30/09/2026
CHAPTER TWO : PERFECT ON INSTAGRAM
By 6:15 the next morning, Amara was already awake.
She lay on her bed staring at the ceiling.
She hadn't slept properly.
Her father's words from the previous night kept replaying in her head.
"We may have to sell the television."
She turned towards the other side of the bed.
Her phone was lying there.
She picked it up.
The screen lit up.
"127 new notifications."
Amara sat up.
She opened Instagram.
Her picture from the previous evening had done better than she expected.
3,892 likes.
She smiled.
Then she started reading the comments.
"Amara, you're glowing!"
"Girl, I need your life!"
"Rich girl things!"
"Take me with you next time!"
She laughed softly.
Then she saw a message from Sophie.
"Sophie: Girl, where exactly did you go yesterday?"
Amara's smile disappeared.
She stared at the message.
She typed:
"Victoria Island."
Then deleted it.
Typed:
"Just somewhere nice."
Deleted that too.
Finally, she wrote:
"We went out with my parents. Nothing serious."
She pressed send.
Almost immediately, Sophie replied.
"Sophie: Which restaurant?"
Amara frowned.
Why was she asking so many questions?
She typed:
"Why?"
Sophie replied:
"I want to go there. 😂"
Amara breathed out.
She had forgotten that Sophie actually knew most of the expensive restaurants in Lagos.
She quickly searched online for a restaurant in Victoria Island.
She found one with beautiful pictures.
She sent the name.
"Sophie: Ahhh! That place is expensive! 😭"
Amara smiled.
"Amara: My dad likes taking us there."
She put down the phone.
One lie.
That was all it was.
One little lie.
But Amara was beginning to learn something dangerous.
"One lie always needed another lie to protect it."
---
By 7:20 a.m., Amara was ready for school.
She stood in front of the mirror.
Her uniform was neatly ironed.
Her hair was perfect.
She wore small gold earrings and a delicate bracelet.
Then she picked up her handbag.
The fake designer handbag.
She looked at herself.
"Perfect," she whispered.
Her mother appeared at the bedroom door.
"Amara."
Amara turned.
"Good morning, Mum."
Her mother smiled tiredly.
"Good morning."
She was still wearing the simple clothes she had worn the previous evening.
Amara noticed the dark circles under her mother's eyes.
"You didn't sleep?"
"I slept."
"You look tired."
"I'm fine."
Her mother stepped into the room.
"Did you eat?"
"I'm not hungry."
"Amara."
"I'm really not hungry."
Her mother sighed.
"At least take some bread."
"I'll eat at school."
Her mother looked at the handbag.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then she asked quietly,
"Where did you get that?"
Amara's expression changed.
"I bought it."
"With what money?"
"Mine."
"Amara..."
"Mum, please."
"I am not trying to fight with you."
"I know."
"Then why are you behaving like this?"
Amara picked up her phone.
"I have to go."
Her mother caught her hand gently.
"Amara."
She stopped.
"Things are difficult for us right now."
"I know."
"Your father is trying."
"I know."
"We cannot afford to spend money trying to look like people we are not."
Amara pulled her hand away.
"I didn't ask anybody for money."
Her mother's face fell.
"That's not what I meant."
Amara immediately regretted her words.
But instead of apologising, she picked up her bag.
"I'll be late."
She walked out.
Her mother remained at the doorway.
She watched her daughter leave.
And for the first time, she wondered whether she had underestimated how much the financial situation was affecting Amara.
---
At school, everything was different.
The moment Amara entered the classroom, Zainab called her.
"Come here!"
Amara walked over.
"What?"
Zainab turned her phone towards her.
"Look."
It was a video.
Someone had posted a short clip of Amara walking into the school the previous morning.
The caption read:
"WHEN YOU'RE THE RICHEST GIRL IN SCHOOL. 😍💅🏽"
Amara laughed.
"Who posted this?"
"I don't know."
"Send it to me."
"Why?"
"I want it."
Zainab stared at her.
"You actually enjoy this attention."
"Of course."
"Don't you ever get tired?"
"Of what?"
"People talking about you."
Amara shrugged.
"No."
Zainab smiled.
"You know what? If I were you, I'd probably enjoy it too."
Amara smiled.
She wanted to tell Zainab everything.
For just a moment, she imagined saying:
"We're not rich."
"My father lost his business."
"My mum works as a housekeeper."
"The restaurant pictures aren't mine."
"The car in my pictures isn't ours."
"Sometimes I don't even have enough money for lunch."
But she couldn't.
The words stayed trapped inside her.
"Amara?"
She blinked.
"Yes?"
"I said are you coming to my birthday party?"
"When?"
"Saturday."
"Oh."
Amara hesitated.
"I'll see."
Zainab frowned.
"You'll see?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I might be busy."
"Doing what?"
Amara smiled.
"Family stuff."
