Your secret is safe here

I am now available to chat with you on Premium.Chat at https://premium.chat/lunatempest

He couldn't recognize me when I called him.

By his name.

My classmate.

In primary school days.

And so I had to remind him.

Joy overwhelmed us, we couldn't believe our eyes after so many years.

He said happily.

"...this is you? I wouldn't have thought it's you if you didn't remind me."

"I am good at recognition. It's beautiful to meet you again, brother."

We were too excited to be able to reconnect after so many years.

Then I remembered something.

What happened during our days in primary school.

Primary five.

We had a teacher back then, who had taught us in primary one and then five.

An Igbo woman in her late 40s as of then.

Embittered.

Aggressive.

And frowned so much that thick wrinkles lie forever between her brows.

Her attitude was unthawed.

We secretly called her Auntie Ojoo - meaning wicked auntie.

Strict was her epithet.

You dare fail her test, then you are on your own.

So stringent she was that we wished she could be transferred or even get f!red.

But she was a best friend to our headmistress, and also lived very close to the school.

It was her who divided our class into two, boys on the other side and girls the other side. Instead of boy-girl, sitting together.

She dares to see you speaking with the opposite gender, you are done.

Yet in her late 40s, she wasn't married.

No child, no husband.

No siblings, only her.

We disliked school and Mondays so much back then because of her and loved Fridays even mostly.

She was a firebrand.

And so my old mate who I just met had a huge crush on a girl, who was also our classmate.

A pretty, brilliant naive girl, who usually sat at the front row.

So my old mate liked her so much.

So one day, during the break time, our teacher lined us in a single file, taking us to the bathroom to ease ourselves.

We walked in a single file to the bathroom.

Girls first before the boys.

So we waited for the girls, our teacher watched us from the balcony.

It was the girl's turn to ease herself, she went, my old mate who I just met looked up over at our teacher, she was having a serious discussion with her senior colleague, so her eyes were not on us.

He sneaked into the bathroom.

I was the only one who saw him when he went in there.

I was shocked on his behalf if he had the slightest idea of what our teacher would do to him if she sees him in the bathroom with the girl.

I wanted to tell my classmates what I saw, but considering that I was standing with pupils who were merely gossipers made me held myself.

I uttered no words neither did I say a word to my close friends.

Barely one minute he went in, our teacher came down in a hurry.

"This line is not moving, who is there in the bathroom?"

No words.

She made to move in.

I summoned the courage and said.

"Auntie, is like the headmistress is calling you."

I said that to distract her from going to the bathroom. Because if she goes in there, she'd see him and it will not end so well for him.

So I had to save him in every way I could.

She stopped and looked over at me.

Stern look.

"I will attend to her when you people are done."

However, in the bathroom, the young girl whose physiology enabled her body to intrinsically turf out her dead eggs as b!ood.

Was seeing such for the first time.

So pa!nful for her.

She was even crying.

And it was so strange for her, she couldn't understand what was happening.

And so he walked in and saw her with her bl0od-stained pants and school uniform.

He had come to secretly deliver a letter to her.

He was shocked by the sight, and so he called her by her name.

"... did you injure yourself? Eeeh sorry."

He didn't understand either. So he pulled out his shorts, pulled out his boxers and started cleaning her up with his boxers.

"Sorry, you hear? I will clean you up. Sorry, stop crying."

She nodded.

But still weeping.

Footsteps approaching, he quickly peeped, it was our teacher.

Her old fashioned shoes pounding the narrow hallway.

Thumping in concert with the rapid beating of his heart.

He raised his brows in shock.

He was n:aked, she was n:aked, too, her pants in hand.

Huge implication.

Unsure of what to do.

So he quickly put on his shorts, threw his b!ood sterned boxers through the window, and hid behind the door.

Our teacher came in and saw her.

She spat harshly.

"... what are you still doing here? Will you get out?"

And then she saw the blood.

"What is wrong with you?"

She answered timidly.

"Auntie, I don't know."

Our teacher already knew what was happening to her, so she took her to the headmistress house to clean her up, she was there till her parents came to pick her.

The following day, which was an inspection day. Our teacher was going around, inspecting our school bags, books and all that.

It was his turn, she searched his bag and saw a piece of paper.

His heart thumped.

"What is this paper for?"

No words.

She started to open it.

Tears started to run down his cheek, he knew what he wrote in the paper.

Our teacher looked over at him.

Puzzled.

"Why are you crying?"

"Nothing."

Then she read through the paper.

It was a letter.

A love letter.

