Page 277 of Invisible Bars
“We do allow it,” she granted, placing her hand gently on Chiamaka’s shoulder. “She’s eighteen now… and we know she’ll be in good hands with you.”
My mom paused, eyes flickering between the two of us.
“We were wrong… selfishly wrong, to keep you two apart. We let pride… and fear… decide what love should look like, and it cost you both.”
A pressure began to build in my throat, tightening like a vice, while the familiar tics stirred restlessly in my chest, desperate to escape. I could feel the sensation swelling within me, yet I managed to keep them at bay for the moment.
My father cleared his throat and nodded, stepping beside her.
“I haven’t always been the man you needed me to be, but I see you now, Naji, and I see the strength in both of you. Take care of each other.”
There was something in their voices—regret, humility, maybe even pride—that hit me harder than expected.
I didn’t say anything; I just gave a slight nod—one of silent appreciation. I still wasn’t ready for hugs or apologies drenched in nostalgia. But that was the first time they spoke to me like I was whole, and it meant more than I had the words to admit.
The shriek Chiamaka let out could’ve shattered glass. She spun in a full circle before launching into overdrive—shoving things into her suitcase, stuffing her bonnet into a side pocket, trying to zip it with one foot while throwing on lip gloss.
As she scrambled, I risked another glance at our parents.
Their expressions shifted completely; there was no anger or pettiness, just quiet acceptance and perhaps a hint of guilt.
As I struggled with my tics—my hand tapping against my thigh and my eyes blinking uncontrollably—they didn’t rush to correct me or show frustration. Instead, they simply watched, offering me compassion and understanding in that moment.
"Okay! I’m ready!" Chiamaka announced, grabbing her suitcase with both hands like it weighed nothing.
She turned, gave ourparents quick hugs, and said her goodbyes with a bright smile before heading out the door, grinning like her whole life was finally about to begin—because it was.
“I’ll be in touch,” I said.
That was all I could offer them at the time.
As we walked out of the hotel lobby, the energy shifted. A few heads turned, then came the murmurs. Before I could blink, people were stopping us—phones out, voices raised, asking for autographs or selfies. I signed as many as I could, smiling politely while keeping my tics in check.
Chiamaka stood off to the side like a proud little sister, beaming.
“I can’t believe I have a celebrity as a sister!” she gushed.
“Born-againcelebrity,” I teased.
“Still the same in my book.”
I just shook my head with a quiet chuckle.
Then her eyes landed on the curb. She gasped so loud it made a passerby jump.
“Oh my God! Is that your car?!”
I smirked. “No. It’s my husband’s. But technically… mine too.”
Parked like it owned the whole block sat a matte graphite Rolls-Royce Cullinan Black Badge. The rear doors opened backward—dramatic as hell—and the inside glowed faintly like a sky full of stars.
Chiamaka's jaw dropped in awe, and she pressed her hand against her chest as if she had just encountered a glimpse ofparadise wrapped in luxurious leather seats. She ran up to it like we were on a red carpet. I followed behind casually.
“I feel like I need to change my outfit just to sit in it,” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
Watching her reaction brought a chuckle to my lips, but it also stirred something thoughtful within me.
Yeah… it might be time to ask Imanio for one of my own. Something girly… loud but soft… pink maybe… or that icy lavender shade that screams, she got money and manners, but she’ll still run over your ego if needed.
