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zee's library, ELEWI-ODO, Ibadan (2026)

08/05/2026

GOLDEN SKIES
By Abdulazeez Zeenah Olayemi
Chapter Seventeen: The Things We Almost Do
The silence Safiyyah carried home that day was different from the others. It was not defensive or angry. It was wounded. Quiet in a way that made even the house feel unfamiliar around her. She answered questions with nods, avoided unnecessary conversations, and stayed longer than usual in front of the mirror that evening, not because she cared about her reflection, but because she was trying to understand the person looking back at her.
She knew what they had done.
Not completely, perhaps, but enough.
The glances.
The awkwardness.
The watching.
And somehow, that hurt more than the jealousy itself.
Because it meant people had noticed.
Sakinah noticed the distance immediately. Safiyyah didn’t sit beside her during dinner. Didn’t complain about the food. Didn’t laugh at Aleem’s teasing when he called her “Professor of Noise.” She simply existed there, physically present but emotionally withdrawn, her mind elsewhere.
Aleem leaned back in his chair, studying her briefly. “Who offended you?”
“No one,” Safiyyah replied.
“That answer usually means someone.”
Haleemah glanced between them quietly but said nothing. She had returned home for a short break from Abuja two days earlier, and though she had only been around briefly, she was observant enough to sense the tension threading through the house.
Safiyyah pushed her food around her plate. “I’m tired.”
Aleem raised an eyebrow. “From school or from thinking?”
That almost earned him a reaction.
Almost.
Later that night, rain began to fall softly against the windows, turning the house quieter than usual. Sakinah sat on her bed with a book open in front of her, though she hadn’t read the same page for nearly ten minutes. Safiyyah was by the window, staring out at the blurred lights outside.
Finally, Sakinah spoke.
“I’m sorry.”
The words came gently, without excuse attached to them.
Safiyyah didn’t turn immediately. “For what?”
Sakinah hesitated. “For today.”
A bitter smile touched Safiyyah’s lips briefly. “So it was planned.”
That sentence settled heavily between them.
Sakinah closed her book slowly. “It wasn’t supposed to go that far.”
“But it did.”
The rain deepened outside.
Safiyyah folded her arms tightly, as though holding herself together. “Do you know what the worst part is?” she asked quietly.
Sakinah waited.
“I can’t even be angry properly,” Safiyyah admitted. “Because I don’t know what exactly I’m angry about.”
That honesty hurt more than accusation.
Sakinah stood and walked closer. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
Safiyyah laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. “That’s easy for you to say.”
“What does that mean?”
Safiyyah finally turned then, her expression tired in a way Sakinah had never really seen before. “You always look so calm. So sure of yourself. Even when things hurt you, you somehow stay steady.” She swallowed lightly. “I don’t know how to do that.”
Sakinah looked at her quietly. “You think I’m steady because I don’t feel things deeply?”
“No,” Safiyyah said immediately. “I think you know how to hide it better.”
That stayed in the room for a long moment.
Because part of it was true.
At school the next day, the atmosphere felt strangely fragile. Safiyyah avoided looking toward Abdulhamid entirely now, which only made her more aware of him. Every time his voice entered the room, her attention betrayed her before she could stop it. Every accidental glance felt dangerous, as though someone would notice and finally say aloud what she herself was trying not to name.
Nabeelah attempted an apology during break.
“I really thought it would just be funny.”
Safiyyah looked at her for a moment, then sighed softly. “It was funny.”
