The days at home stretched long and quiet, stitched together with the soft hum of the morning radio, the scent of palm oil drifting from the kitchen always, and my mother's voice rising and falling in tune with whatever highlife song she was humming.
It should have felt like rest—like peace. But beneath the calm, something uneasy stirred.
My phone buzzed often, but not always when I needed it to.
Weston's name still made my heart flutter, but lately, the flutter came with questions. Quiet ones at first. Then louder.
Why does he keep slipping away just when I reach for him?
I hadn't said it aloud—not to Zinny, not to Steph, not even to myself in the mirror. But deep down, I knew: something was shifting. And I couldn't tell if it was him… or me.
Three weeks into the break, boredom began to gnaw at me. The stillness of home no longer soothed—it suffocated. I needed movement. Familiarity. Air. And so I packed a small bag and made a decision: I'd visit Marcel. It had been too long. I missed my best friend.
But first, I made a quick call.
Kelvin picked up on the second ring. "Alora?"
"Hey," I said, already grabbing a box of homemade cookies Marcel loved. "Don't freak out—but I'm thinking of showing up at Marcel's today. Surprise-style. Can you help me out?"
There was a beat of silence, then a low chuckle. "He's been stressed all week. This might be exactly what he needs."
I smiled. "Think you can set him up somewhere familiar on campus? Somewhere I won't have to go hunting for him?"
"Done," he said easily. "I'll nudge him to pass by the field around three. He usually cuts through there anyway."
"Perfect. Thanks, Kev."
"Oh—and Alora?"
"Yeah?"
"You didn't hear this from me, but… Steph and I are kind of a thing now."
I blinked. "Wait—what?"
"Yeah," he said with a laugh. "It just… happened. Over the break. She didn't tell you?"
"No," I said slowly, the surprise catching me off guard. "She never mentioned."
"Well… don't be mad at her. We were keeping it lowkey. Still figuring it out."
"I'm not mad. Just… shocked."
"You okay?"
"Yeah, yeah. Just didn't see that coming."
After we hung up, I stared at the ceiling for a while. Steph and Kelvin. Of all the surprises, that one felt strangely weighty. Like something had shifted in the universe when I wasn't looking.
Still, I boarded the bus across town. The kind with rusted doors, torn vinyl seats, and a driver who stopped for every waving hand. I didn't mind. I watched the city blur past the window, nerves buzzing beneath my skin.
I hadn't texted. Hadn't warned him. I wanted the moment to be unfiltered. Real.
When I stepped onto Marcel's campus, the sun was already dipping low, casting a honeyed glow across the open field. Students wandered about, their laughter soft and scattered. I looked around, trying to spot him. Just as I was pulling my phone out to call Kelvin for an update, I caught a glimpse of him.
And then—I saw him.
Was it my eyes playing tricks, or had he changed?
Taller, leaner, his frame sharper in all the ways that made you stop and look twice. His jaw was more defined, his skin golden in the dying light. The hoodie he wore couldn't hide the breadth of his shoulders or the quiet confidence in his stride.
But it was his face that caught me—those lashes that curled impossibly at the ends, eyes deep and unreadable. His hair, longer now, coiled into dark waves that made him look like something out of a dream I'd forgotten I once had.
Gosh, I thought, he's hot.
I blinked, trying to reset myself.
Then he looked up—and saw me.
His steps slowed. For a moment, he didn't move at all. Just stared, like I'd been plucked out of memory and dropped into his world by accident.
And then—he ran.
Before I could react, his arms wrapped around me, lifting me off the ground in a hug that emptied the air from my lungs. He held me like something fragile he was afraid he'd imagined.
"You're really here," he whispered into my hair.
I smiled into his shoulder. "I wanted to surprise you."
"I knew Kelvin was up to something with the way he nudged me to take this route. I just didn't know it was something this beautiful," he said, his voice warm with a hint of laughter.
"Don't be mad at him, but blame me. I came up with the idea and tortured him into helping me," I said, and we both laughed.
He pulled back just enough to see my face. "I should be mad you didn't tell me," he said softly. "But I can't be. God, I've missed you."
There it was—that warmth. That safety. That strange, quiet home I always found in him.
And standing there, in the golden hush of his world, I wondered if maybe—just maybe—it still meant something to me too.
He didn't let go for a long time. And I didn't ask him to. His gaze lingered like he was trying to memorize my face.
"You look… different," he said finally.
"Different good or different weird?"
"Different beautiful," he replied, his shrug failing to hide the weight of his words.
I felt my cheeks warm. Looked away.
He reached for my bag without asking. "Come on. Let's walk. I'll show you around."
The campus had quieted. It was Friday—most students had disappeared to their hostels or hangouts—but Marcel moved slowly, deliberately. For the trees lining the path. For the tiny courtyard garden. For the fading light dancing across the walkway like it, too, had nowhere else to be.
He talked—about school, professors, how he accidentally triggered the fire alarm in chemistry lab and had to talk his way out of suspension.
His laughter came easy. And somehow, so did mine.
It was like breathing again.
We ended up at a small café just outside the gates. Plastic chairs. Overhead fans that buzzed. The smell of suya thick in the air. Marcel ordered like he always did—without asking, but getting it exactly right.
"You still hate anything too spicy?" he teased.
"Only when it tries to murder me," I shot back.
He grinned. "Some things never change."
As we ate, he filled me in on school, gossip, random things—then paused.
"So," he asked, mouth half-full, "you meet anyone?"
I hesitated. Then shrugged. "I mean… not really. Just focusing on school, you know."
"Just Nadia, Lizzy, Zinny, and my ghost roommate," I added, giving a dry laugh to change the subject.
It was a half-truth. Maybe even less than that. I still couldn't bring myself to tell him about Weston.
He didn't press, but his eyes lingered for a moment too long. Like he knew something I wasn't saying.
I changed the subject. "And you? Anyone special?"
He wiped his hands and leaned back. "Nah. Too busy reading and chasing cash. No time for distractions."
I laughed. "How noble."
"Hey, I'm a focused man."
As night crept in, he offered to walk me. "Come, let me show you my place."
His apartment was a big, tidy space off campus—books stacked on shelves, a speaker humming faint Afrobeats, the scent of clean linen in the air. He gave me the tour like it was a palace, proud and playful, pointing out things like the kettle that "burns water faster than a breakup."
"You really have a spacious place," I said, amazed. "Are you sure you're still a student?"
He chuckled. "I am, oh. Though I can't wait to be fully done so I can focus on my business and make more cash."
"Money man!" I teased him.
When I gave him the homemade cookies I brought for him—his favorite—he was so happy, and in return, he handed me a necklace.
"I got this for you when I thought I'd be visiting you at school," he said, the warmth in his voice palpable.
When it started getting dark, he walked me back to the bus stop. The air was cool now, quieter.
"I'm glad you came," he said as we stood waiting.
"So am I."
He hesitated. "You sure you're okay?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Just… glad to breathe again."
He smiled, and for a second, it felt like we were back in that space we used to know—before time, distance, and unspoken secrets got in the way.
And maybe, just maybe, we weren't as far from it as we thought.