Nicodemus ondieki (2026)

17/11/2025

‎My Husband always SLEPT IN A COFFIN, instead of our bed, I never knew he...
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‎It all began that afternoon at work. I was typing on my computer when my phone rang. It was my mother-in-law.
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‎“David is de@d! My son is gone! He slumped in his room and d!ed!”
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‎My world shattered in one second. I screamed in the office, fell to my knees, shaking. Tears poured from my eyes.
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‎“No! No! Please, God, no! David, don’t leave me, I am carrying our baby! You promised to be here!”
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‎I grabbed my bag, ran out, and rushed home.
‎I opened the door quickly, what I saw shocked me.
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‎David my husband was standing right there.
‎Smiling.
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‎“IT’S A PRANK!” he shouted and started laughing loudly, like it was the funniest thing in the world.
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‎I froze. My voice disappeared for a second. My mind refused to believe what I was seeing.
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‎“Why would you do this?” I cried. “You scared me to death!”
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‎He kept laughing and said, “Don’t mind me, *Precious*. I was just pulling your legs.”
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‎I stopped breathing for a moment.
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‎Precious?
‎
‎He never called me my name. Not once. He always called me sweet names. Hearing him say *Precious* didn’t feel normal. It felt like someone pretending to be him.
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‎I looked at my mother-in-law. Her eyes were swollen like someone who had cried for hours. She wasn’t acting. She looked truly broken. Our maid, Lara, stood in the corner, shaking like she had seen a ghost.
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‎“If it is a prank, why are your eyes swollen mom?” I asked mother-in-law.
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‎She avoided my eyes and wiped her tears again.
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‎David smiled strangely and said, “You know Mom. I told her to pretend cry and call you, and she overdid it.”
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‎But something was wrong. His voice sounded different. His smile felt wrong. His eyes looked empty.
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‎Trying to stay calm, I pulled my file and said, “Please sign these papers. I forgot to give them to you in the morning.”
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‎He took the pen, held it for a moment, then said quietly, “I forgot my signature.”
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‎My stomach tightened. How can someone forget their own signature?
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‎Before I said anything, he turned and climbed upstairs, moving stiff, like his body was heavy.
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‎That was when I knew that something was definitely wrong.
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‎My mother-in-law rushed to me, holding my hand tight. “Please, my dear,” she whispered, shaking, “don’t sleep in your room tonight. Come and sleep in my room.”
‎“M-mom, what is happening? Talk to me,” I begged.
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‎She cried more. “I lost my son today. I cannot lose you too.”
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‎Fear entered my bones. “Mom, David is right here,” I whispered. “Why would you say that?”
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‎Lara came close, her voice trembling. “Please ma, listen to senior madam. Sleep in her room tonight.”
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‎Before I could reply, the doorbell rang. A delivery man walked in—carrying a coffin.
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‎“Delivery for Mr. David,” he said and carried it upstairs.
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‎I could not move. I could not speak. My legs felt weak. My mother-in-law and Lara looked down, silent, shaking.
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‎“Just sleep in my room tonight,” mother-in-law said again, tears falling.
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‎I nodded slowly. “Fine, Mom,” I whispered.
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‎That night, I lay beside her. I couldn’t sleep. My heart refused to calm down. The prank call… the strange voice… forgetting his signature… the coffin… everything felt like a nightmare.
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‎Around midnight, my phone rang.
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‎It was David.
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‎“My love,” he said softly, too soft, “go to our room and bring my laptop. I am at the balcony.”
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‎My heart dropped. Why at midnight? Why call me instead of coming downstairs?
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‎But his voice forced me. I stood up slowly, trying not to wake his mother. My feet shook as I climbed the stairs. The air felt heavy. Too quiet.
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‎I reached our bedroom door, entered, my heart pounding. But unknown to me someone locked the door from outside.
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‎The room was dark, my hand shook as I switched on the light.
‎And there he was.
‎David my husband lying inside the coffin.
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‎Cotton wool stuffed inside his nostrils.
‎Hands crossed on his chest like a co**se.
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‎I could not breathe. My body turned to ice. Tears filled my eyes, but no sound came from my mouth. He looked de@d — until his eyes opened slowly.
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‎A dark smile spread across his face. Not my husband’s smile. Something cold.
‎He sat up a little and whispered in a voice that made my heart stop:
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‎“Come, Precious… come let's have s3x.”
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‎WHAT DO YOU THINK WILL HAPPEN NEXT?
‎IS THAT REALLY DAVID?
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‎To be continued...