Nabeelah blinked. “Then why do you look like someone wrote your obituary?”
Lateefah choked on her drink laughing while Maimunah covered her face briefly.
Even Safiyyah smiled.
Small. Brief. But real.
And for a second, things almost felt normal again.
Then Zainab arrived.
She sat beside them casually, greeting everyone with her usual composed ease. But her eyes lingered on Safiyyah just slightly longer than necessary.
“You left quickly yesterday,” she said lightly.
Safiyyah shrugged. “I wasn’t feeling well.”
“Hm.”
Just one sound.
Yet something about it felt knowing.
Zainab leaned back slightly. “You know,” she said, almost casually, “sometimes people reveal themselves when they think they’re hiding.”
Silence followed.
Not obvious silence.
Careful silence.
Safiyyah’s fingers tightened slightly around her bottle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Zainab smiled faintly. “Nothing serious.”
But the damage had already been done.
The rest of the day passed strangely after that. Safiyyah became hyperaware of herself, of where she looked, how she reacted, what her face revealed without permission. By the final period, exhaustion sat heavily in her chest.
And then came the moment she would regret later.
Not because it was terrible.
But because temptation rarely looks dangerous while it is happening.
School had ended. Most students were gone. The corridors were quieter now, filled only with fading footsteps and distant voices. Safiyyah had stayed behind to collect a notebook she forgot in class.
When she entered, she thought she was alone.
She wasn’t.
Abdulhamid was there too, arranging books near his desk.
For a second, both of them paused.
Then he nodded politely. “You came back?”
“Yes,” she replied quickly. “I forgot something.”
The classroom felt strangely smaller than usual.
Too quiet.
She moved toward her desk, aware of every sound—the scrape of a chair, the rustle of paper, even her own breathing. She found the notebook quickly, but for some reason, she didn’t leave immediately.
Neither did he.
“You’ve been quiet lately,” Abdulhamid said suddenly.
Her heart stumbled once.
She looked up. “Have I?”
He nodded slightly. “That’s unusual for you.”
There was no accusation in his tone. Only observation.
And somehow, that made it harder.
Safiyyah should have laughed it off.
Should have made a joke.
Should have walked away.
Instead, she asked quietly, “Do you notice everyone this much?”
The question surprised even her.
Abdulhamid looked at her for a moment longer than usual. “Not everyone.”
Silence.
Dangerous silence.
Something shifted then.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
A line neither of them fully understood standing suddenly very close beneath their feet.
Safiyyah felt it immediately. The temptation to stay in that moment. To ask more questions. To hear answers she was not ready for. For one frightening second, she wanted to know what he meant.
But some instincts arrive just in time.
She stepped back first.
“I should go,” she said quickly.
Abdulhamid nodded once. “Alright.”
And just like that, the moment ended.
But not completely.
Because moments like that never disappear immediately.
They linger.
They replay.
They become memories before people are ready for them to.
That night, Safiyyah lay awake longer than usual, staring into darkness while regret settled slowly beside her.
Not because something happened.
But because something almost did.
And somehow—
That felt worse.
Outside, the sky stretched endlessly above the sleeping city, hidden now behind clouds and rain, its gold unseen but still present somewhere beyond the darkness.
Waiting.
Always waiting.
For them to understand that the most dangerous moments in life are rarely the loud ones.
Sometimes—
They are simply the quiet moments where a person almost crosses a line they never thought they would approach.