Zainab narrowed her eyes.
"You always have family stuff."
"Because I have a family."
Zainab laughed.
"Very funny."
But she didn't laugh for long.
Something about Amara's response had bothered her.
---
At break time, the girls gathered around Amara again.
Sophie was showing them pictures on her phone.
"Look at this dress!"
She showed them a picture of an expensive-looking outfit.
"I'm thinking of buying it."
Amara looked at the price.
Her stomach tightened.
"₦185,000."
That was more than her father had left in his bank account.
She forced a smile.
"Nice."
Sophie looked at her.
"You should buy it too."
"Maybe."
"Imagine us wearing the same dress to the party."
Amara laughed.
"That would be nice."
"Then buy it."
"I will."
"When?"
"Later."
"Okay."
Sophie smiled.
But her eyes remained on Amara.
She had noticed something.
Whenever money came up, Amara became uncomfortable.
It was small.
Almost invisible.
But Sophie noticed.
---
After school, Amara didn't go home immediately.
She went to a shopping centre.
She stood in front of a boutique window staring at the dress Sophie had shown them.
It was beautiful.
Simple.
Elegant.
Expensive.
Amara checked her purse.
She had ₦7,500.
The dress cost ₦185,000.
She laughed bitterly.
"How am I supposed to buy this?"
"Madam?"
Amara turned.
A salesgirl was standing beside her.
"Would you like to see it?"
"No."
"You can try it on."
"I said no."
The girl smiled politely.
"Okay, ma."
Amara walked away.
She felt embarrassed.
She hated this feeling.
She hated looking at things she couldn't afford.
She hated pretending that she could afford them.
And most of all, she hated how much she cared about what other people thought.
Her phone rang.
It was Zainab.
"Hello?"
"Where are you?"
"At home."
There was silence.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Because I just saw your location on Instagram."
Amara froze.
"What?"
"You posted a story."
Amara quickly opened Instagram.
She had forgotten.
A photograph of the shopping centre was on her story.
She had taken it while standing outside the boutique.
The location was visible.
"The Palms Shopping Mall."
She swallowed.
"I came out with my mum."
"Oh."
"Yes."
Another lie.
Zainab didn't say anything.
Then she asked,
"Can I come over?"
Amara's heart stopped.
"Come over?"
"Yes."
"Today?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I just want to see you."
Amara looked around her.
"No."
"Why?"
"I'm busy."
"Doing what?"
Amara closed her eyes.
"Zainab, please. Another day."
"Okay."
Zainab ended the call.
Amara stared at her phone.
She knew she had hurt her friend's feelings.
But she couldn't risk Zainab coming to her house.
Not now.
Not ever.
---
That evening, Amara sat at her desk.
Her homework was open in front of her.
But she wasn't studying.
She was scrolling through Instagram.
She noticed something.
Sophie had posted a picture.
She was standing in front of a huge swimming pool.
The caption read:
"Home is where the heart is. ❤️"
Amara stared at the picture.
She knew that house.
It was enormous.
Beautiful.
Real.
She clicked on Sophie's profile.
Picture after picture.
Vacations.
Restaurants.
Birthday parties.
Family events.
Designer clothes.
Luxury cars.
Everything Amara pretended to have.
And suddenly, something strange happened.
Amara wasn't jealous of Sophie.
She was angry.
Because Sophie had everything without pretending.
Amara dropped her phone.
She stood up.
Then she walked to the mirror.
"What is wrong with me?"
She didn't know.
Maybe she was tired.
Maybe she was ashamed.
Maybe she was afraid.
Or maybe she had simply become addicted to being admired.
Her phone vibrated.
She picked it up.
A message from an unknown number.
"Unknown: I know where you live."
Amara's heart stopped.
She stared at the screen.
Another message came.
"Unknown: And I know your mother doesn't live the life you tell people she does."
Amara's hands began to shake.
She quickly typed:
"Who is this?"
No response.
She typed again.
"Who are you?"
Still nothing.
Then another message appeared.
"Unknown: Don't worry. Your secret is safe... for now."
Amara dropped the phone on the bed.
Her breathing became faster.
Someone knew.
Someone knew about her family.
Someone knew her life wasn't what she claimed.
She looked towards the bedroom door.
Her parents were in the living room.
Her mother was washing dishes.
Her father was watching television.
Everything looked normal.
But suddenly, Amara didn't feel safe.
She picked up her phone again.
The message was still there.
She read it three times.
Then she deleted the conversation.
She told herself it was probably a prank.
Someone was trying to scare her.
But deep down, she knew better.
Because whoever had sent the message knew something they shouldn't have known.
Amara sat on her bed.
For the first time since she created her perfect online life, she wondered:
"How long could she keep the lie alive?"
And somewhere across Lagos, someone was already holding the answer.
TO BE CONTINUED...
----
Watch out for chapter 3 ✍️
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