Gabriel leaving didn't really lighten the mood at school like everyone hoped. It didn't feel safer or less tense. If anything, it just made everything sharper—like eyes and whispers and even fear. You couldn't just miss someone like Gab, but now his absence was louder than any of his threats.
Scarlet had given up on expecting peace.
But confusion? That was a whole new ball game. And she felt it creeping in more and more.
Rudd had been distancing himself from everyone again. No jokes in class, no offhand comments—just silence and those quiet stares at his sketchbook. It was like the world only made sense to him on paper. Scarlet had only caught a glimpse of one drawing by accident—her face, turned away, eyes closed, hair blowing in the wind. He hadn't shown it to her, and honestly, she wasn't even sure he knew she'd seen it.
He hadn't talked to her since the note.
And he hadn't brought it up at all.
That was really starting to frustrate her.
"You sure you don't want to talk to him?" Amara asked one Thursday, munching on a meat pie while they sat under the mango tree behind Block B.
"No. Not yet."
"Why not?"
"Because I have no idea what I want to say."
"You could start with 'hi,'" Amara suggested, rolling her eyes.
Scarlet shot her a look. "You don't get it."
"No, I do," Amara shot back. "He likes you. You like him. But you both act like it's some kind of Shakespeare tragedy."
Scarlet stayed quiet. Because maybe it did feel like a tragedy sometimes—this awkward dance of getting closer while also drifting apart. But then again, things had changed.
Dapo had started hanging around more.
And he noticed things.
"Why do you always tie your shoelaces twice?" he asked once while they walked together after lunch.
Scarlet blinked, taken aback. "I don't know. Just a habit, I guess?"
"It's cute," he grinned.
Another time, he commented, "You always hum the same song before you sleep."
"You hear me?" she asked, wide-eyed.
"I'm two rooms over. The walls aren't exactly soundproof."
He smiled again—warm and refreshing.
Rudd never said things like that.
By Friday evening, rumors kicked off.
The Chemistry test—leaked. Someone had snuck into the staff room and got a hold of next week's exam.
Scarlet didn't care at first, until she heard the name: Rudd.
"Kiki said he had the paper since Sunday," someone whispered in the hostel hallway.
"Look at him," another added. "The quiet ones are always the most dangerous."
Scarlet stood frozen. Then, without thinking, she turned back down the corridor and headed outside.
She found him sitting near the edge of the field on one of those old concrete stools, staring at nothing.
"Did you do it?" she asked, arms crossed.
He glanced up, then looked away again. "No."
"That's it?"
"I don't owe explanations to people who don't trust me."
That hit harder than she expected.
"I didn't say I didn't believe you."
"But you didn't say you did, either."
She stood there in silence for a moment.
Then she turned and walked away.
Saturday was cloudy and dry. The school released a statement: four students were suspended—none of them Rudd.
Scarlet breathed a sigh of relief as soon as she saw the list.
She wanted to run back and tell him. Maybe even apologize. But when she passed by his classroom, he wasn't there.
He hadn't been seen all morning.
Later that evening, Dapo found her sitting behind the main hall steps. It was turning into their little spot. He brought two chin-chin wraps this time.
"Peace offering," he said, grinning. "In case you're still upset."
She smiled back. "I'm not."
They chatted about random stuff—his siblings, her loathing for Physics, the funny way Mr. Kole butchered the word 'oscilloscope.'
Then, he got serious.
"You know," he said, "you don't have to pick a side or a person. Life's not just about teams."
Scarlet shot him a glance. "Who says I'm choosing anything?"
"You don't have to say it. Everyone can see it."
She looked away, feeling uncertain. "You're just making assumptions."
"No, I'm just paying attention."
She couldn't deny that Dapo made things feel easier. Lighter. But every time he smiled at her, her mind flicked back to that sketch. To a quiet boy who didn't say much but really saw her.
And maybe that was the real issue.
That night, the dining hall buzzed with chatter—football scores, tests, gossip. But through it all, she spotted Rudd.
He was all the way in the corner, alone, scribbling on the back of a brown envelope.
She didn't approach him.
But her gaze lingered.
Because even though he was right there…
He still felt so far away.
Later that night, she wrote again.
"Some people talk without really saying much.
Others say too much without actually speaking.
I think I've been listening to the wrong kind of silence."
She closed her diary and stared at a crack in the ceiling for a moment.
Outside, the breeze picked up. The night deepened. And somewhere beneath it all, the space between hearts slowly began to stretch—like thread unraveling in the dark.