Soured Broth.

"You're such a stubborn girl. Why is it so hard to say those words?" the pastor queried.

I stood firm, hands behind my back, as whispers of disbelief circulated among the committee members. Regardless of their opinions, unless hell turns to ice, I won't utter an apology.

Allow me to recount the story and introduce the other guilty party to you.

Meet Titi, my fellow sister in Christ. We share the same church community. Titi is tall, slender, and has a friendly smile. Always ready to assist, she's not only known for her helpful nature but also for her melodious voice as a treble singer. Our duets, with me as an alto, create a harmonious blend during our singing sessions.

Despite Titi being three years my senior, we both faced challenges gaining admission to university after graduating from secondary school. Fortunately, someone suggested an A-level program to Titi's parents, who embraced the idea and sent her to Kwara State for the program. A successful completion with impressive grades would secure direct entry into some selected universities.

Titi wasn't the only one from my church who had gone to Ilorin, Kwara State, for the program. Two other friends of ours also enrolled in the program. I felt left out and appealed to my father to let me join. He hesitated, expressing concerns about my age and independence. To address his worries, I suggested living with Titi, who had a room to herself. My father contacted Titi, and she agreed to the arrangement, provided I reimbursed half of the rent. I was fine with this, as it ensured equal rights for both of us in the house.

On the designated day, I embarked on my journey to Ilorin for the year-long A-level program. Titi warmly welcomed me to our cozy one-room apartment, furnished with a bed and a wooden wardrobe. Her kitchen, consisting of cooking utensils, was neatly tucked by the door. Fortunately, everything I needed was already there, making my settling-in process smooth. As time passed, our bond deepened.

Titi was an art student and I was a science student, and this resulted in different lecture schedules. She left for lectures before me daily, enjoying her weekends, while I navigated practicals on weekends. But even at that, I was still the one responsible for our grocery shopping and cooking.

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Everything was smooth until I fell in love with Joshua, a fellow science student. His frequent visits to our room sparked jealousy in Titi, who, instead of discussing her feelings, showcased her artistry by writing, "No boyfriends allowed in this room" on the wall with white chalk. I found it amusing and chose to overlook the message, and Joshua continued his visits.

Shortly after, Titi restricted my use of her utensils and possessions, except for the bed. Undeterred, I bought my own utensils and bucket. Titi, perhaps to provoke me, developed a habit of leaving her dishes unwashed after cooking, knowing my inclination towards cleanliness. Nevertheless, I chose not to be bothered by it.

One day, after making a pot of jollof rice but being unable to eat it due to an emergency class, I returned home to find the pot empty. When I confronted Titi, she denied eating my food.

"Does an invisible jollof rice enthusiast haunt this place?" I asked, shooting her a piercing gaze.

"Believe what you want; I don't care," she responded, avoiding eye contact.

Amid the back-and-forth, the dispute couldn't resurrect my vanished jollof rice. Frustrated, I resolved to retaliate. Titi's deliberate attempts to unsettle me had reached a tipping point—wearing my ironed clothes, taking my noodles without permission, and, finally, insisting I sleep on the floor instead of her bed. Behind my angelic facade, a devilish grin emerged. Titi unknowingly initiated a game I was well-versed in. It remained to be seen who would be the first to vacate the room.

Deploying my own tactics, I arranged for my mercenaries to reciprocate against Titi. When she cooked, I skillfully extracted all the meat and fish, securing them for myself. Additionally, I constructed a cupboard with a lock to safeguard my pot of food. On one occasion, when Titi returned with ample groceries, drawing from my boarding school experience, I effortlessly accessed her padlocked stash with just a pen. She refrained from raising an alarm as her padlock remained intact, leaving no evidence of unauthorized access. The battle for dominance continued.

In this real-life Tom and Jerry scenario, akin to the legendary cartoon, a small mouse like me was imparting a significant lesson to the cat. Titi removed the bed as her ultimate way of prompting me to leave, but I refused to succumb easily. I embraced the floor as my new sleeping spot and remained resolute in my determination to get back at her.

One morning, as Titi prepared to bathe, an urgent call of nature forced her to the toilet. Seizing the moment, I infused her bathwater with a generous amount of ground pepper. Not long after, I was treated to her loud cry from the bathroom. The neighbors rushed to her aid as she struggled with the painful aftermath. I laughed so hard, leaving my ribs sore. The retaliation had become very spicy.

That night, Titi, convinced I was a witch, hastily moved all her belongings out of the house. Reveling in a newfound sense of power, I released a hysterical laugh loud enough for her to hear as she exited. The victory was sweet.

Back to the little drama at the beginning of the story. The church heard what happened and formed a peace committee to mediate between us. After hearing both sides, we were asked to apologize to each other. However, I couldn't find a reason to apologize. Prior to meeting Joshua, I handled all household chores, including cooking her meals, washing and ironing her clothes daily, and running errands as the younger one. Yet, when I fell in love, she treated me like an outcast. I merely returned the favor. I do not care about their views. If anyone owed an apology, she was the guilty party.

During the remaining months of the program, we actively avoided one another. Following its conclusion, none of us secured admission to a university, leading us to return home. Subsequently, my father acquired a new job in a different city, prompting our relocation.

Years later, she reached out on Facebook, and we reconnected. Despite never discussing our past, we've maintained a friendly connection to this day.