Tunde woke up with a gasp.
Sweat clung to his skin. His hostel room felt colder than usual, even though the fan wasn't on. The dream still haunted him—the circle of mirrors, the versions of himself, and her. The girl with the red headwrap. Silent. Unblinking.
Pointing.
There was no mistaking it anymore. The coin wasn't just some magical object—it was a doorway. Into what, he wasn't sure yet.
He sat up, wiping his face, and looked over at Chinonso, still asleep, snoring faintly with one leg hanging off the mattress. Tunde reached into his bag and brought out the coin.
The scratch along the edge was still there. And now, beneath the hourglass symbol, something else had appeared—faint at first, like it was scratched into the surface with a pin.
A number: 3
Three?
Had it been counting his uses?
That meant he had already used the coin three times.
He felt an eerie chill creep over his back.
Later that day, he walked around campus like a man possessed.
His eyes scanned every corner. Every face. Every shadow.
He was looking for her.
The girl who spoke to him in the frozen world. The only other person who moved when the rest of Lagos stopped.
But campus was alive as usual. Students haggled with suya vendors. The smell of fuel and jollof rice danced in the air. Lecturers scolded latecomers. Nothing looked strange—yet everything felt strange.
He even tried using the coin again, ducking into the toilet stall in the Engineering block.
Time froze.
But this time, no one else appeared. No girl. No blinking strangers. Just frozen life.
Five minutes ticked by.
Then the world returned to motion.
Still no clue.
By the end of the day, frustration had begun to curdle into obsession.
He needed answers.
He skipped dinner and headed straight to the library. Most students only used the dusty shelves to cram during exams, but Tunde walked in with a different goal.
He went straight to the "African Culture and Occultism" section.
The shelves smelled of mildew and old paper. Books with titles like The Forgotten Mystics of Igbo Lands, Yoruba Time Rituals, and Symbols of the Calabash Realm sat untouched.
He spent two hours flipping through yellowed pages, scanning for anything that resembled the coin. He found stories of ancient charms—cowries that whispered secrets, beads that held ancestors' voices—but nothing exactly like what he had.
Then, just as he was about to give up, a passage caught his eye.
"Some ancient time-stopping relics were believed to choose their bearers—never by accident, always by invitation. These relics often bore an hourglass symbol surrounded by cryptic text. In some traditions, the user would see visions… and a 'Guide' would appear to test them."
Tunde sat up straight. A guide?
Could she be that guide?
The passage continued:
"The coin's power was said to belong to an ancient order. Those who could move within the pause were considered 'Awakened'. But power always comes at a cost."
He closed the book slowly.
Cost.
Always that word.
He looked down at the coin in his palm, now warm again.
That night, Tunde stood by the lagoon.
The water glittered under the moonlight. Waves lapped gently against the concrete edge near the Faculty of Science. This was where students came to think, to cry, to smoke, or just watch the city lights from afar.
He came here to wait.
He could feel something shifting in the air—an itch at the base of his skull, a whisper on the wind that didn't quite make sense.
He took out the coin. The number had changed again: 4
As he stared, he spoke aloud. "If you're watching me… come out. I'm tired of games."
The wind shifted.
Then a voice behind him.
"You learn fast."
Tunde spun.
She was there—again. The red headwrap. Long braids tucked beneath. Her eyes were almond-shaped, focused. She wore a faded red ankara shirt, jeans, and old slippers, as if she were any other student.
But she wasn't.
She leaned casually against the railing.
"You shouldn't use the coin so carelessly," she said.
Tunde swallowed hard. "Who are you?"
"I'm like you," she replied, stepping closer. "But older. More experienced. I've been Awake longer."
"Awake?"
"That's what we call it. People like us—who move when the world stops."
He was silent for a while, then asked, "So how many are there? Is it like a group?"
She smiled faintly. "Something like that. There aren't many. The coin finds people. Usually during a turning point in their lives. A moment of struggle. Anger. Pain. Like yours."
Tunde's fingers tightened around the coin.
"What does it want from me?"
"Not 'what'… who," she said, looking him dead in the eye. "There are others who want the coin. And not all of them play fair."
He stared at her. "So it's a game?"
"No. It's a test."
She walked past him, slow and deliberate.
"There are levels to this. The coin gives you five minutes a day now. But if you survive long enough, if you prove yourself… you get more."
"More time?"
"More everything."
Tunde felt his heart pounding.
"But why me?"
She stopped. Turned. "Because something's coming. And you're not ready."
He frowned. "Tell me what it is."
"I can't. Not yet. But soon, you'll meet another player. When you do, don't trust him."
"Who?"
She just smiled. "He'll find you."
The air suddenly shimmered—like heat rising off asphalt.
Then—
She vanished.
Not like walking away or disappearing in shadow.
She blinked out of existence, leaving nothing but the echo of her last words in the air.
Back in the hostel, Tunde barely spoke.
Chinonso noticed.
"Guy, na who die?" he asked, pulling off his shirt and tossing it on his mattress.
Tunde just shook his head. "Forget it."
"You don dey act weird, I swear."
Tunde climbed into bed, holding the coin tightly beneath his pillow.
The girl had said others would come. One of them soon.
And he had to be ready.
The next morning, it started.
He woke up to find a piece of paper slipped under his door.
No name. No address. Just one line, typed in bold:
"Meet me at the abandoned chapel near Akoka bridge. 9:00 p.m. Bring the coin."
Tunde read it three times.
His stomach turned.
He folded the paper and stared out the window.
The game had begun.