“Please ma’am, I need to talk to her,” I pleaded, drawing a bit closer to her.
“For the love of God, please find your way out,” she retorted in the most humble way.
“No,” I almost shouted—she must have questioned a million times about my boldness with her sharp eyes. I looked away. “I’m sorry ma’am,” I attempted to make things right. “What I meant was that I really need to see her—to talk to her. I don’t mean to disturb you or misbehave in your house. I’m just a broken soul knocking at your door; please let me in.” She must have heard ‘hallelujah’ somewhere in my words, for she immediately disappeared into the corridors again as soon as I was finished.
I waited a little longer, though this time on my feet—there was no more comfort in sitting. After about five minutes, Rachael’s mother returned with her daughter. I was swept off my feet at the reality that she was indeed pregnant! She had even lost her royal gait to the weights in her belly. There was a brief moment of silence before her mother left the two of us alone. Rachael couldn’t even look me in the eyes.
Like it was a planned sequence, Rachael’s mother decided to excuse herself after the brief awkward moment of silence—I think she had finally realised that her daughter and I had a lot to talk about. Racheal hanged her sight on her mother’s back as the latter left. She might have been making a prayer for her not to leave—not at such a moment. Obviously God did not answer such a prayer, if it was made anyway.
There was no magic, however, when we were given privacy. I knew I was the victim of the whole whatever-that-was but a weird feeling nested in my soul—a feeling that I wasn’t the one supposed to do the questioning or accusing. For another number of seconds, I kept searching for Rachael’s eyes but in vain. She was looking at this, then that, then nothing in the physical. Simultaneously, she wiped a tear or two.