The long hall buzzed with the electricity of a hundred conversations, the smell of spicy jollof rice, meat pies, and a hundred other quick-cooked dishes thick in the air.
Sunlight poured in through the tall windows, catching the motes of dust floating lazily like tiny stars trapped in orbit.
Some students sat squeezed together on benches, others perched casually on the edges of tables, swinging their legs and laughing too loudly.
Nila wandered through the chaos, her tray clutched in both hands like a shield.
She kept her steps small and quiet, dodging trays, shoulders, the occasional flying football (which somehow always managed to sneak into the cafeteria no matter how many bans the teachers issued).
The world felt just slightly out of focus around her, like she was moving underwater and everyone else was skating effortlessly across the surface.
A boy dashed past, almost colliding into her with a loud, "Sorry!" and a wide grin. A group of girls shrieked as they compared notes for an upcoming quiz. Somewhere, a teacher barked a warning about 'indoor voices' that nobody paid attention to.
Nila's stomach growled, but the idea of actually sitting down felt exhausting.
She spotted a relatively quiet corner and started toward it.
"Oi, Nila!"
The voice was warm, loud, and unmistakable.
She turned to see Claire waving frantically, her bright orange curls bouncing with the movement. Claire, who seemed to exist in a permanent state of cheerful exasperation, was grinning like she'd just found buried treasure.
"Come sit, lass!" she called, her Scottish accent rolling thickly across the room.
Claire was sitting at a table half-filled with students. Taro was there too, frowning intently at his food like he was negotiating a hostage release, along with a few other familiar faces Nila only half-knew.
Despite herself, Nila felt her steps pulling her toward them.
Claire scooted over, patting the bench next to her. "Squeeze in, hen! Plenty room for a wee one like you."
Nila smiled despite herself, setting her tray down carefully.
Claire immediately leaned in, lowering her voice but not her volume.
"Ye alright, love? Ye look like ye've seen a ghost. Or maybe become one."
"I'm fine," Nila said automatically, reaching for her bottle of water.
Claire gave her a look that said plainly she didn't believe a word.
"Bollocks," she said brightly. "But we all pretend sometimes, aye?"
Nila almost laughed at that.
Claire didn't press further. Instead, she brightened up and jabbed a thumb toward Taro.
"Ye missed it! This eejit here tried to microwave an egg this morning."
"I thought it would cook faster," Taro muttered, picking at his rice.
"It exploded, Taro," Claire said, eyes wide with glee. "Proper explosion! Sounded like a bomb. Mrs. Adebanjo nearly called security!"
The table burst into laughter. Even Nila cracked a small grin.
For a few moments, it was almost easy to forget the heaviness hanging around her.
Claire turned back to Nila, concern still flickering in her blue eyes, but choosing a softer attack now.
"You coming back to training next week?" she asked, biting into a bread roll with the delicate grace of a bulldozer. "Coach has been ranting. Says without ye, defence is like a leaking bucket."
Nila shrugged lightly. "Maybe."
Claire beamed. "Good. We need ye, lass."
Then, just as Nila was starting to settle into her seat, a sharp blast of trumpet music tore through the cafeteria.
Heads snapped around. Conversations halted mid-sentence. A fork clattered to the floor somewhere.
A boy stood at the far end of the room, chest puffed out like a soldier on parade, holding a battered trumpet in one hand and a ridiculously large bouquet of fake silk flowers in the other.
Behind him, two smaller boys carried a glittery homemade sign that read in messy red paint:
"Chiji, My Queen! Say Yes!"
The boy began marching toward their table, every step exaggerated with theatrical flair.
A bluetooth speaker slung around his neck blared a dramatic love ballad, one of those old, cheesy ones with key changes every few lines.
The cafeteria erupted into shrieks and laughter.
Students jumped onto benches for a better view.
Phones appeared in a flash, cameras already rolling.
Even a few teachers peered in from the hallway, curious.
Claire nearly choked on her bread.
"Saints preserve us," she gasped, eyes sparkling. "This is gonna be glorious."
Nila twisted around in her seat, heart thudding with secondhand embarrassment.
And then she saw the target of all this madness:
Chiji.
Chiji sat elegantly at the corner of their table, her back straight, one slender ankle crossed over the other.
She was beautiful in a way that didn't seem entirely fair. A strange, ethereal beauty that felt both otherworldly and completely real at once.