01/05/2026

GOLDEN SKIES
By Abdulazeez Zeenah Olayemi
Chapter Sixteen: A Plan That Should Never Have Been Planned
It started as a joke.
That was how all bad ideas began.
Sakinah was not the type to plan things like this. She preferred silence, observation, understanding. But after watching Safiyyah for days—her awkwardness, her denial, her very obvious “nothing is going on”—something in her shifted.
Not mischief.
Just… curiosity.
“You’ve noticed it too, right?” Nabeelah whispered during break, leaning across the desk.
Sakinah didn’t answer immediately.
Then, quietly, “Yes.”
Nabeelah’s eyes lit up. “Good. Because I have an idea.”
Sakinah already knew it would be a bad one.
“What kind of idea?” she asked carefully.
Nabeelah grinned. “A simple test.”
“No,” Sakinah said immediately.
“Yes,” Nabeelah replied.
Lateefah leaned in. “If it involves trouble, I’m already interested.”
Maimunah sighed. “I don’t like where this is going.”
“It’s not trouble,” Nabeelah said confidently. “It’s investigation.”
“That is exactly trouble,” Maimunah replied.
Sakinah hesitated.
She knew she shouldn’t.
She really knew.
But then she remembered Safiyyah calling “Abdulha—” in class.
And for a brief second—
She almost smiled.
“What’s the plan?” she asked quietly.
Nabeelah clapped once. “Good. So this is what we’ll do.”
The plan was simple.
Too simple.
Suspiciously simple.
They would “accidentally” create a situation where Abdulhamid and another girl—Zainab—would appear close.
Not actually close.
Just… close enough.
To see Safiyyah’s reaction.
Sakinah paused.
“That’s risky.”
Nabeelah waved it off. “It’s harmless.”
Maimunah shook her head. “Nothing is ever harmless with you people.”
Lateefah smiled. “Let’s do it.”
And just like that—
The plan was approved.
Step one happened faster than expected.
During group work, Nabeelah casually called out, “Zainab, come and check this with Abdulhamid, you’re both good at this topic.”
Zainab looked up.
Slightly surprised.
But she stood.
Walked over.
Sat.
Everything was normal.
Too normal.
Until Nabeelah whispered, “Now we watch.”
Safiyyah didn’t notice at first.
She was talking.
Laughing.
Being her usual self.
Then she glanced up.
And saw them.
Zainab leaning slightly toward Abdulhamid.
Both looking at the same page.
Talking quietly.
Focused.
Calm.
Safiyyah stopped mid-sentence.
“…and then I said—”
She paused.
Nabeelah held her breath.
Lateefah’s eyes widened.
Maimunah closed her eyes briefly like she was praying.
Safiyyah blinked once.
Then twice.
“Oh,” she said.
Just that.
Oh.
Too calm.
Way too calm.
“I’m going to get water,” she added casually.
And stood up.
“She’s not okay,” Nabeelah whispered.
“She’s not okay at all,” Lateefah replied.
Sakinah frowned slightly.
Something felt off.
“Should we stop?” she asked.
Nabeelah shook her head. “No, let’s observe.”
Mistake.
Because what they didn’t expect—
Was Zainab.
Zainab noticed everything.
The glances.
The whispers.
The attention.
And unlike them—
She understood immediately.
She leaned back slightly, then said something to Abdulhamid.
He nodded.
Then she laughed softly.
Not loudly.
Not obviously.
But enough.
Across the room—
Safiyyah saw it.
This time, she didn’t freeze.
She didn’t pause.
She didn’t laugh it off.
She just… went quiet.
Completely quiet.
And that was when Sakinah knew—
They had made a mistake.
A big one.
Because this was no longer curiosity.
It was interference.
Safiyyah didn’t come back immediately.
When she did, she didn’t look at anyone.
Not Nabeelah.
Not Sakinah.
Not even her friends.
She just sat down.
Opened her book.
And said nothing.
Even Lateefah didn’t joke.
Even Nabeelah didn’t speak.
Even Maimunah looked worried.
The bell rang.
Class ended.
Students left.
Safiyyah stood up.
Picked her bag.
And walked out—
Without waiting.
“Saffiyah,” Sakinah called.
She didn’t stop.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Real.
Nabeelah exhaled slowly. “Okay… maybe that was not harmless.”
Maimunah looked at her. “You think?”
Lateefah shook her head. “We’ve done it.”
Sakinah didn’t say anything.
She just stared at the door.
Because for the first time—
She felt it clearly.
This wasn’t just about a crush anymore.
It was about trust.
And they had just broken something they didn’t fully understand.
That evening, the sky turned gold again.
But this time—
No one stopped to look.
Because something had shifted.
Not softly.
Not slowly.
But all at once.
And somewhere beneath that golden sky—
A line had been crossed.
And they couldn’t pretend anymore—
That it didn’t matter.

