A Night with Mr Bryan

Celina's POV

The steam from the banga soup curled through the kitchen, thick with palm nuts and spices. My mother sat across from me, wielding her spoon like it was a magic wand.

“Celina, look at this starch stretching,” she laughed, lifting the sticky yellow mass so high it nearly brushed the ceiling fan.

I burst into laughter, almost choking on my soup. “Mummy, please put that thing down before it wraps around your neck like a scarf. 

She gasped in mock offense and smacked her lips. “This girl! Your mouth is too sharp. And don’t think I didn’t notice you sneaking extra starch from the pot.”

Evenings with my mum were always warmth and laughter, a soft bubble from the outside world. 

“Mummy,” I said between bites, “if anyone walked in right now, they’d think we’d gone mad.”

She grinned. “Let them think, what they like. At least our madness is sweet. And banga soup cures every sorrow.”

I leaned forward, lowering my voice dramatically. “True. Even heartbreak.”

“Ha!” She dropped her spoon as if she’d heard scandal. “Don’t tell me one small boy has broken your heart again.”

“Mummy!” I groaned, pressing my forehead against the table. “It’s not like that. 

Then her expression softened, turning serious. She set her spoon down and looked at me carefully. “What about your boyfriend? The one who sometimes gets me medicine?”

I hesitated, pushing a piece of starch around in my bowl. “Mum… he keeps asking for something I’m not ready to give.”

Her eyes narrowed knowingly. “You mean sex?”

I swallowed, my voice dropping. “Yes. But I’m not ready for that. Not with him.”

She reached across the table, squeezing my hand. “That’s fine, my daughter. You don’t owe anyone that. Take your time. I support you.”

Just as we were about to dive into another round of teasing, a sharp knock echoed through the door.

My mother raised her brow. “Are you expecting someone?”

I frowned, licking palm oil from my fingers. “No, Mummy. Who even knows me in this area? Let me check.”

Dragging my wrapper higher, I shuffled to the door. But when I pulled it open, two stern-looking men in uniform stood there, their faces carved like stone.

“Good evening,” one of them said, his voice clipped. “We’re looking for Mrs. Williams.”

For a moment, I froze. My throat went dry. “Mrs… uh… Mrs–” The words tangled on my tongue, refusing to come out.

“Step aside, young lady,” the second officer ordered, pushing past me with firm authority.

“Mummy!” I called, panic surging through me.

My mother had already risen from her seat, confusion written all over her face. “Yes, I’m Mrs. Williams. What is this about?”

“Ma, you are under arrest,” the first officer announced.

The room spun. “Arrest? For what?!” I cried, rushing toward her.

The officers moved with frightening speed. Before I could react, her wrists were twisted behind her back and locked in cold steel cuffs.

“Mummy!” I screamed, tugging at one of the men. “She hasn’t done anything! At least tell us why!”

The officer’s eyes hardened. “She will be informed at the station. Don’t obstruct us.”

Tears blurred my vision. My mother’s gaze met mine–calm on the surface, but trembling underneath. “Celina, don’t worry. Everything will be fine. Take care of yourself.”

“No, Mummy! Please, she didn’t do anything!” My voice cracked, but they dragged her out like she was a criminal.

I stumbled after them, shouting, begging, but they shoved her into their van and drove away. Just like that, my whole world collapsed.

Her laughter… gone. Was it even real before? How could they take her? Myra burst in. “Celina! What happened?”

I clung to her like a lifeline. “They… they took my mum.”

“Who?”

“The police! They just came, called her name, and… and they arrested her!” My words broke apart between sobs.

Myra pulled me close, rubbing my back. “Oh my God. Bestie, breathe. I’m here. We’ll figure this out.”

I shook against her, clutching her shirt. “But she hasn’t done anything, Myra. You know my mum. She can’t even kill a mosquito.”

“I know.” she whispered, rocking me gently.

Then she tapped my forehead with a weak smile, “If you cry, I cry. So relax, we got this.” 

Her words steadied me a little, though my chest still ached. We sat on the floor, holding on to each other, hearts pounding with fear of the unknown.

But even as her arms held me, doubt gnawed at the edges of my heart. What if comfort was only another lie we told ourselves to keep from drowning? Myra’s certainty sounded strong, but what if it was hollow, just words with no power to change what had already been done? The more I thought about it, the more I hated myself for sitting still, for crying into my best friend’s shoulder while the woman who raised me suffered alone. Fear whispered that this was only the beginning–that tonight’s knock on the door had shattered something I might never put back together.

Then my phone rang.

The shrill sound cut through the silence like a knife. I jumped, my heart slamming against my ribs. For a second, I couldn’t even move. The phone kept buzzing on the table, its screen lighting up the dim room, but my hands stayed frozen in my lap.

“Bestie, answer it,” Myra urged softly.

“I… I don’t know if I can.” My throat was so tight it hurt. What if it was the police again? What if they were calling to say something had happened to my mother? 

“Celina,” Myra pressed, gripping my arm, “just pick it. We’ll face it.”

I nodded weakly, forcing my trembling hand forward. The phone nearly slipped from my fingers as I swiped to answer.

“Hello?” My voice cracked.

A cold female voice sliced through the line. “If you want your mother out of that cell, you’ll come to me. Two minutes. No excuses.”

My blood turned to ice. “What? Who is this?”

The line went dead.

This was no longer about knocks or uniforms. It was a hand around my life, squeezing. I had always thought I would bargain for my mother without cost. I had not understood what the cost would look like once someone decided to name the price.

Part of me wanted to throw the phone across the room and pretend none of this was real. But another part–the louder, crueler part-whispered that if I delayed, my mother would pay. I was trapped either way.

Myra’s face was pale. “Who was that?”

I swallowed, heart hammering. “I… I don’t know who this is. But they have my mother.”