10/11/2025

He Beats Me To Entertain His Friends – And My Revenge Shocked Them….

He beats me to entertain his friends and my revenge shocked them. I was 6 months pregnant when James kicked me in the stomach in front of his friends. He laughed as I fell to the floor, holding my belly, gasping for air. His friends burst into wild, laughed like they were watching a comedy movie.
They clapped, slapped each other’s backs, and praised him like a hero. One of them even said, “James, you be real, man. No allow woman climb your head.” That night, I almost lost my baby, but no one cared. Not one person in that room asked if I was okay. James didn’t even look at me. He just poured himself a drink, sat back on the couch, and continued joking with his so-called friends like nothing had happened. My name is Anita.
I am a mother, a woman, and I used to be the wife of a millionaire. A man who believed that the more you break a woman, the more power you have. But this this is not just my story. This is the story of how I became his greatest downfall. And trust me, you haven’t heard anything yet. James was rich, yes, but not always. I met him when he was still working in a dusty office with no air conditioner.
He had only two shirts and both had torn collars, but he was kind, humble. He called me queen. He would send me long messages at midnight just to say, “I love you.” We had dreams, big ones. We would sit on the balcony sipping Gary and Groundnut, talking about how one day we would own a house in the city.
When he finally made money, everything changed. At first, it was the small things. He started correcting my grammar in public. Then, he complained about the way I dressed. Next, he told me to quit my job because a real wife doesn’t hustle like a man. I agreed because I trusted him. I believed him. But I was wrong. Very wrong.
His money made him arrogant, proud, untouchable. He started hosting parties at our house, bringing home loud, empty men who had nothing but insults for women. Every time they visited, James turned into someone I didn’t know. He would shout at me in front of them, call me useless, say things like, “This woman can’t even speak proper English.
” Or, “She’s lucky I picked her from the street.” Sometimes he would grab my hair and drag me to the kitchen just to make them laugh. They laughed. Oh, how they laughed. And I I died slowly inside. One night during a party, I mistakenly dropped a wine glass. The room went silent. James stood up, walked towards me slowly. I held my breath, then slap.
He hit me so hard I fell to the ground. My cheek burned. My pride shattered. He turned to his friends and said, “That’s how to handle nonsense.” and they all cheered. I wanted to scream. I wanted to fight. But I looked at my daughter Nora standing at the stairs. Her small eyes filled with tears. And I knew I couldn’t leave.
Not yet. Because I had no money, no job, no house, no family support. James made sure I had nothing except him. So I stayed. But something inside me began to grow quietly. It wasn’t fear anymore. It was fire. One day while James was away on a business trip, I found an old diary of mine.
It was filled with dreams, plans, goals. My handwriting looked so young and full of life. I cried that night, not because I missed who I used to be, but because I knew she was still inside me, hiding, waiting for a chance to rise again. That was the night I decided to stop surviving. I would start planning. Every insult James threw at me became a brick.
I used each one to build my revenge. And my revenge would not be loud. No, it would be patient, gentle, like water dripping on stone until it breaks. James thought I was weak, but weakness is not the absence of strength. Sometimes it is the training ground for power. I stopped fighting him with words. I became quiet.
I served his friends with a smile. I cleaned his mess without complaints. I stopped arguing. He thought he had one. He didn’t know I was watching, listening, studying. Every account he opened, every deal he made, every weakness he showed, I wrote it all down in a secret notebook I kept behind the water tank outside.
I knew I was in a battle. And in battle, the one who waits wins. The last slap I ever received came on a Sunday. His friends were around. He accused me of forgetting to iron his white shirt. I tried to explain. I even knelt down, but he didn’t care. He kicked me in front of everyone again. I fell hard, but this time I didn’t cry.
I stood up, wiped the blood from my lip, and looked him in the eyes. I smiled. That was the day he should have known something had changed. But like most arrogant men, he was blind to his own end. And that’s why I’m telling you this story because very soon James will go from sleeping on silk sheets to begging for a mattress in a dirty corner of the city.