20/04/2026

GOLDEN SKIES
By Abdulazeez Zeenah Olayemi
Chapter Fifteen: Operation “Nothing Is Going On”
If anyone had asked Safiyyah that morning how she was feeling, she would have answered confidently, “Perfectly fine.”
And technically, she wasn’t lying.
She had made a decision the night before—clear, firm, and completely unrealistic.
She was going to act normal.
Very normal.
So normal that no one would even think anything was wrong.
By the time she entered the classroom, her energy had already doubled.
“Good morning everybody!” she announced loudly, dropping her bag with unnecessary confidence.
The class paused.
Nabeelah blinked. “Why are you shouting like you won election?”
Lateefah leaned back. “This one is suspicious.”
Maimunah didn’t say anything.
She just looked at her.
That look again.
“I’m just in a good mood,” Safiyyah said, smiling too quickly.
“Hmm,” Nabeelah said. “We will be watching you.”
Everything was going well.
Until Abdulhamid entered.
Safiyyah saw him.
Immediately looked away.
Then accidentally looked back.
Then quickly opened her notebook like someone who suddenly remembered ten assignments at once.
“Serious student,” Lateefah whispered.
“I said I’m just in a good mood,” Safiyyah muttered.
“Safiyyah.”
She froze.
That voice.
Why now?
She turned—calm, composed, completely pretending.
“Yes?”
Abdulhamid stood there, holding a notebook. “You borrowed this yesterday.”
“Oh. Yes. Thank you.”
She collected it.
Normal.
Very normal.
Then she dropped it.
The notebook fell. Her pen followed. Somehow, her ruler joined the situation as if it had been waiting for drama.
Nabeelah covered her mouth.
Lateefah turned away immediately.
Maimunah closed her eyes briefly.
“I’m fine,” Safiyyah said quickly, bending down.
At the exact same time—
Abdulhamid bent down too.
Their hands almost touched.
She pulled back like she touched electricity.
“I got it,” she said too fast.
He nodded slightly. “Okay.”
And stood up.
Calm.
As always.
Safiyyah sat down slowly.
Very slowly.
Then opened her book upside down.
“Ah-ah,” Nabeelah whispered. “You are reading like that now?”
Safiyyah flipped it immediately. “I was testing something.”
Lateefah nearly laughed out loud. “Testing your destiny?”
Across the room, Sakinah was watching.
Quietly.
Very quietly.
And for the first time in days—
She was trying not to smile.
During the lesson, things didn’t get better.
They got worse.
The teacher asked a question.
“Safiyyah?”
“Yes, ma.”
“Answer.”
She stood up confidently.
Started well.
Then somehow—
“Abdulha— I mean— the answer is—”
Silence.
The class froze.
Then—
Laughter.
Even the teacher adjusted her glasses. “Continue.”
Safiyyah cleared her throat. “Yes, ma. The answer is…”
She finished.
Correctly.
But the damage had been done.
Lateefah leaned over. “Abdul-what?”
“Keep quiet,” Safiyyah whispered fiercely.
Nabeelah was already shaking with silent laughter.
Maimunah just shook her head slowly.
Even Abdulhamid looked slightly confused.
Which made it worse.
Break time came.
Safiyyah stood up immediately.
“I’m going outside.”
“Running away?” Nabeelah asked.
“I’m not running.”
“You are running.”
“I am walking fast.”
She reached the corridor.
Took a deep breath.
“Normal,” she whispered to herself. “You are normal.”
Behind her—
“Saffiyah.”
She nearly jumped.
She turned slowly.
Sakinah.
Trying very hard not to laugh.
“You called him his name in class,” Sakinah said calmly.
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“It was a mistake.”
Sakinah nodded. “Of course.”
That tone.
That calm, knowing tone.
Safiyyah covered her face briefly. “Please don’t start.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re thinking it.”
Sakinah smiled slightly. “Maybe.”
For a moment, Safiyyah looked at her—
Then suddenly laughed.
A real laugh.
Not forced.
Not sharp.
Just… real.
“I’m actually embarrassing myself,” she admitted.
“Yes,” Sakinah said simply.
They both laughed.
And just like that—
The tension eased.
Not gone.
But lighter.
Back in class, Nabeelah announced, “Meeting of the Circle of Four: Safiyyah is behaving somehow.”
Lateefah raised her hand. “I support this motion.”
Maimunah nodded. “Strongly.”
Safiyyah sat down. “All of you should rest.”
“Confess,” Nabeelah said.
“Confess what?”
“Everything.”
“There is nothing.”
They all stared at her.
In silence.
“Okay fine,” she said quickly. “There is something.”
They leaned in.
Then she stood up again.
“I’m going to drink water.”
And walked away.
Lateefah sighed. “This one will stress us.”
Maimunah smiled slightly. “She’s already stressing herself.”
Across the class, Abdulhamid returned to his seat, unaware that he had just become the center of chaos he did not create.
That evening, the sky turned gold again.
But this time—
Safiyyah didn’t overthink it.
She just looked at it.
And smiled.
Because for once—
Everything felt a little less serious.
And maybe…
That was exactly what she needed.