Her natural, snowy white hair— rare and breathtaking, spilled over her shoulders in soft waves, catching the light like a river of silk.
Her skin, a warm rich brown, contrasted strikingly with her hair, making her look like a painting come to life.
And her eyes, almond-shaped and a shade of deep hazel that sometimes looked green, sometimes gold, watched the approaching boy with a kind of amused detachment.
Chiji didn't flinch.
She didn't frown.
She simply... observed.
As if this sort of thing happened to her every Tuesday.
The boy, to his credit, didn't lose steam.
He dropped to one knee with a dramatic flourish, nearly slipping on a piece of spaghetti.
He thrust the bouquet out toward her, his voice cracking on the first words:
"My Queen! My heart has belonged to you since the moment I first laid eyes upon your radiant, celestial beauty!"
The crowd whooped and hollered.
Nila buried her face in her hands, peeking through her fingers.
Claire was grinning so hard she looked like she might pass out.
"I have written poems for you," the boy continued valiantly.
"I have fought battles in my mind for your honor. I would walk through fire and ice for but a glimpse of your smile."
He paused for effect.
"Will you do me the honor, the eternal honor, of being my girlfriend?"
The speaker blasted a triumphant flourish.
The entire cafeteria leaned in, holding its breath.
Chiji uncrossed her legs and rose smoothly to her feet, standing over the boy like a queen surveying a petitioner at court.
For a heartbeat, she said nothing.
Then she smiled.
It was not a cruel smile. It was a soft, almost pitying smile.
"You are brave," Chiji said, her voice low and melodic, carrying easily over the silence.
"To kneel before a storm and offer a paper flower."
The boy blinked, confused.
The crowd buzzed with whispers.
"But you see," Chiji continued, tilting her head slightly, "hurricanes do not take prisoners. They dance through the world, free and wild, and they leave only those who can weather their winds standing."
She reached out, plucked a single silk flower from the bouquet, and twirled it between her fingers.
"I am not something you can win with trumpets and words, kind boy.
I am the storm itself."
With that, she let the flower fall gently onto the boy's head and sat back down, already swiping casually through her tablet as if nothing had happened.
The boy stayed kneeling for a moment, stunned into stillness, before scrambling to his feet and stumbling back into the sea of laughing students.
Applause erupted.
Some stood and cheered.
Others howled with laughter.
A few tried to start a slow clap, which promptly failed in the most awkward way possible.
Claire whooped and slammed her palms against the table.
"That's my girl!" she roared.
Nila found herself laughing— a real, bright laugh that bubbled up before she could stop it.
It was the first time in days she felt something warm unfurl inside her chest — like a tightly knotted rope being slowly undone.
Chiji glanced up from her tablet and caught Nila's eye.
She winked.
Nila grinned wider, feeling the faintest trace of courage flutter in her heart.
The storm of laughter behind her slowly faded, muffled like a door swinging shut. Nila walked with purpose toward the far end of the cafeteria— the edge of the social world, where tables were spread farther apart and the chatter thinned into silence. Only a few students occupied this zone, the quiet ones. The watchers. The thinkers. The ones who carried solitude like armor and wore observation like a second skin.
And there, as always, sat Timi.
He was alone at a corner table near the tall window, framed by the sunlight pouring in. The golden beams caught the fine angles of his face, throwing his jawline into sharp relief and tracing shadows beneath his eyes. His tray sat mostly untouched, food half-finished and forgotten. His gaze was distant, not vacant, but focused somewhere far beyond the walls of the cafeteria. His body was here, but his mind was miles away, drifting on the wind that stirred the leaves outside.
He didn't flinch when she approached.
But someone else did.
"There he is," Claire's voice rang out behind Nila like a burst of static, cutting across the quiet. "The mystery lad himself!"
She sauntered over and dropped her tray onto the table with a dramatic clatter that earned a few glances from nearby tables. A few students nudged each other. Heads turned.
Nila didn't stop walking.
Chiji followed a step behind Claire, moving with the quiet grace of a dancer, or a ghost. Her white hair shimmered like moonlight, catching every glint of the sun like spun silver. Her eyes were focused— but not on Claire, or Nila.
On him.
Timi didn't look up. Not yet.
Chiji didn't sit.