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To be continued…

゚

09/11/2025

Rhoda was in her room that night when she heard the sound of a belt cutting through the air and landing ha"rd on someone’s skin. At first, she thought it was just the usual noise from Madam Chinyere’s bar, they both shared one fence; the shouts, laughter, and occasional quar"rels that came with running a place like that. But this sound was different. It was sharp, repeated and ruth"less!

Then came the cries; a girl’s voice, young and pleading.

“Aunty, please! I swear I didn’t take your money!”

Rhoda’s heart skipped. She rose from her small bed, crept toward the window, and peeped through the curtain. Under the dim yellow bulb that hung loosely from the ceiling, she saw Nneka; the newest girl working at the bar; kneeling on the floor, her hands shielding her face as Madam Chinyere rained bl"ows on her back.

The be"lt rose and fell again, each str"oke drawing out a new c"ry.

“Aunty please! It’s not me! I've never sto"len in my life.”

“Shut up!” Chinyere bar"ked, sweat all over her face. “You think I don’t know a th"ief when I see one? My money will not just disappear!”

Nneka’s small body trembled. Her knees bruised against the rough floor, tears mixing with dust.

Rhoda wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. She had seen this before. Everyone in the neighborhood had heard similar scr"eams; different girls, same fate. But none of them dared to interfere. Madam Chinyere was not a woman to cross. She was fe"ared and highly connected.

She owned the most popular bar in the area; Mama C’s Paradise. On the outside, it was a lively place filled with music, pepper soup, and cold drinks. But her lavish lifestyle proved there was more to it. The girls who worked there changed too quickly; they arrived innocent and hopeful, but after a few weeks, they look brok"en, diss"apointed and fed up .

Nneka had arrived barely two months ago, she was brought in by the same Madam Chinyere who was now bea"ting her.

It all started when Nneka lost her father; Mr. Okorie was the breadwinner of the family while her mother was a petty trader, suddenly Mr. Okorie d"ied of a heart attack, no one was prepared for it and the family’s world fell apart. His death left his wife, Mama Nneka, with nothing but debts and five hungry mouths to feed.

The eldest son, Chukwudi, was only 19, still in apprenticeship with a mechanic. The younger ones were all in school. Feeding them became a daily struggle; some days they managed to eat once, some days not at all.

When Aunty Chinyere, the late father’s younger sister, came for the bu"rial from the city, she came in style; gold jewelry, perfume, and a fine car. She gave people money freely, then willingly, she asked.

“Let me take Nneka,” she said with a smile. “She’s strong, respectful, and she’ll help me in my business. I’ll feed her, clothe her, and even send you something every month.”

Mama Nneka cri"ed in gratitude. She believed her sister-in-law was offering her daughter a better life.

Nneka had been excited. She had heard stories of Lagos; tall buildings, bright lights, and opportunities everywhere

“My daughter,” she said, holding Nneka’s face in her palms the morning she left, “you’re the light of this family. Go and make us proud. Learn work, help your aunty, and remember to pray every night.”

In her mother’s mind, sending Nneka away was an act of love; a sac"rifice to give her child a chance at survival, education, and opportunity. She didn’t know she was sending her into the arms of a mon"ster.

The first week, she washed plates and served pepper soup. The second week, she began to notice how her aunt treated the other girls; ha"rsh words, sl"aps, ins"ults. She saw one girl thrown out for refusing to “attend to” a customer.

Then she asked Adaeze, another sales girl there, " But why would she refused to attend to a customer? isn't that what she is here to do?

Adaeze looked at her really hard and shook her head in pity "Don't worry Nneka, very soon you will know what it means to attend to a customer, then you will know why she refused"

Nneka was shocked, she couldn't understand it, but Adaeze wasn't willing to explain further for some reasons. And she was about to find out very soon.

