Chapter 4: The Chaperone's Audit

Adanna lay on her back, wide awake. Her watch, snuck beneath her pillow, read 1:45 AM. The initial relief of Aunty Ngozi’s departure had curdled into restless frustration.

Femi’s breathing had finally slowed into soft, steady rhythm. His proximity was a cruel temptation. Every nerve in Adanna’s body screamed to close the tiny gap, to sink into the familiar warmth of him. She fought the urge by focusing on details: the faint scent of sandalwood, the rigid silence, the knowledge that one wrong move could ruin everything.

Four inches. Just four inches.

She imagined the tiny, tactical crawl—a hand reaching out toward his mattress. No rule technically broken… unless Aunty Ngozi appeared through the keyhole. The thought snapped her back. Not worth it.

Then Femi groaned in his sleep. His right arm lazily drifted over the edge of his bed, fingers curling almost to the floor.

Adanna’s heart thumped. A sleeping Femi was unguarded, and his rogue arm was an unconscious act of rebellion against the ancient mandate. If a chaperone saw… their engagement would vanish with a single, accidental hand.

She acted. Slowly, deliberately, she slid along her mattress, hand inching toward his. But she didn’t touch him—she nudged the Stool of Separation instead.

Carefully, she pushed it half an inch closer to him, then used it to guide it against the back of his hand. Purely wood-on-skin contact, but enough.

Femi’s fingers twitched. A grumpy murmur escaped him, but he didn’t pull away. His hand circled the tiny stool, then settled back on his bed, leaving the Stool of Separation perfectly positioned against the edge of his mattress.

Adanna sagged with relief. Irony at its finest: the very object meant to police them had saved them.

Finally, around three, exhaustion claimed her, and she drifted into a shallow sleep—only to be jolted awake at five by Femi’s shrill alarm.

He was already sitting upright. “Five o’clock. Two hours and fifty minutes before Ifeanyi’s inspection. Beds look like a war zone. We need to pretend nothing happened.”

Adanna sat up, surveying the chaos: twisted sheets, pillows scattered, the Stool of Separation still snug against his bed, a silent witness to midnight antics.

They moved with urgent precision, like thieves erasing evidence.

“Pillow! Position!” Femi hissed, grabbing his. “It has to look like I’ve slept here for eight hours.”

Adanna yanked her sheets taut, smoothing every wrinkle. The hardest part: the four-inch gap. They nudged their mattresses into precise positions, keeping every crease and fold separate.

Femi returned the Stool of Separation to the exact middle. “Evidence,” he muttered.

By 7:45 AM, the room looked immaculate. Beds like twin soldiers, gap precise, both of them fully dressed, stiff as statues.

At 7:50 AM came a quick, polite rap.

“Good morning, Uncle Femi, Aunty Adanna. Ifeanyi here for the Morning Audit,” said a reedy voice.

“Come in, Ifeanyi,” Femi swallowed.

The teenage cousin entered, nervous but precise. He inspected the four-inch gap like a hawk, checked the floors, the duvets, the bed corners—every detail.

Finally, he lingered on the Stool of Separation. A single nod. “Everything is in order. May your day be blessed with restraint and discipline.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Silence. Then Femi whooped. He leapt across the four-inch gap, hugging Adanna fiercely.

“We did it! First audit survived!”

Adanna laughed, clutching him, exhilaration and desire mingling. Their hug was brief, perfect—the first real contact in the compound.

“Don’t celebrate too loud, idiot,” she whispered, pulling back

across the gap. “One night down, eighty-nine to go.”