Broski | Emmanuella Roli Atsiangbe
“Deola, school starts tomorrow, and your room still looks like this?”
I sat up, scanning the room for the this she was referring to. Sure, overturned boxes, clothes draped over furniture, and a half-packed suitcase weren’t exactly tidy, but it wasn’t that bad.
“Adeola Oluwakemi Eniola Balogun.” My mom’s sharp voice sliced through my thoughts, her silhouette framed in the doorway. By now, I should be used to her abrasive tone.
With a sigh, I let myself fall back onto the queen-sized bed to tell her, I’m used to it. It doesn’t move me anymore. I stared at the ceiling, as if it held answers to questions I hadn’t even asked yet.
This was the third move in three years, and I had no vim left to care.
I already knew how tomorrow would go. The awkward introductions, the forced smiles, the silent anxiety gnawing at me as I wondered if I’d be accepted or merely tolerated.
I was tired. Tired of packing and unpacking. Tired of friendships that barely lasted a school term. Tired of being the new girl.
“Adeola! Have you grown wings to ignore your mother?”
I barely exhaled before my internal eye-roll formed. My mom’s voice had risen to the prelude ahead of an impending sermon.
She stepped inside, but before she could get to me, my dad’s voice breezed in gently from the hallway. “Sugar, she must be tired.” He power-walked inside and steadied his breath, while rubbing slow soothing circles on my mom’s back.
My dad was my superhero, but even superheroes had their kryptonites. His? My mom.
“Dee, you’re going to clean up before dinner, right?” His tone was firm but carried an unspoken message: This is your way out. Take it.
I sighed. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Good girl. Sugar, let’s go and prepare dinner.”
My mom left without another glance, while my dad lingered for a moment, his eyes soft with concern before closing the door behind him.
I turned toward the window, the familiar weight of solitude settling over me. Being an only child wasn’t easy. But being an only child who moved constantly? That was worse.
And then, like a flickering film reel, I remembered someone.
*
I used to have a bro.
You know, the kind of guy who didn’t have a crush on me, who I wasn’t interested in, and we just… vibed. A friendship with no underlying tension, no whispered speculations, or awkward overanalysis of every text and glance.
Not that I didn’t want a friendship with a boy, it had just never happened before. Whenever a boy talked to me for too long in school, rumours would start.
“Hmmm, are you people talking?”
“He really likes you o!”
And just like that, the simple friendship would morph into something complicated, making me question everything. Was he just being nice? Was there something more? Until my overthinking sucked the joy out of it.
So, I stayed in my lane. No drama. No complications.
But then, he happened.
I don’t remember the exact moment we became friends. One day, he was just there. The kind of presence that sneaks up on you till they’re unwittingly stitched into your everyday life.
He was loud. Painfully extroverted. The person who talked to strangers like they were old friends. Meanwhile, I was simply trying to exist in peace. But did he care? No.
And somehow, we became friends.
It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t intentional. It just… was.
Until he disappeared.
And I never found a friend like him again.
*
“Dee, we have arrived.” My dad’s voice pulled me back to the present as the car came to a stop.
I looked up at the school gate, an unease stirred in my chest. The sign above the iron gates had the school’s name in bold, capitalized letters. Different words, same feeling.
Beyond the gates, the school buildings stood in neat rows, their beige walls and brown roofs eerily similar to the ones I had walked through a year ago. And the year before that. The students in their well-pressed plaid uniforms moved in groups, their conversations blending into a hum of laughter.
I caught my dad grinning at me through the rearview mirror. He studied my face for a moment, “How about after school, we find one shawarma spot like that?”
I managed a smile. “Okay.”
I found my new class after a few wrong turns, the hallways all blending into one another. Stepping inside, I barely had time to take in the rows of desks before I froze.
No way.
There he was. My guy. My friend.
I didn’t even think, I just walked straight up to him, a smile already breaking across my face. “You’re here?”
The floor shifted beneath me.
The resemblance was uncanny. He had the same defined jawline and the same mischievous spark in his eyes. If he had not disappeared, he would have been about the same height or maybe taller. I couldn’t determine. As I stood closer to him, I noticed the differences too. This boy’s nose was less flat and his front teeth had no gap. The boy blinked at me, confusion written all over his face.
I swallowed my disappointment and forced a polite smile.
Well done, Dee. First day of school, and you already look like the weirdo.
The walk of shame to my seat was calculated. I carefully manoeuvred through the desks to avoid further embarrassment.
The bell rang, and students bolted out of the classroom as if they were chased by something.
I exhaled deeply. Phew. I survived the first day.
“Thank you, Jesus,” I muttered, already envisioning the shawarma waiting for me.
“What happened?”
I paused at the sound of the decisive voice. I turned around and found myself staring at—wait, what was his name again?
Before I could come up with an answer, his fingers snapped me back to reality.
He was watching me with an amused expression, head tilted. “I see. You’re a quiet one.”
I shrugged. “I just don’t like talking much. And I thought I was alone. Why didn’t you rush out like the others?”
“My driver texted. He’s running late, so I’m waiting for him.”
Oshheeyyy, rich kid with a personal driver. The thought played across my face.
“It’s not what you think, by the way.”
I blinked. “Huh?”