The letter he had tried to deliver to this girl he liked so much the previous day but wasn't able to.

Our teacher was beyond shocked, she looked over at him and asked him.

"Who wrote this?!"

No words.

Our teacher knew his handwriting, all our handwriting, and so if he had to lie she could tell.

She yelled.

"I said who wrote this?!"

"It's me, ma."

"You? At this age, you are writing a love letter?"

The entire class oohed. We couldn't imagine what our teacher would do to him.

"I am talking to you. Who are you writing to?!"

He timidly pointed at the front seat, at her. She who he liked so much.

She was shocked.

"Me?"

Our teacher ordered him to step outside.

"Come out."

He did as she said, shaking with fear.

Before he could get to the front of the class, our teacher had delivered several thunderous slaps.

He wailed.

She started to descend on him like he was a crim!nal, he kept wailing.

His cry attracting the attention of other classes. Other teachers came, watching.

Condemnatory.

Judgments.

Some joined her in beating the young boy, and we were only in p!ty for him.

We need er enjoyed watching him go through such pA!n and disgrace.

I looked over at the girl who he had written the love letter to, she was crying profusely.

She obviously didn't like the way they were punishing him.

And so the mother of the boy came, she had come to give him his lunch.

And suddenly saw how the teachers were punishing her son.

She saw how our teacher was using electric wire, warped it together and was using it on him, like he was a hardened cr!m!nal.

Marks and bruises on his body.

Wailing loudly and running around the classroom, trying to escape the lashes.

His mother was a policewoman.

She screamed in shock, the food which she brought for her son fell off her hand.

She rushed our teacher and instantly gave her two sounding slaps, including the rest who joined.

"Jesus Christ?! You want to k!ll my son for me?"

Our teacher spoke.

"Your useless son was writing a love letter to his co classmate."

His furious mother kicked our teacher like football.

"My son is not useless."

The whole training she imparted from the police force, ahe used it all against her.

Our teacher was bleeding, crying, and then apologizing.

The whole school gathered.

Pleading.

She had wanted to arrest her.

"You caught him writing a love letter that's why you are beating him like this? Are you okay?! Like are you insa:ne?! Woman, you are sleeping in the barracks today. Because you don't have a child, do you know what it is to have a child?! Do you even know what it takes to have a child?! You have no right, no right to touch my son or any children in this school for whatsoever reason. That is not the reason we brought them here. We brought them here to learn not this."

She began to descend on her again, crying.

"I will never forgive you. Look at my son?! Look at what you did to my son."

Our headmistress knelt and began to apologize on our teacher's behalf.

"No! So this is how you treat our children behind us?!"

Despite the apologies, she arrested her and she was locked up.

For days.

But she didn't withdraw her son from the school after so many promises from the school authority that they will never lay their hands on any pupil.

After that incident, that girl who he liked so much, started to like him, too.

Started to come close to him and they became best of friends.

And today when I saw them at Domino's with their two kids.

A boy and a girl.

I was shocked.

They are happily married.

•

Lagos

Kyrian Chiemelie Offor
May 21, 2024He couldn't recognize me when I called him.

By his name.

My classmate.

In primary school days.

And so I had to remind him.

Joy overwhelmed us, we couldn't believe our eyes after so many years.

He said happily.

"...this is you? I wouldn't have thought it's you if you didn't remind me."

"I am good at recognition. It's beautiful to meet you again, brother."

We were too excited to be able to reconnect after so many years.

Then I remembered something.

What happened during our days in primary school.

Primary five.

We had a teacher back then, who had taught us in primary one and then five.

An Igbo woman in her late 40s as of then.

Embittered.

Aggressive.

And frowned so much that thick wrinkles lie forever between her brows.

Her attitude was unthawed.

We secretly called her Auntie Ojoo - meaning wicked auntie.

Strict was her epithet.

You dare fail her test, then you are on your own.

So stringent she was that we wished she could be transferred or even get f!red.

But she was a best friend to our headmistress, and also lived very close to the school.

It was her who divided our class into two, boys on the other side and girls the other side. Instead of boy-girl, sitting together.

She dares to see you speaking with the opposite gender, you are done.

Yet in her late 40s, she wasn't married.

No child, no husband.

No siblings, only her.

We disliked school and Mondays so much back then because of her and loved Fridays even mostly.

She was a firebrand.

And so my old mate who I just met had a huge crush on a girl, who was also our classmate.

A pretty, brilliant naive girl, who usually sat at the front row.

So my old mate liked her so much.

