Chapter 6: The Flower Hairpin Party

On the day of the flower hairpin party, I wore hibiscus-red buba—na that top Auwalu like—my mind sweet as I dey expect to see am.

I spent extra time on my gele, making sure every fold sat just right. I dusted powder on my face, dabbed perfume behind my ears—let today be my day, abeg.

My sister look me, curious. “Sister, why you dey smile like mumu?”

She laughed, the sound as bright as the morning sun. "See your teeth outside! Na man dey make you happy so?"

I pressed my lips. “You no go understand.”

I winked, hiding my excitement behind pretend annoyance.

When we reach the royal back garden, hibiscus and frangipani just dey bloom everywhere.

The scent was thick, the flowers dazzling in the sunlight. Palm wine dey flow, jollof rice aroma fill the air, small children dey chase each other near the musicians. Trays of puff-puff and moi-moi passed around by maids in crisp uniforms.

Young ladies from different families dey gather, dey gist.

Their laughter rose and fell like music, silks rustling, beads clinking. Some were painting their nails, others whispering about who would catch the prince’s eye.

My sister held my sleeve, nervous. “Sister.”

Her grip was tight, her voice barely above a whisper. I squeezed her hand back, letting her know I was there.

I held her hand. “Wetin you dey fear? Nobody go chop you.”

She nodded, swallowing hard. I flashed her a reassuring smile, determined to be her shield today.

I look around, no see Auwalu, my mood drop small.

I scanned every corner—no sign of him. My heart began to sink, hope flickering like candle in wind.

Today’s flower hairpin party just free, no be the usual stiff one.

People moved with ease, elders chatting with the young, even the guards laughing and clapping along to the music.

Dem talk say na the queen arrange this selection party for Crown Prince Auwalu.

Everybody knew it was more than just fun—it was matchmaking in disguise. Some aunties eyed me, muttering prayers for their daughters under their breath.

Suddenly, one mocking laugh scatter my thought.

It rang out sharp, like a pot cracking. Heads turned, tension filled the air.

“Who be this foolish girl wey dey try copy Mama Ngozi’s frown? Abi na so dem dey do for Agege?”

A girl with skin like fresh breadfruit and a voice as sharp as razor. I felt her gaze like a slap.

I turned. Next to the speaker, another young lady stand, also wear hibiscus-red buba.

She was tall, regal, her posture straight as iroko tree. There was no mistaking who she was.

She look me.

Her eyes met mine, dark and unreadable, lips curved in a sly smile.

My smile freeze for my face.

My cheeks burned, and for a moment, I wished the ground would open and swallow me.

Na the future queen—Halima Jinadu.

Her presence drew attention, like the first daughter at a naming ceremony. People whispered, pointing discreetly.

For my last life, both of us no attend this party.

Back then, fate kept us apart. But now, the gods had new plans, it seemed.

But now, not only she dey, she even wear the same colour Auwalu like—just like me.

Her buba shimmered in the sun, the same shade of red that always made Auwalu smile. My heart thudded painfully.

My hand grip tight.

I clenched my fingers so hard my nails left little moons in my palm.

Halima Jinadu smiled and nodded at me.

Her nod was small, almost mocking, eyes glinting with challenge.

But my mind dey race—she too don come back to life?

A sudden chill crept down my spine. Was she like me, holding secrets from another lifetime?

People begin notice say Halima Jinadu and me wear the same colour top.

The whispering grew louder, eyes flicking between us. I felt naked, exposed, my confidence crumbling.

Sarcastic talk reach my ear.

Voices hissed behind fans and handkerchiefs, full of fake concern.

“Miss Halima too fine for that colour—elegant and calm. Unlike Miss Ronke, wey just wan stand out.”

Their words stung like pepper. I forced a smile, pretending not to hear.

“True talk. But this Miss Ronke just dey do like market woman wey dey find attention.”

Laughter rippled through the group. I wished I could disappear, just for a moment.

Hibiscus-red no ever fit me, now I just dey look like person wey dey do performance for people to laugh.

The colour felt too loud, drawing all the wrong attention. My heart pounded, panic rising.

Shame just catch me.

My cheeks flamed, my eyes pricked with unshed tears. I bit my lip, willing myself not to cry.

My sister quickly pour zobo for my skirt.

She acted fast, her small hands spilling the drink. "Ah! See wetin I do! Aunty, sorry, oh!"

“Sister, your dress don wet. Make we go change.”

She whispered urgently, grabbing my elbow, steering me away from the prying eyes.

Face white, I followed the palace maid to a side hall and changed to something better for me.

The maid bustled about, laying out a soft blue wrapper, tying my gele anew. "Aunty, you fine like river goddess," she said, hoping to cheer me up.

For the bronze mirror, I see myself tidy again.

I took a deep breath, smoothing my skirt. My confidence returned, piece by piece.

Auwalu once talk say na my eyes he like pass—the way the corner dey turn up, clear and sharp.

His words echoed in my mind, steadying me. I smiled, hoping today might still turn around.