As Rhoda watched on, her la"shes grew slower, and heavier. Finally, Madam Chinyere dropped the belt, breathing ha"rd.

“You think you can come here and eat free food, and still steal my money eh ? You’ll pay me back that money tonight! Dress up; you’re going to work!”

She threw some clothes at her; a tight red dress and high heels.

Nneka clutched them with trembling hands, still crying.

“Aunty, I don't use to wear this kind of clothes oh, and which work do you want me to do? I've been working since morning aunty, please, I didn’t steal anything…”

"You have so much guts asking me that question, look at this br"at! I say get dressed" She barked.

Aunty please..... Nneka begged harder.

But Chinyere wasn’t listening. She had already stormed out, her perfume and an"ger filling the small room.

Rhoda though an"gry, quietly shut her window so she wouldn't be noticed.

Nneka cried as the wore the clothes with many unanswered questions going through her mind

But what she didn't know was, what will happen that night would change her world forever!...

TO BE CONTINUED!....

MADAM C EPISODE 1

Written by Esther's stories f0ll0w for more insightful stories.

05/11/2025

WHISPERS OF THE CRIMSON MOON

EPISODE 1 — The Night Everything Changed

The night the sky turned red over Haneul Valley, I realized my life was never truly mine.

That night didn’t begin with thunder or fire — it began with silence. The kind of silence that feels alive, like the mountains were holding their breath.

My name is Jiho. I was sixteen, just another boy in a quiet Korean mountain village. Or at least, that’s what I believed.

I had never known my parents. The only person I called family was Master Seon — a blind hermit who found me as a baby and raised me deep within the forest. To the villagers, he was a legend. To me, he was everything.

Every morning, before the sun broke through the mist, I trained by the waterfall behind our hut. That day was no different. The water crashed against the rocks as I practiced my sword forms — slow, precise, controlled.

But no matter how many times I swung, something inside me refused to stay calm.

“Too much noise in your heart,” Master Seon said as he approached, his white robes fluttering like clouds. “The sword listens to peace, not anger.”

I lowered my weapon and sighed. “Then maybe I’m not meant to hold one.”

The old man smiled faintly, his pale eyes turning toward the light. “Then perhaps the sword is meant to hold you.”

He always spoke in riddles. And though I often pretended not to care, I wanted to understand him more than anything.

As I rested beside the stream, a faint sound echoed through the valley — a falcon’s cry.

It swooped down, landing on Master Seon’s arm, carrying a scroll sealed with a crimson moon symbol. I had never seen that mark before, but something about it made my skin prickle.

Master Seon’s calm expression shifted as his fingers brushed the seal. “It’s time,” he whispered.

“Time for what?” I asked.

He turned to me, and for the first time, I saw fear in his eyes. “For the truth.”

He handed me the scroll. The paper was old, the writing faded, but one line stood out clearly:

“The last heir of the Crimson Moon still breathes.”

I looked up, confused. “Who is it talking about?”

“You,” Master Seon said softly.

I froze. “Me? That can’t be—”

“It is,” he interrupted. “You were born from a powerful clan, Jiho. A clan the Emperor feared. They called them traitors… and wiped them away. Only you survived.”

The wind howled through the valley, carrying whispers that almost sounded like voices.

I wanted to ask more, but before I could, the ground shook. The birds fled from the trees.

Then came the footsteps.

Dozens of them.

Dark figures emerged from the mist — cloaked, armed, moving like shadows. Their leader stepped forward, his face hidden behind a mask shaped like a wolf.

“Hand over the boy,” the masked man said. “By royal order, the bloodline of the Crimson Moon must not exist.”

My heart pounded. “Master… who are they?”

“Hunters,” he said quietly. “Run, Jiho. Now.”

“I can fight—”

“You don’t yet know what you carry,” he snapped. “Go east. Find the girl with the silver ribbon. She carries your fate.”

Before I could argue, the first attacker charged. Master Seon’s staff spun through the air with graceful precision. Sparks flew as he blocked strike after strike, moving like the wind itself.

But there were too many of them.

“Go!” he shouted again.

I hesitated for only a moment — and that moment changed everything.