So one day, during the break time, our teacher lined us in a single file, taking us to the bathroom to ease ourselves.

We walked in a single file to the bathroom.

Girls first before the boys.

So we waited for the girls, our teacher watched us from the balcony.

It was the girl's turn to ease herself, she went, my old mate who I just met looked up over at our teacher, she was having a serious discussion with her senior colleague, so her eyes were not on us.

He sneaked into the bathroom.

I was the only one who saw him when he went in there.

I was shocked on his behalf if he had the slightest idea of what our teacher would do to him if she sees him in the bathroom with the girl.

I wanted to tell my classmates what I saw, but considering that I was standing with pupils who were merely gossipers made me held myself.

I uttered no words neither did I say a word to my close friends.

Barely one minute he went in, our teacher came down in a hurry.

"This line is not moving, who is there in the bathroom?"

No words.

She made to move in.

I summoned the courage and said.

"Auntie, is like the headmistress is calling you."

I said that to distract her from going to the bathroom. Because if she goes in there, she'd see him and it will not end so well for him.

So I had to save him in every way I could.

She stopped and looked over at me.

Stern look.

"I will attend to her when you people are done."

However, in the bathroom, the young girl whose physiology enabled her body to intrinsically turf out her dead eggs as b!ood.

Was seeing such for the first time.

So pa!nful for her.

She was even crying.

And it was so strange for her, she couldn't understand what was happening.

And so he walked in and saw her with her bl0od-stained pants and school uniform.

He had come to secretly deliver a letter to her.

He was shocked by the sight, and so he called her by her name.

"... did you injure yourself? Eeeh sorry."

He didn't understand either. So he pulled out his shorts, pulled out his boxers and started cleaning her up with his boxers.

"Sorry, you hear? I will clean you up. Sorry, stop crying."

She nodded.

But still weeping.

Footsteps approaching, he quickly peeped, it was our teacher.

Her old fashioned shoes pounding the narrow hallway.

Thumping in concert with the rapid beating of his heart.

He raised his brows in shock.

He was n:aked, she was n:aked, too, her pants in hand.

Huge implication.

Unsure of what to do.

So he quickly put on his shorts, threw his b!ood sterned boxers through the window, and hid behind the door.

Our teacher came in and saw her.

She spat harshly.

"... what are you still doing here? Will you get out?"

And then she saw the blood.

"What is wrong with you?"

She answered timidly.

"Auntie, I don't know."

Our teacher already knew what was happening to her, so she took her to the headmistress house to clean her up, she was there till her parents came to pick her.

The following day, which was an inspection day. Our teacher was going around, inspecting our school bags, books and all that.

It was his turn, she searched his bag and saw a piece of paper.

His heart thumped.

"What is this paper for?"

No words.

She started to open it.

Tears started to run down his cheek, he knew what he wrote in the paper.

Our teacher looked over at him.

Puzzled.

"Why are you crying?"

"Nothing."

Then she read through the paper.

It was a letter.

A love letter.

The letter he had tried to deliver to this girl he liked so much the previous day but wasn't able to.

Our teacher was beyond shocked, she looked over at him and asked him.

"Who wrote this?!"

No words.

Our teacher knew his handwriting, all our handwriting, and so if he had to lie she could tell.

She yelled.

"I said who wrote this?!"

"It's me, ma."

"You? At this age, you are writing a love letter?"

The entire class oohed. We couldn't imagine what our teacher would do to him.

"I am talking to you. Who are you writing to?!"

He timidly pointed at the front seat, at her. She who he liked so much.

She was shocked.

"Me?"

Our teacher ordered him to step outside.

"Come out."

He did as she said, shaking with fear.

Before he could get to the front of the class, our teacher had delivered several thunderous slaps.

He wailed.

She started to descend on him like he was a crim!nal, he kept wailing.

His cry attracting the attention of other classes. Other teachers came, watching.

Condemnatory.

Judgments.

Some joined her in beating the young boy, and we were only in p!ty for him.

We need er enjoyed watching him go through such pA!n and disgrace.

I looked over at the girl who he had written the love letter to, she was crying profusely.

She obviously didn't like the way they were punishing him.

And so the mother of the boy came, she had come to give him his lunch.

And suddenly saw how the teachers were punishing her son.

She saw how our teacher was using electric wire, warped it together and was using it on him, like he was a hardened cr!m!nal.

Marks and bruises on his body.

Wailing loudly and running around the classroom, trying to escape the lashes.

His mother was a policewoman.

She screamed in shock, the food which she brought for her son fell off her hand.

