The next morning, the air at school felt different, like the sky before a thunderstorm. Whispers spread through the hallways faster than wildfire. People huddled in corners, glancing toward the administration block, murmuring a name like it was both dangerous and sacred.
I hadn't even reached class when I saw Auntie Miriam, striding across the courtyard in a navy dress and dark sunglasses. She moved with purpose, the kind that made teachers pause and students turn away. Tasha trailed behind her, quiet and composed, but I could tell her shoulders were shaking slightly.
I stopped walking.
My heart thudded. She'd done it.
She told.
By mid-morning, Elijah had been summoned to the office. He didn't return to class.
When the lunch bell rang, the school was buzzing. Word had gotten out: Elijah had been suspended. Two weeks. Maybe longer. Some said they'd seen him shouting in the principal's office. Others claimed he tried to walk out, and a teacher blocked the door.
I didn't see Tasha until late that afternoon. She found me beneath the pine tree, where it had all begun. She sat beside me, close this time. Her fingers were red and trembling, but her eyes were steady.
"I did it," she said.
I nodded. "I saw. Are you okay?"
She exhaled a shaky breath. "Not yet. But I will be."
We sat in silence as the sun dipped lower in the sky. Then, without thinking, I reached for her hand. She didn't pull away.
The next day, everything shifted again, but not in the way I expected.
I was walking through the hall when a guy I barely knew shoved me hard against the lockers.
"What's your deal with Imelda?" he growled.
He was broad-shouldered, taller than me, with sharp eyes that narrowed like he'd been waiting for a reason to hit something.
"I… what?" I stammered.
"Don't play dumb," he snapped. "She is my girl."
That's when it hit me. I'd seen him before. Derrick, from Form Four. Imelda had mentioned him once, said they'd been together for a while, off and on. I hadn't thought much of it. She'd never brought him up like someone she still loved.
But now, he was in my face.
"You think you can just slide in, make her laugh, get all close?" Derrick spat. "Stay away from her."
I stood straight, heart racing. "We're just friends."
"Doesn't look like it," he said, voice low. "And I don't like competition."
Before I could respond, he turned and walked off, shoulder slamming into mine as he passed.
That week, I found myself caught in a storm I didn't even start. Tasha was distant one day, then close the next; smiling softly at me, brushing my arm in class, sharing old memories when we walked home. But behind that light, there was still shadow. The kind left behind after trauma.
Imelda, on the other hand, seemed torn. Some days she sat beside me and chatted about everything; books, music, dreams. Other days, she avoided my eyes entirely, and I caught Derrick glaring at me from across the field.
And then came Elijah. Back earlier than expected. His suspension cut short, they said. Some deal his uncle had with the board. I saw him in the corridor, leaning against the wall like nothing had happened. But when our eyes met, his smile twisted into something cold.
"Thought you'd won, huh?" he sneered.
"I didn't do anything," I said, steadying my voice.
"No," he said, stepping closer. "You just sat there, playing the good guy, while Tasha ran her mouth. You think she won't turn on you too?"
I clenched my jaw. "She told the truth. You're the one who crossed the line."
He laughed, low and dangerous. "You think you're her hero? Just wait, Kerif. People like you don't get the girl. You get left behind."
I felt it before I saw it, his hand moving fast. A flash of movement. I ducked.
Fist grazed my cheek, knuckles scraping skin. Pain bloomed, sharp and hot.
"Hey!" someone yelled.
A teacher rounded the corner, shouting. Elijah stepped back, hands up like he'd done nothing. I held my face, the skin throbbing where he'd landed the blow. It was happening all over again. The violence. The silence. The whispers. Only this time, I wasn't staying quiet.
That night, I couldn't sleep. I sat at my window, listening to the wind outside, thinking of all the things I wanted to say. To Tasha. To Imelda. To Elijah. To myself.
A message buzzed on my phone.
Tasha:Can we meet under the pine tree tomorrow? After class.
I stared at it for a long moment before replying.
Me:Yes. I'll be there.
The afternoon light was golden when I saw her. Tasha stood waiting, her notebook in hand. When I reached her, she looked up and smiled. A real one this time, small but full of something that hadn't been there in weeks.
"I'm sorry," she said.
I frowned. "For what?"
"For making you feel like you had to fix everything. I see you, Kerif. I always have. And I want you to know… I'm not afraid anymore."
I sat beside her. "You were brave. You still are."
She turned to me. "So are you."
We didn't speak for a while. The breeze rustled the branches above, and the sky was turning pink with the promise of evening. Then quietly, she reached into her bag and pulled out a small folded piece of paper. She handed it to me.
It was a sketch. Of me. Sitting under the pine tree. Eyes distant, lost in thought.
"I drew this the day after the party," she whispered. "When I realized you were still there. Even when I wasn't."
My heart cracked open.
I looked at her, eyes shining with something old and new.
"Tasha…" I said, voice thick. "I never stopped caring."
She leaned closer.
"I know," she whispered. "And neither did I."
Our hands found each other again. And this time, we kissed. It wasn't out of comfort. It was out of choice.
Out of something growing.
Out of love.