Adaora, a brilliant yet self-doubting programmer from Ifo, Nigeria, faces the harsh realities of life when her mother falls ill. Armed with exceptional tech skills but struggling with low self-esteem, she ventures to a city in Lagos seeking for job...
Sam’s eyes slowly opened, adjusting to the dim light filtering through the window. The PS4 pad was still clutched in his hand, a reminder of the long night spent playing FIFA until exhaustion overtook him. The room around him was eerily silent, the usual background noises absent. No creak of the floorboards, no hum of conversation—nothing but the quiet that seemed to wrap around him, thick and unsettling.
Frowning, Sam stretched and groggily made his way upstairs. Reaching Tunde’s door, he knocked softly at first, then louder when there was no response. Still nothing.
“Tunde?” he called, his voice uncertain. After a few more seconds of silence, he shook his head and walked away, unease creeping into his gut.
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Across town, Adaora stirred, the soft morning light waking her from her deep slumber. Her first instinct was to check her phone, expecting the usual morning message from Tunde. There was none.
“Huh, strange,” she murmured to herself, glancing at the time. She reasoned that he might still be asleep; after all, they’d had a busy week. But something felt off. Her fingers itched to call him, but she decided to wait until she was dressed and ready for the day.
After a quick shower and breakfast, Adaora’s restlessness peaked. She grabbed her phone, dialed Tunde's number, and pressed it to her ear, waiting for the familiar voice. But when the line clicked, a gruff, unfamiliar voice answered instead.
“Tunde is with us,” the voice growled. “And so is the girl.”
“What?” Adaora gasped, her hand trembling as she gripped the phone tighter. “Who... who is this? Where is Tunde?”
“He’s alive, for now,” the kidnapper said coldly. “Five million each. For him and the girl. You have 48 hours.”
Adaora’s heart raced. “Please, don’t hurt them! I’ll get the money, just—please, don’t hurt them!” She was on the verge of tears, her voice cracking with desperation.
The kidnapper let out a dark chuckle. “Just get the money, and they’ll be fine. But you better hurry.”
Before she could plead further, the line went dead. Adaora stood frozen, her mind racing. Five million naira for each of them. She didn’t have that kind of money, but she had to figure it out. For Tunde. For Adeola.
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