“I get that look anytime I mention having a driver.” His gaze drifted, lost in his own thoughts.
For some reason, he felt the need to explain himself, like he’d done this many times before.
As I formed the words to respond, my phone dinged. A message from my dad:
Traffic is crazy. I’ll be late.
I sighed. “Guess I’m stuck waiting too.”
His face lit up. “Let’s go to the playground. We can play 20 questions on the way.”
I reluctantly agreed.
By question 5, I knew there was something different about Feranmi. “Do you believe that science accurately explains genetics? Why?”
I stopped and looked at him before laughing at the question.
“You know… you remind me of someone I knew back in junior high.” The words rolled out of him quickly and too unexpectedly for me to respond in full composure. If he is who I think he is, why doesn’t he remember me?
I forced my voice to stay steady. “What about them?”
He frowned slightly. “I can’t remember exactly… but something about you feels familiar.”
This was it. This was my moment to ask more questions.
“Question 6. Did you go to GHJIS in Taraba State?”
Please say yes. Please say yes.
He shook his head. “Nah, I didn’t.”
My stomach dropped as my phone rang loudly at the same moment.
“My dad’s here. Is your driver here yet?”
He shook his head.
I hesitated. Knowing my dad, he’d say, “What would a Good Samaritan do?”
“Do you want a ride? My dad can drop you off.” I pointed to the invisible car behind me.
He thought about it for a moment. “Sure.” He shrugged. “Please lead the way, miss.”
I walked up to the car first to let my dad know as Feranmi stood behind, staring at his brown shoes. My dad agreed too quickly as expected and despite my attempts to talk him out of it, he still drove us to get shawarma.
Surprisingly, the ride wasn’t awkward. Feranmi and my dad somehow were chatting like long-lost besties.
As I watched them laugh and talk, a small thought nudged at the back of my mind—I tried not to compare them. But I did.
I told myself it was a coincidence. The way he tapped his fingers when he was excited, exactly like Fad used to. The way he bought the same brand of sweets Fad always shared. The way he said, “Oya now,” with the same teasing lilt.
At first, I brushed it off. But as the days passed, the pieces formed themselves into pictures I wasn’t ready to see.
Still, I ended up becoming friends with Feranmi.
One year felt like one day, and for the first time since Fad, I had someone I could genuinely call my bro. We became inseparable.
Feranmi’s family was barely in town. His younger brother had been in a terrible accident and was in a coma for two years. His parents traveled a lot for his treatment, which also explained the driver.
Being friends with Feranmi was easy. Natural.
We laughed at the random situations we came up with in our excessive free time, fought over music choices, and competed over who could eat the most suya without drinking water. I really liked being friends with him.
*
“Yo, Dee! Guess what?” Feranmi called out excitedly, running up to me one Friday after school.
“What’s up? You know I hate guessing, tell me.” I studied his face for an answer.
“My brother woke up last week! They’re flying home Monday!”
“Oh my God, Oh my God!” I hugged him tight.
“Yes, it is good news,” he murmured. His voice changed as he gently squirmed.
I pulled back. Everywhere suddenly felt too hot.
“Dee…” he started, then stopped. I wasn’t sure where he was going as he searched my face for an affirmation to continue.
“My brother and I were really close. Really close,” He said, voice softer. “And when he was gone, I didn’t realize how lost I was. Then I met you.”
I swallowed.
“You made things feel normal again,” he continued. “And I—I like you, Dee.”
That was the last thing I heard before I grabbed my bag and ran.
He called my name, but I couldn’t stop running.
He likes me? He broke our ‘broski forever’ protocol?! But if we were just bros, why did my heart feel like it was about to explode?
*
My heart was pounding as I stood on Feranmi's doorstep. After a weekend of replaying his words over and over—“I like you, Dee”—I finally knew what I wanted to say. I knew his family had returned from the airport today, but I couldn’t wait any longer.
I rang the doorbell, clutching my phone tightly. The door swung open, and I recognized the figure instantly. I knew the shape of his head anywhere, and my feet moved before my mind could catch up.
I stepped forward quickly. “Feranmi,” I breathed.
He turned around just in time as I reached for his hands.
“Dee?” His voice sliced through the silence like a forgotten melody.
I pulled back, breathless. “I like you too,” I said, eyes tightly shut before my nerves got the better of me.
“Ahem.”
We turned to see his parents watching us from the living room... and a figure beside them. Another Feranmi?
Then—I took a second look at the person in front of me.
He was thinner. Taller. Handsome. And he wasn’t Feranmi.
“Dee.” “Fadekemi.” We echoed in unison.
How was my heart pounding so loud I could hear it? After all these years, Fad was standing right here. I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or hug him. Instead, I just stood there, taking it all in.
Feranmi glanced between us, confusion flickering across his face.
And then it finally hit me.
They are brothers.
Emmanuella Roli Atsiangbe, widely known as Ella Roli, is a storyteller who masterfully blends faith, personal growth, and real-life experiences into captivating narratives. With a unique flair for analogies and heartfelt reflections, she empowers young adults to navigate life and discover their purpose authentically. Through her writing and stunning visuals, Ella Roli creates content that resonates deeply. Connect with her on YouTube at Ella Roli, or on Instagram @ellaroli_
Cover Image by Jonathan Cooper on Unsplash