The gates of Greenwood University loomed ahead, wide open like a doorway to a new world. Students buzzed around in clusters, dragging suitcases, snapping selfies, and calling out names in the chaos of orientation week.
Emmanuel Okoro stood tall amidst it all—cool, confident, and utterly unbothered.
He adjusted his designer sunglasses and took in the view. Campus girls in trendy outfits, guys trying too hard to impress, banners that read WELCOME FRESHERS!—this was it. His next hunting ground.
"Freedom at last," he muttered under his breath, lips curling into a satisfied grin.
Secondary school was over. No more uniforms. No more boring assemblies. No more rules to follow. Now, it was just him, his smooth tongue, and an open field of opportunities. Emmanuel wasn't here for books or grades. He was here for the game. The chase. The thrill.
And girls? They were his specialty.
---
Inside the registration hall, the lines were long and the air stiff with sweat and chatter. Emmanuel moved through it all like a celebrity on a red carpet—smiling at every pretty girl who made eye contact, winking at the ones who didn't.
"Name?" the admin lady asked, bored and overworked.
"Emmanuel Okoro," he replied, voice smooth like silk.
"Department?"
"Mass Communication."
"Table three."
He nodded and moved on, barely paying attention to where he was supposed to go. His eyes scanned the hall instead—already sizing up the options. He was a hunter. Always had been. And this was a jungle of fresh prey.
He spotted a girl at the corner, nervously adjusting her glasses as she filled out a form. Cute. Shy. Easy target. He smirked. She looked up, met his gaze—and blushed.
Too easy.
---
By the second week, Emmanuel had already made a name for himself on campus—and not just for his style.
Jessica, the talkative Law student, had been the first. She called him "sweetheart" after two dates. He ghosted her on the third.
Anita, from Psychology, thought he was "deep" after one late-night conversation about dreams. She found out how shallow he could be when he stopped replying to her texts.
Then came Tomi, Sasha, Nkem—each one different, but each one leaving with the same question on their lips: "What did I do wrong?"
Emmanuel never answered. He didn't believe in guilt. Not when they were the ones who fell too fast.
He was charming, sure. Handsome, no doubt. But love? That was a joke he never found funny.
Until Monday.
---
It started like any other day. A lecture in the biggest hall on campus, too early for most students to care. Emmanuel strolled in late, headphones around his neck, ignoring the lecturer's glance of disapproval.
He took his seat in the third row, stretched out like he owned the place.
Then she walked in.
He didn't even see her face at first. Just a glimpse—a yellow top, fitted jeans, a ponytail. Simple. Quiet. He expected her to look his way.
She didn't.
She walked past him and sat two rows ahead, close to the edge. She pulled out a pen and notebook like she was there to learn, not impress.
No lashes. No lip gloss. No theatrics.
And still, she had presence.
It was the strangest thing. Emmanuel, who noticed every pretty girl in the room, couldn't stop noticing this one—for doing absolutely nothing.
After the lecture, he caught up with her outside.
"Hey," he said, flashing his signature grin.
She turned to face him. Her eyes were soft but steady—like she wasn't surprised he was talking to her, but wasn't exactly impressed either.
"Yes?"
"I'm Emmanuel."
"I'm Ella."
Her voice was gentle but firm. Polite, not playful.
He tilted his head. "Nice name."
"Thanks."
A pause.
He waited for her to flirt. To ask for his number. To laugh at his charm.
Nothing.
"First year too?" he asked, trying again.
She shrugged. "We all are."
She gave a brief smile—small, controlled—and turned to leave.
"See you around," he added, hoping she'd linger.
"Maybe."
And then she was gone.
---
That night, Emmanuel lay on his bed, one arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling fan spinning above him.
Ella.
She hadn't giggled. She hadn't played along. She hadn't even looked impressed.
And somehow, that intrigued him more than anything anyone had done in years.
For the first time, he didn't feel like the player.
He felt like the one being played—and he wasn't even mad about it.
He found himself replaying the conversation in his head. Not because it was romantic—it wasn't. But because it was real.
She hadn't tried to be anything. She just was.
That was new.
That was... dangerous.
---
The next day, he spotted her in class again. Same seat. Same calm expression. Same notebook, neat and full of handwritten notes.
He didn't approach her this time. He just watched.
She didn't smile at anyone unnecessarily. She wasn't on her phone during lectures. She didn't hang around after class, waiting to be noticed.
And yet, Emmanuel noticed her more than anyone.
She was a mystery.
And for a boy who thought he'd seen it all, Ella was a reminder that something different still existed.
And maybe, just maybe… she was worth chasing for real.