Aken’s vision blurred with rage. “Enough,” he shouted, standing up so quickly his chair nearly fell over. “Leave her alone.” The room went silent. Nandy slowly turned, still holding the scissors, her gaze shifting to Aken, a smirk twisting on her face. “Oh? What?” she taunted, waving the scissors in his direction. “You think you can do something about it?”
Without thinking, Aken stormed forward, determined to take those scissors from her. His hands shot out, grabbing for the silver blades, but Nandy pulled back, laughing as she dodged him, holding the scissors out like a weapon. She swung the scissors toward him, and in the struggle the sharp edge grazed his hand, a thin line of red appearing on his skin. But he did not care. He was tired of the fear. Tired of the silence. He managed to grab the scissors, yanking them from her grip and tossing them onto the floor, his chest heaving.
At that moment, the door opened and Mrs. Obiajulu, their literature teacher, walked in. She stopped, looking between Aken and Nandy, who was breathing hard, glaring at him with fury. Adana, meanwhile, was sitting slumped in the corner, her face hidden as she wiped her tears and pulled a hoodie over her head to cover the uneven tufts of hair. Mrs. Obiajulu stood still, her face unreadable. But after a brief pause, she simply walked to the front of the room, placing her books on the desk. “Everyone settle down. Let’s begin today’s lesson.”
A tense silence fell over the class. Students took out their textbooks. Aken’s pulse raced as he stared at her, his face twisted in confusion and anger. He raised his hand slowly, his voice respectful but firm. “Ma, how can you just ignore this? You saw what she did to my sister.” Mrs. Obiajulu’s gaze remained fixed on her open book. She took a deep breath, then glanced at Aken with a cold, almost warning look. “Aken, sit down. This is not the time for disruptions. Let’s continue with the lesson.”