Kelechi fumbled with the door handle, bursting into the guesthouse like a dog off its leash. The strange encounter he’d just had with the man from the photo sent a wave of chills through him. He shut the door and collapsed onto the floor, burying his head in his hands.

He was glad he hadn’t run into Zara on his way in; how would he have explained sprinting like a madman when no one was chasing him?

What truly terrified him was that the man knew exactly who he was. How had Halima gotten herself mixed up with someone so dangerous?

Kelechi was now more convinced than ever that the man had something to do with her disappearance. But none of it added up. If the man had found him so easily, finding Halima would’ve been just as simple. Unless… this was all part of something bigger. What if the man was only trying to warn him?

One thing was certain: he had to find Halima, and time wasn’t his best friend.

His only lead so far was the TikTok video. So, he replayed the video again, trying to catch any clue he might have missed.

The TikTok account was newly created, with only two videos featuring Halima. It felt intentional, like she was leaving a trail just for him.

But why?

He sent a message to the TikTok account with the strange username @iseeu. At first, it looked like a name or alias. But the more he stared at it, the clearer it became: I see you.

He messaged the account, asking who was behind it and if they knew the lady in the blue boubou. No reply. But the message had been read.

Kelechi knew Halima was playing some mind game, but yet again, he asked himself why? His thoughts wandered to the note and drawings she left with Zara. She had always loved to draw, but it almost broke him to think she once saw a future with him, but that didn’t stop her from disappearing. Which implied that whatever was after her was bigger than what she felt for him.

He decided not to waste another moment sitting idly. He had to do something and fast.
—
“Oga, where you dey go?”

A loud honk snapped Kelechi out of his thoughts. A Keke Napep had pulled up beside him as he walked toward the main road to find a cab to the location in the video. Behind the wheel sat a bulky man with a wide, toothy grin and tribal marks etched into his cheeks. Though it was already past four, the sun still beat down fiercely, forcing Kelechi to squint.

“Oga, I say where you dey go? I fit drop you,” the driver repeated.

“I’m not sure,” Kelechi replied, pulling out his phone. “Do you recognize this place?” He played the video of the preacher for the driver.

“Pastor Jesutoki? Na Kulende market be this na! I sabi the place well-well. Enter, make I drop you.”

The driver sounded helpful enough, so Kelechi climbed into the back seat, brushing it off before sitting to avoid staining his black pants. But as he settled in, the driver added, “Your money na #1,500 o.”

Kelechi didn’t argue. He gave a curt nod as the tricycle zoomed off. Barely a minute later, they pulled up in front of the market. It was only a stone’s throw from where he’d been picked up. Of course, locals could always smell a JJC from miles away. This was purely extortion, but he didn’t complain as his mind was set on finding Halima.

Kelechi scanned the crowd of sellers and buyers, eyes darting through rows of faces, hoping to catch a glimpse of Halima or her signature blue boubou. Nothing yet. He recognized the spot where the preacher had stood in the video, but it was empty now, except for a little boy sitting on the bare floor, picking up fallen groundnuts. Kelechi couldn’t help but think of how unsanitary that was.

Just then, his phone buzzed. It was Fatima. He answered immediately, desperate for anything that might ground him.

“Kelechi?” Her voice sounded unsure.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Where are you?”
“I’m still in Ilorin,” he replied. “By the way, Fatima, I think Halima is leaving more clues for me. I saw a video of her at this exact market. I think she wants me to find her.”
There was silence for a beat.
“Kelechi… maybe it’s enough that we now know she’s not dead. I think you need to stop now.”
“What are you talking about, Fatima? This is Halima we speak of. We thought she was dead. And now that we know she’s alive and probably in danger, you don’t want her found?” He was confused. If anything, Fatima of all people should understand why he was doing this.
Fatima’s voice dropped lower. “I got a message… from a private number. It said, ‘not everything lost wants to be found.’”
Kelechi’s breath caught in his throat. Then, slowly collecting himself, he asked, “Did you reply?”
“I tried to call back, but it kept saying the number doesn’t exist,” Fatima said, her voice flat. “Kelechi, I think Halima’s disappearance is intentional. Remember the call I told you I received the day the fire incident happened? I’m convinced now that she planned everything.”
Kelechi told her everything he had found and asked if she knew who Alhaji Nuradeen was.
“Alhaji Nuradeen?” Fatima repeated. “That name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it right now. I’ll let you know if I remember anything. But Kelechi, maybe it’s time we involved the police. This isn’t as simple as it seems. I’m starting to get scared,” her voice shook

A flash of blue caught his eye in the crowd. A familiar blue boubou.

“Fatima, I have to go. I’ll call you back,” he muttered hastily, already moving. He pushed through the crowd, heart pounding so loud it muffled the din of the market. He didn’t care if he looked like a madman. He just needed to be sure.

By the time he got to the spot the figure had been, there was nothing; just market women calling out to him, trying to sell their goods. Did he imagine it? Or was he slowly losing his mind?

