Her Love, His Scars
Chapter Five – Seen
They talked more now.
Short texts during lunch.
Voice notes at midnight.
A laugh here. A sigh there.
Ziora couldn't explain it, but Damian made her feel... noticed. Not in the usual "you're pretty" way. In the "I see through you" way. And that was dangerous.
He didn't talk too much — never sent long texts or dragged conversations.
But when he said something, it stayed with her. His voice always felt like velvet soaked in smoke. And when she listened to his voice notes late at night, wrapped under her Ankara print duvet, she often caught herself smiling like someone in a dream.
And maybe she was.
A slow, soft, messy dream she didn't know how to wake up from.
But not everyone was dreaming with her.
"Football guys are distractions," Fola said one afternoon in the campus cafeteria, holding her straw like it owed her money.
"Literally. They're either cheating, lying, or both," Chioma added without looking up from her phone.
Halima just shook her head and crossed her arms.
"Ziora, babes," Halima said gently, her voice lower. "You know how you get when you start liking someone. You forget how to guard your heart."
Ziora forced a smile, stirring the cold pap she wasn't even eating.
"I'm not in love with him," she said quickly.
Chioma raised a brow. "Did anyone say love?"
Silence.
Ziora didn't like how her chest tightened.
Maybe it was because she'd started to imagine what his hands felt like — not in a rush, not in passion — but just holding hers. Like safety. Like heat. Like warning.
She had no plans to fall.
But every time she heard his name or saw a new message, something inside her slipped.
That evening, she left her fashion studio late after doing last-minute sketches for a custom order. Her hands were sore, her eyes tired. As she walked toward the bus stop, her phone vibrated.
WhatsApp Message – Damian
Look up next time you pass through here. You move too fast.
But you still looked beautiful.
She froze.
Attached to the message was a video — just six seconds.
Ziora watched it once, then again.
She was walking down a quiet street near his estate, earbuds in, her dress brushing against her calves, the wind slightly tugging at her twists. Her head was tilted, her mind clearly far away.
And someone — Damian — had filmed it from somewhere nearby.
He hadn't called out.
He hadn't waved.
He had just… watched her. And recorded it.
A strange chill danced up her spine.
Ziora:
You were there? And you didn't say anything?
Damian:
You looked like you needed your own moment.
I didn't want to ruin it.
But I watched you. I always will.
She stared at his last sentence for too long.
"I always will."
Who even says that?
She tucked her phone into her bag and kept walking. Faster now, her flats slapping the pavement a bit louder. The cars passing seemed louder too. The air felt heavier.
Was it sweet?
Was it strange?
Or was it both?
The girls would definitely say it was a red flag. Fola would say he was stalking her. Chioma would say he was playing mind games. Halima would probably hug her first, then warn her not to trust a man who watches from the shadows.
But what would she say?
Because the truth she couldn't even say aloud was simple: she wanted to give him a chance.
Even if her brain screamed no.
Even if her friends didn't believe in him.
Even if something in her gut whispered that boys like Damian weren't built to love girls like her gently.
Still, her heart — traitor that it was — whispered:
What if he's different?