18/04/2026

GOLDEN SKIES
By Abdulazeez Zeenah Olayemi
Chapter Fourteen: Between Truth and Timing
“I don’t know.”
The words stayed in the room long after Safiyyah said them. They were simple, almost fragile, but they carried more honesty than anything she had said in days. Sakinah did not rush to respond. She had learned, slowly, that not every moment needed to be filled. Some truths needed space to settle before they could be understood.
So she only nodded.
And that, somehow, made it easier.
That night was quieter than the ones before it. Not peaceful, not entirely, but softer. Safiyyah lay on her bed staring at the ceiling, her thoughts moving in circles that refused to close. For the first time, she wasn’t pushing them away. She let them come, one after the other, without trying to control them.
Abdulhamid’s voice.
The way he spoke.
The way he didn’t try to be anything more than he was.
She exhaled slowly.
“It’s just a feeling,” she whispered to herself.
But even that felt like too much to admit.
Across the room, Sakinah watched without appearing to. Haleemah’s words stayed with her—don’t force it. So she didn’t. She let Safiyyah sit in her thoughts, even when it was difficult to remain silent. There was a time she would have pushed, asked more questions, tried to understand everything immediately.
Now, she was learning patience.
The next day at school carried a strange kind of normalcy. Lessons continued, teachers explained, students responded. But beneath it, something had shifted again—not as tension this time, but as awareness.
Safiyyah noticed Abdulhamid before she realized she was looking. He was already seated, his notebook open, his attention fixed on something written in careful lines. There was nothing extraordinary about it. Yet, to her, it held attention longer than it should.
She looked away quickly.
But the awareness remained.
“Good morning,” Nabeelah said, sliding into her seat.
“Morning,” Safiyyah replied.
Lateefah leaned forward. “You look like you didn’t sleep.”
“I slept,” Safiyyah said.
Maimunah watched her for a second longer than the others. “Your mind didn’t.”
Safiyyah gave a small smile, not confirming, not denying.
Zainab arrived shortly after, her presence as composed as ever. She greeted them lightly, then took her seat, her eyes moving across the class in that quiet, observant way that had become part of her nature.
She noticed things.
Too many things.
During the lesson, the teacher asked a question that required explanation rather than recall. The class hesitated. Then Abdulhamid raised his hand, his voice steady as he answered, building his response step by step.
Safiyyah listened.
Not just to what he said—
But how he said it.
There was no rush. No need to impress. Just clarity.
And for a moment, she forgot to look away.
“Saffiyah?”
The teacher’s voice broke through.
She blinked.
“Yes, ma?”
“Do you agree with his explanation?”
The class turned slightly toward her.
She paused, just briefly.
Then, “Yes, ma… but I would add that…” she continued, her voice regaining its usual confidence as she expanded the answer.
The teacher nodded. “Good.”
The moment passed.
But something stayed.
After class, as students gathered their things, Safiyyah moved more carefully than usual, aware of movements she used to ignore. Abdulhamid stood a short distance away, speaking to another student, unaware of the attention he had drawn without trying.
Safiyyah almost left.
But then—
“Saffiyah.”
She turned.
Sakinah.
“Are you coming?” she asked.
Safiyyah nodded. “Yes.”
And together, they walked out.
Outside, the air felt lighter, but the thoughts did not disappear. They only became quieter, less urgent, as if waiting for the right moment to return.
Halfway to the gate, Safiyyah slowed slightly.
“Sakinah.”
“Yes?”
She hesitated.
Not because she didn’t want to speak—
But because she didn’t know how to begin.
“I think… something is wrong with me,” she said finally.
Sakinah didn’t react immediately.
“What do you mean?”
Safiyyah exhaled. “I don’t understand what I’m feeling.”
That was as close as she could get.
Sakinah looked at her—not with surprise, not with judgment, but with recognition.
“You don’t have to understand it immediately,” she said.
Safiyyah frowned slightly. “Then how do I deal with it?”
Sakinah thought for a moment.
“You don’t rush it,” she replied. “You let it become clear first.”
Safiyyah nodded slowly.
Not fully convinced.
But willing to try.
Behind them, unnoticed, Zainab watched from a distance.
She didn’t hear everything.
But she saw enough.
The closeness returning.
The honesty beginning.
And something in her mind began to take shape.
That evening, the sky stretched once again into gold, softer this time, almost gentle, as if it had nothing to prove.
Safiyyah stood by the window, her thoughts no longer fighting themselves, just… existing.
Sakinah stood beside her.
Not asking.
Not pushing.
Just there.
And for the first time in a while—
The silence between them did not feel like distance.
It felt like something rebuilding.
Above them, the golden sky remained unchanged, patient, steady, waiting for them to understand what it had always been showing—
That not everything bright is easy,
And not everything unclear is wrong.
And slowly—
They were beginning to see.