She rushed our teacher and instantly gave her two sounding slaps, including the rest who joined.

"Jesus Christ?! You want to k!ll my son for me?"

Our teacher spoke.

"Your useless son was writing a love letter to his co classmate."

His furious mother kicked our teacher like football.

"My son is not useless."

The whole training she imparted from the police force, ahe used it all against her.

Our teacher was bleeding, crying, and then apologizing.

The whole school gathered.

Pleading.

She had wanted to arrest her.

"You caught him writing a love letter that's why you are beating him like this? Are you okay?! Like are you insa:ne?! Woman, you are sleeping in the barracks today. Because you don't have a child, do you know what it is to have a child?! Do you even know what it takes to have a child?! You have no right, no right to touch my son or any children in this school for whatsoever reason. That is not the reason we brought them here. We brought them here to learn not this."

She began to descend on her again, crying.

"I will never forgive you. Look at my son?! Look at what you did to my son."

Our headmistress knelt and began to apologize on our teacher's behalf.

"No! So this is how you treat our children behind us?!"

Despite the apologies, she arrested her and she was locked up.

For days.

But she didn't withdraw her son from the school after so many promises from the school authority that they will never lay their hands on any pupil.

After that incident, that girl who he liked so much, started to like him, too.

Started to come close to him and they became best of friends.

And today when I saw them at Domino's with their two kids.

A boy and a girl.

I was shocked.

They are happily married.

•

Lagos

Kyrian Chiemelie Offor
May 21, 2024He couldn't recognize me when I called him.

By his name.

My classmate.

In primary school days.

And so I had to remind him.

Joy overwhelmed us, we couldn't believe our eyes after so many years.

He said happily.

"...this is you? I wouldn't have thought it's you if you didn't remind me."

"I am good at recognition. It's beautiful to meet you again, brother."

We were too excited to be able to reconnect after so many years.

Then I remembered something.

What happened during our days in primary school.

Primary five.

We had a teacher back then, who had taught us in primary one and then five.

An Igbo woman in her late 40s as of then.

Embittered.

Aggressive.

And frowned so much that thick wrinkles lie forever between her brows.

Her attitude was unthawed.

We secretly called her Auntie Ojoo - meaning wicked auntie.

Strict was her epithet.

You dare fail her test, then you are on your own.

So stringent she was that we wished she could be transferred or even get f!red.

But she was a best friend to our headmistress, and also lived very close to the school.

It was her who divided our class into two, boys on the other side and girls the other side. Instead of boy-girl, sitting together.

She dares to see you speaking with the opposite gender, you are done.

Yet in her late 40s, she wasn't married.

No child, no husband.

No siblings, only her.

We disliked school and Mondays so much back then because of her and loved Fridays even mostly.

She was a firebrand.

And so my old mate who I just met had a huge crush on a girl, who was also our classmate.

A pretty, brilliant naive girl, who usually sat at the front row.

So my old mate liked her so much.

So one day, during the break time, our teacher lined us in a single file, taking us to the bathroom to ease ourselves.

We walked in a single file to the bathroom.

Girls first before the boys.

So we waited for the girls, our teacher watched us from the balcony.

It was the girl's turn to ease herself, she went, my old mate who I just met looked up over at our teacher, she was having a serious discussion with her senior colleague, so her eyes were not on us.

He sneaked into the bathroom.

I was the only one who saw him when he went in there.

I was shocked on his behalf if he had the slightest idea of what our teacher would do to him if she sees him in the bathroom with the girl.

I wanted to tell my classmates what I saw, but considering that I was standing with pupils who were merely gossipers made me held myself.

I uttered no words neither did I say a word to my close friends.

Barely one minute he went in, our teacher came down in a hurry.

"This line is not moving, who is there in the bathroom?"

No words.

She made to move in.

I summoned the courage and said.

"Auntie, is like the headmistress is calling you."

I said that to distract her from going to the bathroom. Because if she goes in there, she'd see him and it will not end so well for him.

So I had to save him in every way I could.

She stopped and looked over at me.

Stern look.

"I will attend to her when you people are done."

However, in the bathroom, the young girl whose physiology enabled her body to intrinsically turf out her dead eggs as b!ood.

Was seeing such for the first time.

So pa!nful for her.

She was even crying.

And it was so strange for her, she couldn't understand what was happening.

And so he walked in and saw her with her bl0od-stained pants and school uniform.

He had come to secretly deliver a letter to her.

He was shocked by the sight, and so he called her by her name.

