The hostel hallway was already buzzing when Amara stepped out of her room, textbooks clutched tightly to her chest. It was still early, but the semester exam had students pacing, praying, and cramming last-minute formulas like their lives depended on it.
For Amara, it felt like it did.
Her chest was tight. Her mind raced with every fact she had tried to memorize the night before. Every word she read echoed like a whisper: You can't fail again.
She had tasted failure once, and it still left a bitter sting in her memory—the red-inked "Resit Required" beside her name on the board was enough to haunt her for weeks. Now, she was walking into the same storm,
afraid that the past might repeat itself.
As she walked across the courtyard toward the exam hall, her phone buzzed.
Kingsley:You got this. Don't let your nerves lie to you. I believe in you, Amara.
She stopped walking, rereading the message twice. Her lips curled into the smallest smile, even as her stomach turned with anxiety. He always had this way of knowing when her confidence was cracking.
She didn't reply. She just kept walking.
The exam hall was colder than usual—at least that's how it felt.
Desks were spaced out in clean rows. The air carried that sterile silence that came before academic war. Students sat quietly, some whispering prayers, others furiously scribbling formulas onto their palms or tiny slips of paper.
Amara walked to her seat slowly. Her hands were trembling, and her heart was loud in her ears.
Behind her, she could feel eyes burning into her back.
Geraldine.
Geraldine.
The girl hadn't said a word, but Amara could feel her energy like a dark cloud creeping up her spine. When she glanced back briefly, Geraldine was staring at her, jaw tight, one manicured nail tapping rhythmically against the desk.
Amara quickly faced forward.
"Papers will be shared now. No phones. No noise. And no cheating," the invigilator announced sternly. "Anyone caught will be dealt with immediately."
The words sent a fresh wave of nausea through Amara. She wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt.
When the paper landed on her desk, she took a deep breath... then flipped it over.
Her eyes scanned the first question. Then the second.
Wait—
It wasn't bad. In fact, it was familiar. She had practiced versions of these exact questions the night before. Her breath hitched—not in fear, but relief.
She could actually do this.
She started writing.
Fifteen minutes into the exam, a subtle sound broke the silence—a faint crinkle of paper. Followed by a soft gasp.
Amara looked up briefly—and that's when it happened.
An invigilator stormed down one of the aisles like a predator on a scent trail.
"You! Stand up!"
Everyone froze.
Precious—glammed-up, always-perfect Precious—slowly rose to her feet. Her hands trembled as the invigilator held up a folded slip of paper that had fallen from under her exam script.
"No... it's not mine," she said weakly.
"Then why is it in your handwriting?" the invigilator barked. "Are you trying to play smart?"
All eyes were on her.
Precious's mouth opened and closed like she couldn't find the air to explain.
"Take your things. You're being summoned to the disciplinary panel immediately."
The entire hall erupted in whispers.
Precious didn't even cry. She just gathered her things slowly, the color drained from her face. As she passed Amara's desk, their eyes met.
There was no makeup hiding her shame now. Just raw panic. Like everything she had built—her pride, her image, her invincibility—was crumbling in front of everyone.
And then she was gone.
The rest of the exam blurred for Amara. She managed to finish, but her mind was now caught between the unexpected relief of a manageable paper and the echoing tension of what had just unfolded.
When the invigilator said, "Pens down," a wave of breathlessness swept through the room.
She stepped out into the open air, blinking at the sunlight like it was too bright for her tired eyes.
Kingsley was waiting outside.
"You made it," he said, offering her a bottle of cold water. "How was it?"
"Not as bad as I thought," Amara replied, taking a sip. "It was... doable."
"I told you," he said with a soft smile. "You're not the same Amara from last semester.You've grown. And I'm proud of you."
She looked away, trying not to let the sudden heat in her cheeks show.
"Thanks," she murmured.
Back in the room, the atmosphere was heavy.
Precious's bed was still untouched—exactly how she'd left it before the exam.
Tina was sitting on her bed, her phone clutched in her hand. She looked... frozen.
Amara sat down and took off her shoes, not saying anything at first. But then she noticed Tina hadn't moved in minutes.
"You okay?"
Silence.
"Tina?"
She blinked, finally turning to face Amara. Her voice was flat, barely audible. "He cheated."
Amara's heart sank. "Michael?"
Tina nodded slowly. "He posted a video. On his story. At a beach party. With her. He kissed her. Captioned it: 'My peace.'"
Amara's jaw tightened. "I'm so sorry."
Tina shook her head. "I told myself he'd never do this. I told everyone. God, I feel so stupid."
"You're not," Amara said softly. "You just loved him more than he deserved."
Tina's hands began to shake. "I sent him messages. Called. He's ignoring me."
Then she broke.
The tears came fast and uncontrollable. She curled up on her bed, sobbing into her arms, and for the first time, Amara crossed the line she never dared to before—she got up and held her.
"I'm here," she whispered.
And she meant it.
That night, Precious returned.
The moment the door opened, silence took over.
She walked in slowly, her usual strut now just a quiet shuffle. Her makeup had smudged from crying. Her wig was tilted. Her clothes were wrinkled.
She looked... defeated.
Neither Amara nor Tina spoke.
Precious sat down on her bed and exhaled like someone who had just survived a car crash.
"They're taking me to the panel on Monday," she said quietly. "They might suspend me. Or worse."
No one replied.
Amara looked at her—really looked. And despite everything, she saw the girl beneath the lashes, the filters, the heels. Just a scared, messy human like the rest of them.
"We all mess up," Amara said finally. "What matters is what we do after."
Precious didn't answer.
But she nodded.