The price of a broken dream episode 3

The night Olanshile died did not feel like a night meant for death. It felt like every other night we had spent together music loud enough to shake the walls, lights flashing like false promises, laughter drowning out thought. If I had known this would be the last time I would see his face alive, I would have walked away. But regret only grows after the damage is done.

I arrived at the club already heavy with thoughts. My business failure replayed in my head like a curse. Everywhere I turned, I saw Olanshile’s success mocking me his clothes, his confidence, the way people respected him. When he greeted me that night, smiling like nothing was wrong, something snapped quietly inside me.

We drank. We laughed. Or at least, I pretended to laugh.

Inside me, the voices were loud. He doesn’t want you to succeed. He watched you beg and still said no. He wasted what you needed. Those thoughts wrapped around my heart and squeezed until reason could no longer breathe.

I had planned it, but not with the seriousness of a murderer. It felt unreal, like something I could still stop. I told myself it was just anger talking. I told myself I would calm down.

I didn’t.

When Olanshile lifted his drink, I watched closely. My hands were steady, but my soul was shaking. There was a moment just onenwhere I could have turned away. That moment passed.

Minutes later, his laughter changed. His face tightened. At first, people joked that he was too drunk. He tried to stand and failed. His glass shattered on the floor. The music continued, careless and loud.

Then Olanshile collapsed.

Everything slowed. I stood frozen as people gathered around him. Someone shouted his name. Someone splashed water on his face. His body did not respond. His eyes were open, but he wasn’t there anymore.

Fear hit me like cold water.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to confess. I wanted to disappear. Instead, I stood among the crowd, pretending to be shocked, pretending to be innocent. My heart beat so hard I thought everyone could hear it.

The ambulance arrived. Police followed. The club turned silent in a way I had never known before. When they took his body away, I realized something terrifying my anger was gone. In its place was emptiness.

That night, I did not sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Olanshile falling. I heard the glass breaking. I felt the weight of what I had done pressing on my chest.

I had crossed a line that could never be erased.

And even before the police came for me, I knew one truth with painful clarity: I had not killed my enemy.

I had killed my friend.

Continue reading Episode 4