The day my old classmates added me to that reunion group chat was the day my peaceful life ended.

If somebody had told me that a simple WhatsApp message would scatter my mind that Friday morning, I would have sworn on my late father’s grave they were lying.

It was just one green notification, but the way my heart jumped, you would think they told me EFCC had frozen my account.

I was sitting at my office desk in Warri, pretending to focus on those useless spreadsheets, when the message popped up. “Class of 2014 Reunion!!!” It came with one of those badly designed flyers full of glitter fonts, and before I even opened it, my phone started buzzing with voice notes and memes from people I had not heard from in ten years.

The group name was already dramatic: “Future Leaders Reloaded.” Future leaders my foot. Half of the boys that used to mock me in school were now in the group, talking big, sending pictures of themselves beside cars that were probably on loan. Emeka was already dropping long voice notes about how “this reunion will change lives.” I laughed small. That boy never changed. He was the head boy, the same one that used to write names of noise makers like his life depended on it. Now he runs some logistics company in Lagos and behaves like Dangote’s younger brother.

Chiamaka, my ride-or-die back then, quickly sent me a private message: “Ada baby, you must come o! This one na our chance to show face.” She has three kids now, a small catering business in Asaba, and a mouth that cannot rest. She said even Tunde, the one that used to make my heart scatter in SS2, was coming back from Canada. I almost hissed. Ten years and I still remember how he smiled when he borrowed my Physics note? Life is wicked.

For the rest of that day, I tried to ignore the group, but every time I opened WhatsApp, somebody was posting their wedding pictures, their trip to Dubai, or that annoying “throwback vs now” nonsense. Some girls were already forming slay queens with their husbands beside them. I just kept scrolling quietly.

When I got home that night, I sat on my bed, staring at my cracked ceiling, wondering what I even had to show if I went. A small job that barely paid, one black dress that still fit me, and a heart full of unfinished dreams. But something in me wanted to go—not for them, but for me. To see what ten years had done to all of us.

Just when I was about to mute the group and sleep, my phone buzzed again. A new message popped up at 11:37pm. It was from a name I hadn’t seen in years.

Tunde: “Can’t wait to see you all.”

My hand froze on the screen.

To be continued on

THE SCHOOL REUNION THAT WENT WRONG—Episode 2