Mwelwa stood up abruptly and crossed the room, pulling me into a tight embrace. The force of it startled me. Her body trembled against mine as she cried, and I held her there, saying nothing, waiting for the storm to pass.

When she finally pulled away, she wiped her face quickly and smiled, but it was the kind of smile that felt rehearsed, like something worn to hide the truth.

“I’m fine,” she said. “These are tears of joy. I’m finally free… and now I have money to buy whatever I want.”

The words hung in the air, hollow.

“Where did Chimwemwe take you?” I asked.

“Nowhere important.” Her tone was too quick, too dismissive. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll always be my best friend, okay?” She turned away, already reaching for her things. “I need to get ready. I’m going out with Chi Baby.”

“Aren’t you joining Michael and me to study?”

She shook her head lightly. “No. I’ll pass. Maybe next week.”

“Maybe?”

“Yes, maybe.” A pause. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

But something had shifted. I could feel it.

 

Later that day, I told Michael everything, every detail, every unease I couldn’t explain. He listened patiently, then sighed.

“People choose their own paths,” he said. “You can’t force her. Focus on your books. That’s what matters now.”

I nodded, but his words didn’t settle the growing discomfort inside me.

Because from that day on, Mwelwa was no longer the person I knew.

She drifted further and further away, slipping into Chimwemwe’s world as if she had always belonged there. They would disappear for weeks, returning without explanation. Classes became irrelevant. Books are meaningless.

And every time I tried to reach her, every single time, she shut me out.

Sometimes she walked away before I finished speaking.

Sometimes she didn’t respond at all.

Eventually, I stopped trying.

 

Months later, my own world began to crack.

The message came in the afternoon.

All students on a bursary were required to pay K10,000 to secure their loan.

I read it once.

Then again.

And then my body betrayed me.

My legs began to shake uncontrollably. A sharp, splitting pain gripped my head. Panic spread through me like fire, fast and consuming.

That evening, I called my father.

“I’m fine, my pride,” he said warmly. “How are you?”

I tried to sound strong, but my voice broke as I explained.

“We have to pay K10,000.”

Silence.

Then, quietly, “Blood of Jesus… Where are we going to get that kind of money?”

In the background, I heard my mother crying.

That was the moment I understood: there was no safety net. No hidden solution. No miracle waiting.

“Even if we sell our shop,” my father continued, his voice heavy with defeat, “it won’t be enough. But don’t worry… we’ll find a way.”

He ended the call.

But I knew he didn’t believe his own words.

 

I went to Michael, hoping, needing, something, anything.

But he was drowning too.

Same problem. Same helplessness.

There was nothing left to hold on to.

The next day, Mwelwa returned.

She found me exactly where I had been all night—broken.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, studying me closely. “Why do I feel like you didn’t sleep?”

I handed her my phone.

She read the message.

And smiled.

“Is this why you’re crying?” she said. “You almost scared me. I thought something serious had happened.”

Something inside me recoiled.

“Can you help me?” I asked.

She didn’t hesitate. “Yes. I’ll show you the way.”

“What way?”

She leaned closer, lowering her voice.

“The right way. One of my friends is single. He needs a girlfriend immediately. You say yes… and he transfers the money.”

The room seemed to shrink.

“Mwelwa… you know I love Michael.”

She straightened, unimpressed. “I thought you loved your education more.”

Then she turned to leave.

 

My thoughts spiraled out of control.

Michael. My parents. My future.

K10,000.

The number echoed in my head like a sentence.

I couldn’t go back home like this. I couldn’t lose everything.

“Wait,” I called out, my voice trembling. “I’m interested.”

She stopped.

Then slowly turned, a small, satisfied smile forming.

“I knew you’d understand,” she said. “You’ve made the right decision. Get ready this evening. We’ll go together.”

We left at 6 p.m.

The sky was already dimming, shadows stretching longer across the road. I didn’t like traveling at night, but I said nothing.

I had already crossed a line.

Still, something deep inside me resisted—an instinct I tried to silence but couldn’t fully ignore.

When we arrived, the house stood tall and imposing, its beauty almost unsettling.

Inside, I saw girls.

Many girls.

My age.

Some avoided eye contact. Others looked… empty.

My chest tightened.

We were led into another room.

And then I saw them.

Men.

Older men.

Some are old enough to be my father.

The air felt heavier here. thick, suffocating.

Mwelwa stepped forward confidently.

“Fathers of the desperate,” she said, bowing her head slightly, “I greet you. I have brought my friend. She needs K10,000.”

She leaned toward me and whispered, “Kneel.”

I didn’t move.

A man stepped forward from the group.

“My name is Chindoba,” he said slowly, his voice low and deliberate. “The father of destruction.”

His eyes settled on me.

Sharp. Knowing.

Unforgiving.

“Welcome… to the land of no return.”

The words sank into me like cold steel.

My throat tightened.

Every instinct screamed at me to run, but my feet refused to move.

“Excuse me…” I whispered.

But even to my own ears, I sounded far away.

Trapped.

To be continued…
Read Part 1
Read Part 2