15/04/2026

GOLDEN SKIES
By Abdulazeez Zeenah Olayemi
Chapter Twelve: The Quietest Confession
Safiyyah did not plan it. If anything, she would have refused the idea entirely if it had been presented to her clearly. She would have laughed, dismissed it, called it unnecessary. But feelings like that do not arrive with permission, and they rarely introduce themselves in ways that can be easily rejected. They grow in unnoticed corners, in moments that seem too small to matter, until one day they are no longer small.
It was not sudden. It was accumulation.
The way Abdulhamid listened when others spoke, not just waiting for his turn, but actually listening. The way he explained things without making anyone feel less. The way he carried himself without trying to be seen, and yet was always noticed anyway. Safiyyah had seen all of it before, but now she was seeing it differently, as if something in her had adjusted its focus without telling her.
She became aware of him in ways she hadn’t been before. Not deliberately, not openly. Just… aware. When he entered the classroom, she noticed. When he answered questions, she paid attention. When he was absent, even for a short while, something felt slightly off, though she would never admit it.
And the worst part—
She didn’t understand why.
One afternoon, during a free period, the classroom was restless with scattered conversations and unfinished assignments. Safiyyah sat with Nabeelah, Lateefah, and Maimunah, half-listening, half-absent. Her gaze drifted, as it often did now, and landed on Abdulhamid.
He was explaining something to another student, his voice low, his expression calm. There was no performance in it, no need to impress. Just clarity.
Safiyyah watched a second longer than she intended.
Then looked away quickly.
“You’re doing it again,” Lateefah said, her tone playful but sharp enough to notice.
Safiyyah frowned. “Doing what?”
Nabeelah leaned forward slightly, a knowing smile forming. “Looking where your eyes should not be resting.”
Safiyyah rolled her eyes. “You people think too much.”
Maimunah didn’t smile. “Do we?”
That question stayed longer than the others.
Safiyyah straightened slightly. “It’s nothing,” she said again, more firmly this time.
And she meant it—
Or at least, she wanted to.
Later that day, something small happened, something no one else would remember. As the class ended, Safiyyah dropped her pen while gathering her books. It rolled slightly under the desk.
Before she could reach for it, someone else did.
Abdulhamid.
He picked it up and placed it on the table without looking directly at her. “You dropped this,” he said simply.
“Thanks,” she replied.
Two words.
Nothing more.
But for some reason, it lingered.
She didn’t look at him again. Not immediately. Not until he had already turned away.
And when she did—
It was too late.
That evening, she sat by herself longer than usual, her thoughts quieter but heavier. She replayed the moment—not because it meant anything significant, but because it stayed. That was what unsettled her. Not the action, but the memory of it.
It’s nothing, she told herself.
But her mind didn’t move on.
Across the room, Sakinah was reading, her presence calm, almost distant in a way that felt natural to her. Safiyyah watched her for a brief moment, then looked away again, something tightening slightly in her chest.
It would have been easier if Sakinah had been unaware, if everything had remained unchanged, if the balance between them had stayed intact. But now, everything felt connected in ways she didn’t know how to separate.
Her sister.
Her thoughts.
Him.
The realization came slowly.
Not in words.
Not in a clear sentence.
But in a feeling she could no longer ignore.
Safiyyah leaned back, closing her eyes briefly.
And for the first time—
She didn’t deny it.
It was quiet.
Unspoken.
Almost invisible.
But it was there.
Not loud enough to call love.
Not clear enough to define.
But strong enough to disturb her peace.
A silent crush.
And that was what made it dangerous.
Because it had no place to go.
No space to grow openly.
No words to release it.
So it stayed.
Inside her.
Unseen.
Unshared.
And somehow—
That made it stronger.
Outside, the sky stretched again into that familiar gold, calm and distant, untouched by the quiet conflicts unfolding beneath it.
And for Safiyyah, it felt almost unfair—
How something so beautiful could exist so freely,
While something inside her had to remain hidden,
Uncertain,
And completely her own.

