The sun had risen lazily, spreading its warmth like a mother laying out blankets to dry. It poured gently through the small, cracked window of Room 205, softening the harshness of the hostel's peeling walls.
A rooster could be heard crowing in the distance, though its voice was swallowed by the chatter of birds perched on the power lines like restless students waiting for exam results.
Inside the room, the world was quieter. Still. Alive with the breath of two young men.one awake, the other buried in the remnants of last night.
Kelvin sat on the edge of his bed, back straight, legs folded. A pair of earphones clung to his ears, and a tattered notebook rested on his lap. His pen danced gently between his fingers like a flute in the hands of a skilled herdsboy. He would nod, pause, then scribble. Stop again, bite the pen thoughtfully, then continue writing as if he were in conversation with a voice only he could hear.
To the ordinary eye, he looked idle. But to the spirit, he was in war,fighting to shape words into something meaningful. He hen wrote them down, the way a village elder carves wisdom into the bark of a sacred tree.
On the opposite bed lay Paul. A man not so much sleeping as floating between dreams and memories. He wore only a pair of red boxers, loose and tired like his body. His chest rose and fell with the heaviness of fermented nights. It was hairy, not with pride but with neglect ,the kind that comes when a man has long stopped caring for mirrors.
Paul was not fat. No, fatness suggests wealth or rest. Paul's body was something else. His flesh was loose, his muscles tired. His skin hung like a shirt that had been worn through too many storms. Not from food—but from too much drink, too many nights running from things that chased him from inside.
He turned in his bed, groaning like a tree bending against a harsh Meru wind. His lips opened slightly, whispering words meant only for the ears of yesterday.
Kelvin, still immersed in his rhythm, shook his head and scribbled:
Paul scratched his chest like someone chasing a mosquito that owed him rent. Then, with a sly smirk creeping across his face, he whispered toward the door, where a girl had been mopping silently all along.
"Karimi," he said in his fake-soft voice, "usiwache viatu zangu bana. Uzipanguze vizuri nikitembea campus watu wajue ni kijana wa kuoga."
["Don't leave out my shoes. Clean them well so when I walk around campus, people know I'm a clean guy."]
Karimi paused, her mop mid-air, her knees still bent. She looked up from the corner of her eye like a hawk spying a mischievous rat. Her voice came out calm but spiced.
"Paul," she said, half-talking to herself, "sasa unaanza kuwa kama vile watu huchukua sabuni ya hoteli warudi nayo nyumbani. Mtu ananipenda tu kwa kazi."
["Now you're starting to behave like people who steal hotel soap. Someone who only loves me for my work."]
Before her sentence could land properly, Paul leapt from the bed as if bees had discovered sugar under his blanket. He tiptoed dramatically,chest puffed, boxers hanging like an exhausted flag and sneaked behind her like a spoilt cat craving attention.
Kelvin, seated at the corner with his earphones still plugged in, noticed the movement. His pen froze mid-air, his eyes still glued to his book, but his ears were now more active than a CID on a case. He gave them a side-eye so sharp it could slice onions.
Paul, now behind Karimi, wrapped his arms around her waist with a loud "Mmmh!" as if he'd just tasted soup made by an angel. Karimi gasped and stiffened like a broom.
"Paul wacha mchezo," she whispered, biting her smile, "tuko na wageni."
["Paul stop playing, we have company."]
Paul leaned closer, moved her braids gently to the side, and kissed her neck like he was sealing a deal.
"Babe," he whispered, "hata Kelvin anaelewa mapenzi. Ama Kelvin, si ni true love tu?"
["Even Kelvin understands love. Right Kelvin, isn't this true love?"]
Kelvin blinked quickly, flipping a page that didn't need flipping.
Karimi chuckled nervously. "Hii si time, bana. Kuna mtu mwingine hapa."
["This isn't the right time. There are someone else here."]
Paul chuckled and dropped his voice to that deep tone he saved for lying.
"Mtu gani? Kelvin ni roommate, si stranger. Na yeye pia atafute tu msupa wake. Hii ni life ya campus, si convent."
["What person? Kelvin is a roommate, not a stranger. He should also find himself a fine lady. This is campus life, not a convent."]
Karimi laughed, turned, and gave him a gentle shove. "Wewe ni mtu wa vituko. Haya, rudi kitandani. Acha nimalize hii kazi."
["You're full of drama. Go back to bed. Let me finish this work."]
Paul held his chest like he'd been rejected by a high school crush, sighed heavily, and staggered back to the bed like a tired soldier from war.
Karimi crouched again and began mopping under Paul's bed. "Nimeona drama mingi, lakini hii nyumba ni kama Nigerian movie."
["I've seen a lot of drama, but this room feels like a Nigerian movie."]
Kelvin couldn't help it. He let out a quiet chuckle, shook his head, and wrote a new punchline in his notebook.
Kelvin tried to stay focused,his eyes on the lyrics forming in his head, pen tapping the beat on his notebook. But curiosity has its own stubborn spirit. His gaze, slowly and as if with a mind of its own, drifted,landed,then lingered.
Karimi, still mopping under Paul's bed, had her back arched slightly, and the mini skirt she wore obeyed no laws of modesty. It hugged her like a clingy ex. The curves were generous, the kind that could inspire poetry or cause prayer. The skirt was short enough to reveal the faint trace of her undergarment lines,a detail his brain tried to ignore but his eyes betrayed.
Just as he was about to snap his attention back to the notebook, Paul caught him.
