Chapter 7: Luxury and Karma

To stay for our big house na real enjoyment.

Marble floor dey shine, AC dey blow 24/7. House help dey sweep, chef dey cook. My only job na to wake up, look fine.

No more waking early to buy food and cook three times a day, no more wash cloth by myself.

My manicure dey last, my skin dey glow. My mind begin heal. I dey play gospel music for morning, take am worship.

My account balance get plenty zeros, rent and bills no dey worry me again.

Every alert sweet like morning tea. No need to dey calculate change or borrow data.

My mama even set up study for me.

I get private office, bookshelf reach sky, soft rug for leg. She say make I chase my real dream, no be hustle for survival.

Bookshelf reach ceiling, correct computer—anything I need dey there.

I even get new iPad, new stylus. My study dey face garden, breeze dey blow jasmine for window.

Every morning, I fit relax for window, do yoga, do beauty routine, chop better lunch.

Chef dey fry plantain with gizzard, aroma full the house. Steward dey set Maltina with chilled glass. Chef dey make smoothie, house help dey set table. Sometimes, I go just dey window dey count birds.

Afternoon, na shopping, afternoon tea, horse riding, yoga, golf.

My mama drag me go spa, go Polo Club. Sometimes, we go just stroll for Maitama, dey gist like old friends.

Night, glass of red wine, soak for big bathtub, sound engineer wey my mama hire to help me sleep well.

She even buy white noise machine. I dey sleep for eight hours, dream dey sweet. My skin dey glow, my mind dey fresh.

My body and mind never good like this before—I don turn new person.

I dey smile for mirror, dey take selfie, dey appreciate my own journey.

Meanwhile, as Amarachi dey dodge update, people for online begin para.

Fans dey do thread, dey demand update. Some dey form investigation squad, dey dig old posts.

Dem start to ask:

[Amarachi sabi write at all?]

[Maybe wetin Ifeoma talk na true?]

[Why she stop update when book dey hot? She no get sense of duty.]

[She dey play us? Make dem refund us now!]

Even fan page dey argue, dey drag editor. Na so online wahala dey start.

Amarachi sef dey panic, dey log Facebook every minute.

She dey check every comment, dey delete insults, dey reply with emoji. Her hand dey shake, screenshot dey fly.

I know her well. She fine, men dey spoil her, but talent, e no dey.

I remember when we dey write together, na me dey teach her how to arrange plot. She only sabi snap picture, no fit arrange paragraph.

For her, to write even small paragraph na wahala.

She dey call Tunde, dey beg for idea. But e no dey flow.

Besides, the book na my real life—my old crush for senior guy that year.

The story sweet because na my true feeling. Amarachi no fit copy heartbreak wey she never feel.

Even if Tunde sabi me well, he fit only give her small gist here and there.

Na gist, no be emotion. She go dey ask Tunde, 'wetin Ifeoma like?' Tunde no fit remember.

So, as pressure dey, Amarachi force herself write one chapter with Tunde help.

She try write, "Baby, I love you pass jollof rice," but even her fans dey laugh. She try, but grammar scatter, dialogue dry. Fans begin drag her for comment.

But people no like am, dem insult her until she delete am sharp sharp.

Na so dem call am scam. She rush delete, block comment, off notification.

She come dey form victim for Facebook, talk say she sick, need surgery, say she really no fit continue.

She post IV drip picture, fans dey pray. Even her bestie dey cry for Instagram story.

But she still promise say she go bring better story for the upcoming fan meet.

She drop one flyer, say 'Better gist dey come.' But everybody just dey wait make she fall hand.

That day, as I dey for Polo Avenue dey check bag wey go match my new cloth, my old editor Kamsi message me:

I dey try choose between Fendi and Prada, when my phone vibrate. Kamsi message shock me.

[Ifeoma, I see your IP for Abuja, I dey here too. Make we yarn. Maybe I misunderstand you.]

I read am, my hand dey shake. Wetin she wan talk again? My heart dey jump.

My heart skip one beat.

I hold phone for hand, dey look mirror. My reflection smile, but my mind dey race.