Imani Adeyemi noticed Chidi Bello on a hot Monday afternoon, the kind of afternoon that made every student on campus look tired and irritated. He was seated at the back of the class, his eyes fixed on his notebook, writing as if the whole room had disappeared. He did not laugh with the other boys. He did not turn to look at girls. He did not try to impress anyone. Even when the lecturer made a joke and half the class laughed, Chidi only lifted his head for a second and then looked down again.
There was nothing flashy about him. His shirts were always clean but old. His shoes looked worn. He carried one dark backpack every day, and he walked like someone whose mind was too full for small talk. Even from a distance, he looked serious. Not proud in the loud way some men were, just closed, careful, burdened.
Imani, on the other hand, was not someone people ignored. She was beautiful, confident, and from a wealthy home. People knew her surname before they even knew her face. She had the kind of presence that made others look twice. In school, many boys wanted her attention and most girls wanted to be close to her, but Imani did not care much for people who tried too hard. So when she noticed that Chidi Bello never even looked in her direction, she became curious.
At first she told herself it was nothing, but the next day she noticed him again. Then the next. She began to see the pattern in him. He always came early. He always sat quietly. He left almost immediately after class. He never stayed around long enough for useless conversations. It was as if he was always rushing to another life outside school.
That mystery pulled her in.
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