One of the masked men broke through Seon’s defense and swung his blade toward me. I barely raised my wooden sword in time. The impact threw me backward, knocking the breath from my chest.

When my hand hit the ground, the pendant around my neck began to glow — a half-moon shaped charm Master Seon had given me years ago.

The air shifted. The waterfall behind me froze mid-flow, droplets hanging in the air like glass. Even the attackers paused, their eyes wide.

Then, for a split second, I heard something — a soft, distant whisper carried by the wind.

“Wake up… Crimson Child.”

A blinding light burst from the pendant, throwing everyone off their feet. When the glow faded, the entire valley was still again.

I sat up slowly, trembling. The attackers were gone. The forest was quiet.

“Master?” I called out.

No answer.

Smoke drifted in the distance where our hut once stood. My chest tightened. The air smelled of ash and sorrow.

And beneath the silence… I thought I heard it again — a faint whisper from the mountains, almost like a voice I had always known but never heard.

“Find the girl… before the moon turns crimson again.”

I stood, clutching the glowing pendant in my hand, my heart heavy but burning with something new — determination.

That night, I left everything I knew behind.
That night, the boy from Haneul Valley disappeared…
And the last heir of the Crimson Moon began his journey.

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03/11/2025

I Will Never Forgive You
By Mgbeodichinma Catherine Nduka STARS
Episode 2

Mimi could not believe what she saw. The shock paralised her.

“My sister and my husband are making love.” She said as she cleaned her eyes as if she wanted to see well.

Mimi’s scream of pain was trapped in her chest. She stood at the bathroom door, her eyes fixed on the terrible sight. Her own sister and her husband were right there enjoying themselves.

The shock turned into a hot, blinding rage that made her whole body shake. She did not speak; she just rushed forward. She grabbed Bridget's arm and pulled her with a sudden, wild strength. Bridget, who was u-n-covered and stunned, tumbled out of the bathroom and landed hard on the floor of the hallway. Sylvester shouted Mimi’s name, but she did not hear him. Her mind was gone, replaced by pure, vi0lent anger.

“Mimi stop! We were not doing anything.” Sylvester said, but it was a lie.

Mimi stared down at Bridget, her new marriage now feeling like a cage of betrayal.

"How could you! My own sister!" Mimi shouted. "You are a sn@ke! You waited for my wedding day to do this evil thing!" Mimi said. Bridget scrambled to cover herself, tears already pouring down from her eyes. She was weeping loudly, shaking her head.

"Mimi, please! Forgive me! I am begging you. It was a mistake. I do not know what happened," Bridget cried out. But Mimi was beyond listening to any words. She felt a burning need to h.urt her sister the way she herself was being hurt.

Mimi kicked out, hitting Bridget's leg, and then pulled her up by her hair.

"A mistake? You told him to make love to you! I’m sure you invited him into the restroom!" Mimi yelled with a strong voice. She began to be@t Bridget with her fists, hitting her arms and back. Bridget was screaming, trying to block the blows, but Mimi's strength was shocking.

“ I am going to el!minate her, I am going to finish this traitor!” Mimi shouted. Sylvester finally grabbed Mimi, trying to pull her away.

"Stop it, Mimi! Stop! You are going to hurt her!" he pleaded.

Mimi fought him off with a powerful push. "Do not touch me, Sylvester! You are just as bad! I hate both of you!" she screamed. She continued to beat Bridget, who had collapsed on the floor.

"I trusted you! You were my chief bridesmaid! You said you would stand by me! This is how you stand by me?" She said. Mimi dragged Bridget across the floor by her arm. They moved out of the hallway and into the living room and kitchen area.

The fight was messy and loud. They knocked over a small standing lamp in the living room. Mimi pushed Bridget with all her might. Bridget stumbled and fell, hitting the edge of the kitchen counter near the sink. A sharp, loud thud echoed in the room.

Mimi saw the kn.ives in the wooden block by the sink. A dangerous thought flashed through her mind. This is the only way to stop the pain. Mimi walked over, grabbed the largest, sharpest kitchen k.n.ife, and turned to face her sister, who was trying to stand up, dazed and terrified.

