The lights in the room were dim. A single table lamp cast a soft glow across the corner of the wall where Alex sat, elbows on his knees, fingers laced, staring at the floor like it held all the answers he didn't know how to ask.
The laughter of his friends from earlier still echoed faintly in his head. The wave. The smile. That girl. He leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly. It was her.
He had spent so many days walking around campus, catching fleeting glimpses of her—never close enough to say anything, never bold enough to approach. But that smile today... it wasn't just familiar—it was the smile. The one that had etched itself into his memory the day he sat nervously in the bus to the city, clutching his worn-out bag, unsure of what awaited him. That smile had calmed him once. And now, it had stirred something. He smiled faintly to himself, but then the smile faded, shadowed by something else—guilt? Uncertainty?
His mind drifted—inevitably—to Emily.
He had noticed her expression. The slight change in her eyes when she saw the girl wave at him. Emily was good at hiding things, but not from him. Not always. He remembered the moments they shared—the way she laughed when she forgot herself, the quiet way she listened when no one else did. The way their hands brushed once, and how neither of them pulled away. But then guy… Alex closed his eyes, letting the thoughts settle. Maybe he was foolish for still holding on to something that hadn't been said out loud. But even if nothing ever happened between them again, he knew what they shared was real—even if brief. He rose slowly and walked over to the small window that overlooked the neighborhood. The lights outside flickered in the distance. The air was still.
In the room beside his, he could hear Uncle John moving about—probably prepping for bed. That man had given him more than shelter. He had given him a second chance. A new beginning.
And here he was, in a world far from the dusty roads of the village, trying to find his place among people who didn't even know how far he'd come just to sit at the same table. A knock tapped gently on the door. Uncle John poked his head in.
"You good?" he asked, his voice warm, steady. Alex nodded. "Yeah… just thinking." Uncle John smiled faintly. "Thinking's good. Just don't do too much of it without sleeping." Alex chuckled softly. "I won't." As the door closed behind him again, Alex turned back to the window. He whispered to himself, not out of loneliness, but with quiet determination. "I'll figure it out. One thing at a time." And as he reached for the small notebook on his desk—the one he used to write down thoughts, goals, and pieces of poems he never showed anyone—he felt something shift.
The world still felt heavy sometimes. But right now, there was a quiet strength inside him. Tomorrow, he would return to campus. And maybe, just maybe… the next time he saw that girl, he would say something. Even if it was just hi.It was a breezy Thursday evening, the kind that wrapped the campus in a calm, amber hue. The sun had dipped low, but its golden warmth still lingered across the rooftops and walkways. The film screening was all everyone had been talking about that week—something about a student-directed documentary and a short indie feature that had already won some recognition at a local festival.
Alex had been reluctant at first. He didn't mind films, but gatherings like that were still something he was adjusting to. He had spent most of his life in a village where evenings meant sitting on a wooden stool, listening to his grandmother hum old songs as she peeled cassava. But Kenny and Mike wouldn't let him sit this one out.
"Guy, you dey act like we dey go wedding," Mike teased, elbowing Alex lightly as they walked across the courtyard. "It's just a screening."
"I just don't see the hype," Alex muttered, half-smiling. "But you'll come anyway," Kenny added with a grin. "Because we're your people now." Angela, walking a few steps ahead with Emily, turned around. "He'll thank us later," she said. "It's actually a good film. And besides… you never know who you might meet."
Emily shot her a quick look and nudged her in the side. The auditorium wasn't too far from the central cafeteria. Students were already gathering, some with popcorn packets in hand, others with hoodies pulled up, ready for a cozy seat in the dim light. Alex watched as a group of students laughed by the stairs. He felt the old habit rise inside him—that gentle instinct to stay at the edge, to observe, not insert himself. But his friends were different. They didn't let him fade into the background. Mike pulled him by the arm, and before he could blink, they had claimed six seats at the center row, right in front of the projector's golden glow.
Emily and Angela sat to one side, Kenny and Mike on the other. Alex found himself in the middle, sandwiched between the noise and the laughter.
It was in this moment—right before the lights dimmed—that Alex's eyes caught a figure by the aisle. A girl with dark skin, framed by soft curls, walked in with two other girls, her laughter quiet and graceful. She wasn't loud like the others. Her presence was calm, but she glowed in it.
Zara.
He didn't know her name then. He only recognized the face—first from the bus, then again from brief, silent encounters across campus. She hadn't seen him yet. But Alex's heart beat a little louder, as if something was reminding him. The film began. And as light flickered on the screen, Alex's mind drifted—between the faces beside him and the one just a few rows ahead.her gaze flickering between the screen and the silhouette seated across from her—Alex. He was on the other side with Mike and Kenny, but for a moment, it felt like he was much farther.
Emily tried to focus on the movie, but every time the lead characters exchanged glances on-screen, she felt her own chest flutter. Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it wasn't. Alex wasn't saying much. He hadn't been for a while now. He sat forward, his arms resting on his knees, eyes glued to the screen but his mind somewhere else entirely. The breeze toyed with his collar, but he didn't notice. He was thinking. A few rows ahead seated Zara. He hadn't seen her arrive, but when their eyes accidentally met just before the movie began, she had given him a shy smile and a tiny wave. That moment had stuck with him like a thread tied to the back of his heart. He sighed softly and returned to the film just as a scene unfolded where the lead actor was quietly admiring the woman he loved—afraid to speak, afraid to ruin what felt delicate. It felt too familiar. Emily's eyes never fully left him, even as she leaned toward Angela and whispered something, laughing too quickly, trying too hard. But her smile didn't reach her eyes. A few seats over, John nudged Kenny and whispered, "You think Alex is still breathing?" Kenny chuckled. "I think he's somewhere in outer space."
"Or lost in her eyes," Mike added under his breath. Alex didn't hear them.
His mind drifted between memories and maybes. The night he first saw Zara on the bus. Her voice, faint and careful. The look she gave him just a few hours ago. There was something about her that pulled at parts of him he didn't even know existed. The movie played on, reaching its climax—a rain-soaked confession, soft music swelling as the two main characters embraced, drenched and desperate and in love. The crowd let out a collective sigh. Someone clapped softly. Angela leaned into Emily and whispered, "These kinds of love don't exist in real life." Emily gave a faint smile. "Maybe they do… but only for people brave enough to say what they feel."
Angela tilted her head. "Are you?"
Emily didn't answer. Her gaze returned to Alex. And on the other side of the lawn, Alex glanced her way for the briefest second. Their eyes met—and something passed between them. Something old. Something unfinished. But neither of them spoke.