"... did you injure yourself? Eeeh sorry."

He didn't understand either. So he pulled out his shorts, pulled out his boxers and started cleaning her up with his boxers.

"Sorry, you hear? I will clean you up. Sorry, stop crying."

She nodded.

But still weeping.

Footsteps approaching, he quickly peeped, it was our teacher.

Her old fashioned shoes pounding the narrow hallway.

Thumping in concert with the rapid beating of his heart.

He raised his brows in shock.

He was n:aked, she was n:aked, too, her pants in hand.

Huge implication.

Unsure of what to do.

So he quickly put on his shorts, threw his b!ood sterned boxers through the window, and hid behind the door.

Our teacher came in and saw her.

She spat harshly.

"... what are you still doing here? Will you get out?"

And then she saw the blood.

"What is wrong with you?"

She answered timidly.

"Auntie, I don't know."

Our teacher already knew what was happening to her, so she took her to the headmistress house to clean her up, she was there till her parents came to pick her.

The following day, which was an inspection day. Our teacher was going around, inspecting our school bags, books and all that.

It was his turn, she searched his bag and saw a piece of paper.

His heart thumped.

"What is this paper for?"

No words.

She started to open it.

Tears started to run down his cheek, he knew what he wrote in the paper.

Our teacher looked over at him.

Puzzled.

"Why are you crying?"

"Nothing."

Then she read through the paper.

It was a letter.

A love letter.

The letter he had tried to deliver to this girl he liked so much the previous day but wasn't able to.

Our teacher was beyond shocked, she looked over at him and asked him.

"Who wrote this?!"

No words.

Our teacher knew his handwriting, all our handwriting, and so if he had to lie she could tell.

She yelled.

"I said who wrote this?!"

"It's me, ma."

"You? At this age, you are writing a love letter?"

The entire class oohed. We couldn't imagine what our teacher would do to him.

"I am talking to you. Who are you writing to?!"

He timidly pointed at the front seat, at her. She who he liked so much.

She was shocked.

"Me?"

Our teacher ordered him to step outside.

"Come out."

He did as she said, shaking with fear.

Before he could get to the front of the class, our teacher had delivered several thunderous slaps.

He wailed.

She started to descend on him like he was a crim!nal, he kept wailing.

His cry attracting the attention of other classes. Other teachers came, watching.

Condemnatory.

Judgments.

Some joined her in beating the young boy, and we were only in p!ty for him.

We need er enjoyed watching him go through such pA!n and disgrace.

I looked over at the girl who he had written the love letter to, she was crying profusely.

She obviously didn't like the way they were punishing him.

And so the mother of the boy came, she had come to give him his lunch.

And suddenly saw how the teachers were punishing her son.

She saw how our teacher was using electric wire, warped it together and was using it on him, like he was a hardened cr!m!nal.

Marks and bruises on his body.

Wailing loudly and running around the classroom, trying to escape the lashes.

His mother was a policewoman.

She screamed in shock, the food which she brought for her son fell off her hand.

She rushed our teacher and instantly gave her two sounding slaps, including the rest who joined.

"Jesus Christ?! You want to k!ll my son for me?"

Our teacher spoke.

"Your useless son was writing a love letter to his co classmate."

His furious mother kicked our teacher like football.

"My son is not useless."

The whole training she imparted from the police force, ahe used it all against her.

Our teacher was bleeding, crying, and then apologizing.

The whole school gathered.

Pleading.

She had wanted to arrest her.

"You caught him writing a love letter that's why you are beating him like this? Are you okay?! Like are you insa:ne?! Woman, you are sleeping in the barracks today. Because you don't have a child, do you know what it is to have a child?! Do you even know what it takes to have a child?! You have no right, no right to touch my son or any children in this school for whatsoever reason. That is not the reason we brought them here. We brought them here to learn not this."

She began to descend on her again, crying.

"I will never forgive you. Look at my son?! Look at what you did to my son."

Our headmistress knelt and began to apologize on our teacher's behalf.

"No! So this is how you treat our children behind us?!"

Despite the apologies, she arrested her and she was locked up.

For days.

But she didn't withdraw her son from the school after so many promises from the school authority that they will never lay their hands on any pupil.

After that incident, that girl who he liked so much, started to like him, too.

Started to come close to him and they became best of friends.

And today when I saw them at Domino's with their two kids.

A boy and a girl.

I was shocked.

They are happily married.

•

Lagos

Kyrian Chiemelie Offor
May 21, 2024

We are also selling make-ups and earings....inbox. If interested