Bridget looked at the k.ni.fe in Mimi’s hand and screamed in fear.

"No! Mimi, please! Do not do it!" she begged tearfully. But Mimi was too far gone. She saw the betrayal, the shame, and the ruined marriage, not her sister. With a fierce cry of pure agony, Mimi rushed forward and plunged the k.ni.fe into Bridget’s stomach. There was b.lo.0d everywhere. Bridget shouted in pain.

Bl,o,0d immediately began to soak through Bridget’s hands and drip onto the white floor. She staggered backward in shock.

"You [email protected] me," she said, the words barely audible. Mimi stood there, breathing hard, the k.n.ife dropping from her numb fingers and clattering to the floor. Sylvester rushed to hold the ble.eding wound, screaming for help. But Bridget pushed past him and began to stumble toward the front door, weak and losing control of her legs. She was scared and desperate.

Bridget managed to yank the front door open and fell out onto the dark street. She held her belly, the blo.0d now gushing and staining her. She could not breathe properly, and her vision was dark.

“ I have to leave. I must get help”, she thought. She saw a taxi driving past. She stumbled into the road, waving a frantically. The taxi screeched to a halt. The driver was shocked, but she managed to whisper, "Hospital. Take me to the hospital, please."

The taxi driver rushed her toward the nearest hospital. When they reached the emergency entrance, Bridget tried to open the door, but her strength was completely gone. She fell out of the car and collapsed onto the pavement right in front of the brightly lit hospital sign. Nurses rushed out immediately, seeing the woman in a blo.0d. They lifted her quickly onto a stretcher. She was completely still, her eyes closed, unconscious from the shock and the heavy bl0od loss. They wheeled her fast through the emergency doors, toward the hospital ward.
To be continued

01/11/2025

My Father-in-law is a Native Doctor
By Mgbeodichinma Catherine Nduka STARS
Episode 1

That night was supposed to be the happiest night of my life. My wedding day had ended beautifully, and I felt like the most blessed woman in the world. I had finally married the man of my dreams—Mike. Everyone in church called us the perfect couple. We took so many pictures, danced till evening, and when we finally got to our hotel room, my heart started beating fast. It was our wedding night. Our first night together as husband and wife. I had kept myself pure for this night, and I was ready for my husband.

After we entered the room, Mike looked tired but happy. He k.issed my forehead and said softly, “My wife, finally, we are one.” His voice made me blush. I quickly entered the bathroom, took my bath, and wore a light nightgown that I had bought just for that moment. It was white and beautiful. I looked at myself in the mirror and smiled. “This is the night I will never forget,” I said to myself. My body was shaking with excitement as I lay on the bed waiting.

I kept imagining how it would feel. I couldn’t wait to be to.uc.hed by him. I had prayed for this moment and believed it would be magical. I even smiled when I heard him in the bathroom humming a song. My heart beat faster. I said, “God, thank you. I have waited for this day.” I closed my eyes and imagined him whispering my name. I was shy but ready. I had read that the first time might be exciting, but I was willing for it. I just wanted to be his wife completely.

Mike came out of the bathroom with only his towel. His chest was broad, his skin glowed, and I could tell he was excited too. I noticed something else—his cassava was ready. I felt shy and turned my face away, but I smiled secretly. He came close to me, dropped the towel, and held me deeply. My whole body melted under his tou.ch. I said softly, “I love you, Mike.” He replied, “I love you more, Adanne.” Then he laid beside me.

But suddenly, everything changed. As he was about to visit the restricted area, he paused. His breathing changed. His hand froze. I noticed his cassava had gone flat. Just like that. He looked confused and tried to touch himself again, but nothing happened. I sat up immediately. “Mike, what is it?” I asked. He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said with shame written all over his face. “The cassava was standing before I came to the bed.” I looked at him with shock. I didn’t know what to say. My heart sank.

“Are you sick?” I asked. “Why is your cassava not doing its job?” He looked away and said, “I don’t understand. I’ve never had this problem before.” His voice was shaky. I could see he was embarrassed. I tried to calm him down, but I was already feeling cold inside. “So, this is how our first night will end?” I asked quietly. He rubbed his face with his hands and said, “Please, give me a few minutes. Maybe it will wake up again.” He lay beside me and kept trying, but nothing happened.