Then it occurred to him to speak to the stall owner directly opposite where the preacher had stood in the video. Luckily, he spotted her attending to a customer who looked unhappy.

“I say I no get ₦50! Come back tomorrow, I go give you. Iya Risi, you get ₦50?” she asked her neighbor, who shook her head.
Kelechi remembered he had a ₦50 note in his pocket and offered it to the customer. She took it and left quickly, barely saying thank you.
“Oga, thank you o… You wan buy something?” the stall owner asked, flashing a smile. She was at least four times his size, but moved around her stall with surprising ease.
“No ma, actually I’m looking for someone.” Kelechi brought out his phone and showed her the video.
“Ah, Pastor Jesutoki! He no dey come every day o, na only market days. The next one na Friday,” she replied in a mix of thick Yoruba-accented English and pidgin.
“What about this lady in the blue boubou? Do you see her around often?” He asked.
She paused, looked him over from head to toe, then narrowed her eyes.
“Who you be sef? You be mopol? She be thief?”
“Not at all. Please, I’m just trying to find the lady. If you know anything that could help, I’d really appreciate it.”
She gave him another look, then shrugged. “Abeg hold on, make I attend to customer.”
After about five minutes, she finally sat down without offering him a seat. Not that he minded.
“I remember her,” she said. “She come last market day. I remember because she no come alone. She come with one guy. He stand for here dey record Pastor Jesutoki.” If the guy she was referring to stood at the spot the seller pointed out, then there was a possibility that the guy was the one behind the camera.
“You said ‘he’ she was with a man?”
“Ehnehn, before nko? Na man. Them waka come together and waka go together.”
“Wait, can you describe the guy?”
“This your question don dey too much o,” she said with a yawn. Kelechi guessed his ₦50 had stopped working its magic. He brought out a ₦1,000 note and handed it to her.
“For your trouble, ma.”
She smiled and slipped it into her wrapper.
“I no see him face well. He wear face cap, but I notice one thing. He get mark for him left cheek. E be like say one side of him face burn. Na the only way I fit describe am be that.”
She turned to attend to another customer, but what she’d said left Kelechi baffled. Halima wasn’t alone? And there was a chance someone had been with her during the fire outbreak. Every discovery Kelechi made only led to more questions.
What the hell is going on, Halima? This is driving me crazy. Kelechi thought to himself
As he turned to make his way out of the market, unsure of his next move, his phone buzzed.

Notification: @iseeu posted a new video.

Kelechi opened TikTok and clicked on it. The screen lit up.

The video was grainy, like something recorded with a cheap Android phone. The image was as blurry as the other two posted earlier, and it was hard to tell exactly where it had been taken, though Kelechi could tell it looked like a suburb.
It felt like a casual vlog. No one appeared in the frame until the camera slowed and panned across a figure sitting alone on a bench. The face wasn’t clear, but one detail stood out: the person was wearing a blue boubou.

Then his eyes caught the caption below the video:

“Wealth chased me here.”

Kelechi replayed the video, searching for more clues about the location, but the resolution was too poor. Nothing else stood out. But the lyrics to the soundtrack of the video caught his attention.

“Kajẹ wa o, Kajẹ wa o, Kajẹ wa o…”

Though he was Igbo by blood, Kelechi understood Yoruba well enough that he could even pass as one. He knew the lyrics translated to: Let wealth come.
The song aligned with the strange caption. “Wealth chased me here”, which was vague at first, but in Yoruba, it made more sense;

Ajelende

If his memory served him right, he had seen a signpost with that name yesterday on his way to Alhaja’s Suya spot.

Without a second thought, he turned and began making his way out of the market. But just as he reached the exit, his gaze locked with someone across the crowd. It was a guy in a face cap, staring hard at him. Kelechi squinted harder to take in the face, then he noticed the burn.

Instinctively, Kelechi stepped forward.

But the guy bolted toward the road and flagged down a taxi. Kelechi didn’t hesitate as he also stopped one too and jumped in.

“Follow that cab,” he ordered the driver.

As the driver sped off, weaving through the busy street, Kelechi’s mind repeated one thought like a mantra:

“Halima, I hope this leads me to you.”

NEWLY ADDED CHARACTERS

1. Market Woman
2. A mysterious 'friend' of Halima (not named yet)

✨ Why This Chapter Won!

• Word count excellence – The chapter met and exceeded the 1,500-word minimum with a well-developed and layered narrative.
• Seamless continuation – It picked up naturally from Chapter Three, continuing Kelechi’s search with focus and logic.
• Fresh investigative angle – Using the TikTok handle (@iseeu) as a new clue was clever and relevant, keeping the story grounded in modern realism.
• Strong setting and local color – The Ilorin backdrop was vivid and immersive, from market sounds to local slang and cultural elements.
• Spiritual suspense – The introduction of Ajelende and the preacher’s cryptic warning added a mystical layer without abandoning the thriller tone.
• Emotional weight – Kelechi’s confusion, desperation, and growing dread were portrayed with honesty and restraint.