some drugs for me?”

“Oh no.” Victoria laughed. A child-like care free laughter. “You’d have to come to the hospital for that.”

“For what?”

Victoria stared at her wristwatch. “Oh my, look at the time. I have another appointment by six.”

Romola rose to her feet, walking towards the door and holding it open, “You better go and see Miss Oyama now, I bet she’s dying to see you.”

“I want us to meet again. To talk.”

“Why?”

“There are still some things I want to clarify and I bet you have questions too.” Victoria picked her bag from the chair.

Romola nodded, “But, we won’t meet again. After Miss Oyama starts designs on your rings, all other correspondence will be online and your rings delivered via dispatch.”

“Come to my wedding.”

“What?” Was this woman serious or was this a prank video? “No, I don’t think Olumide would want me there.”

“Just come. Please.”

“I have no business there. Olumide and I...” Romola paused. Could she say they were over when she didn’t even know if they had a relationship? It was mostly based on her feelings about the events. “I don’t care about Olumide anymore.”

“This is why you should come. I need you to show him that you don’t care anymore. That you’ve moved on.”

The sound of footsteps caught Romola’s ears. She unfurled the magazine. “You still haven’t picked one yet.”

“Only if you promise to come?”

“I promise to think about it.” Lying had become so easy again.

“Alright, which is your favourite ring style?” The woman asked.

“Are you serious?”

“Yep. If you were to get married right now, which of these rings says, “I love Romola?”

“I guess.” Romola flipped the pages and pointed to the diamond ring with a swirling pattern around the ring, encrusted in some pearl like circles. “This one.”

“Then that’s what I’m going with.”

Miss Oyema appeared at the door. “You’ve taken quite some time. I hope there wasn’t any issue.”

“No. No. None at all. There were just so many good designs to pick from. I think I might consider something like this one.” Vicky took the magazine and pointed at the wrong ring, Romola shifted her finger a little. “Yes, this one. Thank you, Romola. Do you know how stress-free Romola made this for me?”

“Yes,” Miss Oyema glowed. “She’s a hard worker.”

“I’m so elated that I want to invite her to my wedding. And you too of course.” Victoria smiled. ‘Maybe she can even be the ring bearer.”

“Of course. We wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Miss Oyema smiled.

Romola’s bright look faded. She would rather die than breathe the same air that Olumide would breathe on his wedding day.

* * *

Romola knocked on the white door of Mr Joseph’s office. Of all the lecturers on this block of Eko University, he was the only one who had a white door.

“Come in.” His words were a grunt.

She pushed the door open and shut it behind her as she stepped on the white tile of his office. He sat behind his wooden desk, raising his glasses to the top of his face.

“Good evening, Sir.”

He eyed her.

She took a step forward to the seat in front of him and drew it backwards. She placed her butt over the chair.

“Did I ask you to sit?”

“I’m sorry sir.” She stood straight and allowed her arms to drop to her sides.

“Why are you here?”

Romola reached into her rectangle shaped clutch purse and pulled out her letter of appointment. “I finally got a placement for my internship.”

“And how is that my business?” The man leaned forward in his seat, his right hand under his chin and the corresponding elbow on the chair arm.

Romola’s eyes dropped. Was he still mad about the fact that she didn’t stay for her interview at Pilliard? Staying back at Pilliard would be like tightening a noose around her neck. She couldn’t be where Olumide was.

“They need me to present a letter from my supervisor.”

“Go and meet your supervisor.”

“Sir?”

“Do you know the strings I had to pull to get you into Pilliard. Yet, neither you nor Demola made it in? None of my students made it in.”

“I’m sorry Sir.” Romola slid her appointment letter across the table to the man. “I really tried. If I had another chance...”

If she had another chance, she would sit for the interview but she would not work for Pilliard. Not even at the threat of death. Working with Miss Oyama was one of the best experiences of her life.

“Please, sir. They need the letter from you.”

“Drop it.” The man pointed to stack of books.

“Sir, I need it now.”

“If you know that you want me to sign this thing, drop it and leave. I will call you when I have done it.”

Romola sighed, dropping the letter on the pile of books he had indicated before genuflecting.

“Thank you sir.”

The man dropped his glasses to the bridge of his nose and turned to face the marking sheet in front of him. She turned her discreetly as she walked out to be sure that he wouldn’t tear her letter or dump it the trash can at the foot of his table. She closed the door behind her and let her chest fall.

That was one requirement done. All she needed was that passport.  From Sunbo.