I turned my face to the wall. My excitement was gone. My mind started running wild. “Is this a sign?” I asked myself. “Did I make a mistake marrying him?” I couldn’t stop thinking. I loved Mike so much, but that night felt like a bad dream. “Hmmm,” I sighed. “Is this what I will suffer for the rest of my life?” He heard me and said, “Please, don’t talk like that. Let me rest a bit. I promise I will make it up to you tomorrow.” I said nothing. I just lay quietly.

Minutes passed. Then hours. Mike fell asleep beside me. I could hear his soft snoring. I just stared at the ceiling, thinking about my life. “So this is how my wedding night will end,” I said silently. I felt tears in my eyes. My friends would expect me to tell them how wonderful it was, but how could I explain that my husband couldn’t even do it? I turned my face into the pillow and cried quietly. I didn’t want him to wake up and see me crying. It was too painful.

That night, I prayed silently. “God, please help my husband,” I said. “This cannot be ordinary.” I kept wondering what could have caused it. He looked healthy and strong all through the day. Why now? Why tonight? I felt a strange fear in my heart that I couldn’t explain. Something didn’t feel right, but I brushed it aside. I told myself maybe it was just stress from the wedding. Still, the pain refused to go away. I finally fell asleep with sadness, not knowing that this was just the beginning of my troubles.

To be continued...

01/11/2025

❤️WHEN OUR EYES MET❤️
Episode 1 — “The New Girl in Class”

The rain had just stopped when Maya walked into Royal Crest High School for the first time. Her uniform was a little too big, her hair still damp, and her brown eyes carried the weight of someone who had seen too much for her age. The hallway buzzed with laughter and chatter, but to her, it all felt like a blur — another new school, another chance to start over.

She kept her head low as she walked past rows of lockers, clutching her bag tightly. Her family had just moved from Lagos to Abuja after her father’s transfer. Everything here felt colder — the air, the faces, even the smiles. She told herself she didn’t care. She wasn’t here to make friends. She was here to survive senior year and disappear quietly.

Then it happened.

As she turned the corner toward her new classroom, she bumped into someone — hard. Her books fell, scattering across the tiled floor. “I’m so sorry,” she mumbled, bending down to pick them up.

“It’s fine,” came a calm, deep voice.

When she looked up, her breath caught. Standing before her was Ethan, the school’s most admired boy — class prefect, basketball captain, and effortlessly charming. He had that smile people only see once and never forget. For a moment, their eyes locked, and something inside her chest fluttered — quick and unfamiliar.

“You must be the new girl,” he said, handing her a book. “Maya, right? I heard Mr. Okoro mention your name.”

She nodded, still unsure what to say. He smiled again, and she could swear her heart skipped a beat.

“Welcome to Royal Crest,” he continued, walking beside her toward the classroom. “Don’t worry, it’s not as scary as it looks. Well… unless you meet Tola — she bites.”

Maya laughed softly. It was the first time she had laughed in weeks.

Inside the classroom, whispers followed her as she took a seat by the window. Ethan sat two rows away, occasionally glancing back with a smile that made her look away quickly. But every time she did, she caught herself smiling too.

By lunch, she found a quiet spot under the mango tree behind the art room — her new hiding place. She opened her sketchbook and started to draw, trying to calm her racing heart. But halfway through her sketch, a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Mind if I sit here?” Ethan’s voice carried warmth.

Maya froze for a second, then nodded shyly. He sat beside her, close enough that she could smell the faint scent of his cologne — something fresh, like rain.

“You draw?” he asked, peeking at her sketchbook.

“A little,” she replied.

“That’s beautiful,” he said softly, and for the first time since she arrived, Maya felt seen.

As the school bell rang again, Ethan stood, smiling down at her. “See you around, artist.”

And just like that, when their eyes met one last time, something began — something neither of them understood yet, but both could feel.

I pray God touches your kind heart to follow me 👉 Author Ovie

Nicodemus ondieki

17/11/2025

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