She stepped closer, slow, deliberate, a gliding motion that made it seem like she floated rather than walked. One breath passed. Then two.
Then she leaned down toward him.
Close.
Closer than anyone else had ever dared. So close that her breath brushed his skin. So close her hair spilled forward, falling across her shoulder like snowfall.
Gasps whispered from nearby tables. The surrounding chatter slowed. Forks paused mid-air.
The cafeteria stilled, caught in the gravity of the moment.
Timi blinked and turned his head slightly, only to find her face inches from his.
His expression shifted from detachment to surprise, then to something unreadable. A spark of alertness flared in his eyes.
But Chiji didn't kiss him.
She just hovered there, suspended in the tension, her eyes locked on his like she was peering into the pages of a book only she could read. Her voice, when it came, was low and soft. The kind of voice meant for secrets. For prayers. For ghosts.
"You look like her," she murmured. "Not exactly. But the same way your silence feels like a question with no punctuation."
Timi said nothing, but the subtle lift of his brow was answer enough.
"I have a twin sister," Chiji continued, her breath still close to his cheek, her presence unsettling in its calm intensity. "She's in this country too. But… my father keeps us apart. Always has. She acts like you. Like… she's hiding something deeper than anyone else can bear to know."
She tilted her head slightly, a single lock of silver hair slipping down to brush his jaw.
"I wonder why."
By now, nearly everyone in the cafeteria was watching. Even students who usually never cared about anything but gossip or grades had turned in their seats. Phones hung suspended in hands. Conversations trailed into silence.
And then—
"Hey," Nila's voice rang out, firm and clear, not loud, but with just enough force to break the spell.
Chiji didn't flinch. She slowly straightened, pulling back with a small, knowing smile. There was no apology in it, just calm amusement, as if she'd been testing the limits of gravity and had chosen to float away.
Nila stood across from her, trying very hard to look composed.
But her cheeks betrayed her.
Pink crept up from her neck to her face in a slow bloom. Not a mild flush, not something delicate— this was a full, unmistakable blush that deepened with every second of eye contact.
She quickly sat opposite Timi, smoothing her skirt unnecessarily. Her eyes darted across the table, landing briefly on him only to look away just as fast.
Timi gave a small nod. "Hey."
"You okay?" she asked, quieter now.
He nodded again, still unreadable. "Yeah."
"You sure?"
Another nod. "Yeah."
Claire had settled in beside Chiji, now buttering a piece of bread with what could only be described as aggressive curiosity. She was pretending not to eavesdrop. Failing spectacularly.
Nila tapped the edge of her tray. Her eyes searched his, looking for something she couldn't name.
Then she asked gently, cautiously, "What about last week?"
Timi shifted slightly, sitting back in his chair. His voice came cool and flat.
"Security handled it. Guards came in fast. It didn't go far."
Nila blinked. "That's not what I heard."
He shrugged. "That's what happened."
A pause stretched between them. Long enough for silence to settle again.
Timi didn't fidget, didn't break eye contact, but the way his arms remained crossed, the way his leg subtly bounced beneath the table, betrayed a kind of restlessness. Like something bottled too tightly beneath the surface.
"Were you there?" she asked, voice almost a whisper.
"Yeah," he said after a moment. "I saw it from the guardpost."
Nila hesitated, but didn't push further.
Not because she believed him. Not fully. But because she sensed something fragile in him... something sharp-edged and flammable, like pushing too hard might ignite it.
So she sat back.
"Okay," she said.
Timi looked at her then. Really looked. His gaze was not defensive, nor open, but weighty. Heavy with things unspoken.
Then he looked away again.
Claire, ever the disruptor of tension, slammed her drink down with a grin. "Whew! Intense crowd at this end. Chiji, sit before you start monologuing again and melt his brain."
Chiji gave a smirk and finally dropped into her seat. "I only melt things that are already soft."
That drew a laugh from Claire, a reluctant smile from Nila— and from Timi, the faintest twitch of amusement. Barely a movement. But it was there.
The light shifted again, golden rays spilling across the table. The sound of the cafeteria slowly returned, but around their table, it felt quieter, like a space apart from the rest of the world. Four students sat there, each carrying their own secrets, their own silences.
But for the first time, they weren't orbiting alone.
They were in the same gravity now.
And it was only a matter of time before something collided.