13/04/2026

GOLDEN SKIES
By Abdulazeez Zeenah OlayEMI
Chapter Eleven: Fault Lines
The equality did not bring peace. It brought awareness.
For everyone else, it was a moment worth celebrating. Two sisters, same score, same brilliance, same recognition. It looked balanced, almost perfect. But for Safiyyah, it did not feel like balance. It felt like strain, like something inside her had been pulled too tightly just to reach that point, and now that she had, there was no relief waiting on the other side.
The praise came again, but this time it sounded different.
“You finally matched her.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“Keep it up.”
Finally.
The word stayed with her longer than it should have.
Sakinah noticed it too. Not the word itself, but the way Safiyyah received it. The slight pause before her smile, the way her shoulders didn’t relax, the way her eyes moved away too quickly. It didn’t look like happiness. It looked like effort.
That night, Sakinah did not go to her immediately. She stood at the doorway of their room for a moment, watching Safiyyah sit by the edge of the bed, her paper still in her hand as if she hadn’t decided what it meant yet.
“You did well,” Sakinah said softly.
Safiyyah nodded without looking up. “I know.”
The answer was not pride. It was defense.
Sakinah stepped in, slower this time. “I mean it.”
Safiyyah let out a quiet breath, then placed the paper beside her. “You don’t have to explain it,” she said. “Everyone already has.”
There was something in that sentence that made Sakinah stop.
“Explain what?” she asked.
Safiyyah finally looked up. “That you’re the standard.”
The words were calm. Too calm.
The silence that followed was not empty. It was full of things neither of them had said before.
Sakinah frowned slightly. “That’s not true.”
Safiyyah gave a small, almost tired smile. “You don’t have to deny it for me.”
“I’m not denying it,” Sakinah replied, her voice steady but softer now. “I’m saying it’s not how I see it.”
Safiyyah held her gaze for a moment longer, then looked away. “That’s the difference,” she said quietly.
At school the next day, the atmosphere felt sharper.

12/04/2026

GOLDEN SKIES
By Abdulazeez Zeenah Olayemi
Chapter Ten: The Weight of Unsaid Things
The days that followed did not break—they stretched. Quietly, steadily, like something pulling apart without making a sound. Nothing dramatic happened, and yet everything felt altered, as though the air between them had thickened, making even simple words heavier than they used to be.
Sakinah began to notice the silence more than anything else. Not the absence of noise, but the absence of ease. Conversations that once flowed now stopped midway, replaced with short answers and careful glances. Safiyyah was still there, still present, still moving through the same spaces, laughing with Nabeelah, Lateefah, and Maimunah, but something in her no longer reached Sakinah the way it used to. It was not distance in steps, but in feeling.
She tried, at first, to ignore it. To believe it would pass the way small moods always did. But this was not a mood. It lingered too long, settled too deep. It followed them into the classroom, into the corridors, even into the quiet of their home.
One evening, unable to carry the uncertainty any longer, Sakinah spoke. “You’ve been different,” she said, her voice low but steady. Safiyyah did not look up immediately. She was seated at the edge of the bed, scrolling through her phone without seeing anything on the screen. “I’ve always been different,” she replied. The answer was light, but it missed the question entirely.
Sakinah stepped closer. “Not like this.” There was a pause, the kind that asked for honesty. Safiyyah felt it, resisted it, then let out a soft breath. “You’re thinking too much,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction. Sakinah held her gaze. “Then tell me I’m wrong.” Safiyyah looked up then, and for a brief second, something real surfaced in her eyes—something unguarded, almost vulnerable—but it disappeared just as quickly. “You’re wrong,” she said.
But the words did not settle anything.
At school, the pressure had not disappeared after the competition; it had only changed form. Teachers now expected consistency from Sakinah, as if her near-perfect performance had confirmed something permanent about her. Questions were directed at her more often, praise followed her more closely, and even silence seemed to carry expectation when she was around. It was not loud, but it was constant.
Abdulhamid noticed before anyone said it out loud. He saw the way her shoulders held tension even when she sat still, the way her focus sharpened too quickly, like someone trying to stay ahead of something chasing her. During one lesson, when the teacher asked a question and all eyes turned to her, she answered correctly—but her voice carried a slight strain, almost invisible, but not to him.
After class, as students began to leave, he spoke without looking directly at her. “You don’t have to answer everything.” She glanced at him. “If I know it, why not?” He adjusted his bag slowly. “Knowing something and carrying it are not the same.” She frowned slightly. “What do you mean?” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “People expect more once you show them you can give more. Sometimes… they don’t stop expecting.” She was quiet for a moment, then said, “That’s not a bad thing.” He nodded. “Not always.”
It was the closest he had come to saying what he really thought.
Across the room, Safiyyah watched again, though she told herself she wasn’t. It was becoming a habit she didn’t like, a pattern she couldn’t break. She noticed the small exchanges, the quiet conversations that did not need an audience. It was not obvious, not something anyone could point at and call something else, but it existed. And that was enough.
“You’re doing it again,” Maimunah said softly beside her. Safiyyah looked away immediately. “Doing what?” Maimunah didn’t answer right away. She followed Safiyyah’s earlier gaze, then looked back at her. “Comparing.” Safiyyah let out a small laugh. “I’m not.” Maimunah tilted her head slightly. “Then why do you look like you lost something?” That question stayed longer than Safiyyah expected.
Because she did not have an answer.
That afternoon, something unexpected happened. The teacher returned their test scripts from a surprise assessment given earlier in the week. It wasn’t part of the competition, not something important—but in a place like The Future School, everything became important once results were involved.
Names were called one by one.
Scores announced.
Reactions followed.
Then—
“Sakinah… ninety-eight.”
A soft wave of approval moved through the class.
“Abdulhamid… ninety-seven.”
Another murmur.
Then—
“Safiyyah… ninety-eight.”
This time, the reaction was louder.
Safiyyah blinked.
For a moment, she thought she heard wrong.
But the paper in her hand confirmed it.
Ninety-eight.
The same.
The class turned toward her now.
“Well done!”
“You matched her!”
“That’s serious!”
Voices filled the room, but Safiyyah didn’t respond immediately. She looked at her paper, then slowly, almost unconsciously, she glanced toward Sakinah.
Their eyes met.
And for the first time in days—
There was no distance in that moment.
Only recognition.
But it didn’t last.
Because something else followed.
A thought.
Quiet, sharp, undeniable.
It took everything… just to be equal.
That was the difference.
And it stayed with her.
Later that evening, the sky stretched wide again, painted in soft gold that deepened toward the horizon. This time, Sakinah noticed it. She stood by the window, her breathing steady, her thoughts less crowded than they had been all day. There was something about the sky that didn’t demand anything from her. It simply existed—vast, open, untouched by expectation.
Safiyyah stood a few steps behind her.
Silent.
Watching the same sky.
Feeling something entirely different.
“You like it?” Sakinah asked gently, without turning.
Safiyyah hesitated. “It’s just a sky.”
Sakinah shook her head slightly. “No… it’s not just that.”
Safiyyah didn’t ask what she meant.
Because part of her didn’t want to know.
They stood there, side by side, looking at the same golden sky—but seeing different meanings, carrying different weights, standing in the same place yet slowly becoming strangers in ways neither of them had planned.

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