"Eish! Kelvin!" Paul shouted with a grin, pointing like he'd just caught someone stealing holy water. "Hii si book unatazama bana, ni hips za Karimi!"
["That's not your book you're staring at, bro. It's Karimi's hips!"]
Kelvin blinked, guilty as a cat near a broken plate.
"No… I wasn't,I mean…" he stammered, scratching the back of his head, suddenly aware his pen had stopped moving five minutes ago. "I'm not really into… you know, ladies like that."
Paul burst into a loud laugh that shook the bed springs.
"Haiya! Not into ladies like that? Bro, now you're scaring me. Are you part of the other team… rainbow coalition na mambo yao ya mahanjam?"
["Are you part of the other team… you know, rainbow coalition with their funny business?"]
He clutched his own boxers dramatically. "Buda, niambie mapema, nivae boxer ya metal."
["Man, just tell me early so I can wear a metallic boxer."]
Kelvin laughed nervously, holding his notebook like a shield.
"Wacha zako Paul," he muttered. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant I'm not used to ladies… in that way."
Paul shook his head, still grinning. "Relax, bro. I'm just playing. But I saw your eyes—ulikuwa una-edit her curves na mind yako."
["You were mentally editing her curves with your mind."]
Karimi, still bent over, paused and looked back suspiciously.
"Mnaniita mimi ama ni drama zenu za roommates?"
["Are you calling me or is this just your roommate drama?"]
Paul chuckled again. "Hapana babe. Endelea tu. Kelvin anakujua vizuri tu sasa."
["No babe, just continue. Kelvin knows you quite well now."]
Kelvin sank into his book, determined this time to stare only at his scribbles, even if Karimi started doing somersaults across the floor.
Karimi stood upright with a sigh, wiping imaginary sweat from her brow like a market mama after selling the last bunch of bananas.
"Paul, acha ku-mess na roommate wako bana," she said, half serious. "Kijana wa watu anajaribu kusoma, na wewe unamtupia distractions za flesh and confusion."
["Paul, stop messing with your roommate. The guy is trying to study and you're throwing flesh and confusion his way."]
Paul shrugged, wearing his grin like a badge of mischief. "Si ni wewe uko na distractions, mimi niko tu hapa kama MC."
["You're the one with the distractions, I'm just here as the host."]
Karimi rolled her eyes and chuckled, then turned and walked over to Kelvin's side of the room.
"Relax Kelvin, I don't bite," she teased softly, before kneeling and bending to mop under his bed.
Kelvin swallowed air like it was a hot cup of tea. He kept his eyes glued to the page, suddenly deeply interested in the curve of his own badly written letter "G". His earphones were still in, but he'd paused the beat three minutes ago. What he heard now was the faint swish-swish of the mop, the quiet hum of Karimi's lips, and the dangerously loud silence in his head, which refused to ignore what was happening two feet from his knee.
Her skirt, short as it already was, had decided it wanted to travel. As she bent, it inched upwards in slow betrayal, revealing the faint outline of her light blue pantie. The kind you don't see in supermarkets, only in stories that leave boys like Kelvin breathless and blinking.
But Kelvin was a soldier now,he fought the urge to look like it was a spiritual battle.
His eyes fixed on his notebook. The pen trembled slightly. He hummed a random tune,out of key, but full of desperation. Not today, Satan. Not today.
Paul, ever the devil's mouthpiece, watched it all with a smirk and folded arms. "Bro… you're behaving like she's mopping with live electricity."
Kelvin exhaled through his nose and muttered, "I'm just focused."
Paul chuckled. "You're focused alright… focused on staying alive."
Karimi, still bent under the bed, giggled knowingly.
"Paul," she said, without looking back, "wachana na Kelvin. He's a gentleman."
["Leave Kelvin alone. He's a gentleman."]
Paul leaned back with a whistle. "Gentlemen get tested too, babe."
Kelvin didn't respond. He just scribbled a line on his notebook that made absolutely no sense.He hoped it would all be over soon.
Paul tipped her pillow, reached into a drawer, and fished out a packet of cigarettes. He lit one, cleared his throat with a dramatic growl, and took a long, hungry puff. The smoke slithered out of his mouth and danced lazily toward the ceiling like a ghost in no hurry.
Kelvin coughed, waving his hand through the cloud with a scrunched nose.
"Bro, are you smoking petrol?" he muttered, eyes watering.
Paul chuckled, took a few more quick puffs, then handed the half-finished cigarette to Karimi, who had returned. She rolled her eyes, opened the window wide with a bang, and walked out, shaking her head.
When the smoke finally settled like dust after a stampede, Paul turned to Kelvin.
"Eh Kelvin," Paul called, grinning like a village auntie who's about to spill tea. "You writing a love letter to your sweetheart in the village or what?"
Kelvin paused, unplugged one earbud and smirked. "Lyrics, bro. Not love letters."
"Same thing," Paul said, plopping down on his bed, belly jiggling slightly. "Poetry, love letters, same WhatsApp group. You should stop being too serious. Explore the other side of campus life. You're acting like you came here for books only."
Kelvin shook his head. "Ain't that the point?"
Paul raised an eyebrow. "Point ya nani? Campus is more than books, my friend. Parties, girls, night clubs, deals… kuna good life huku, si kusota na makaratasi pekee."
["There's a good life here, not just suffering with notes."]
He leaned closer like a preacher convincing a new convert. "You see, Kelvin, you've got potential. But you need balance. Books will give you a degree. But fun? Fun will give you stories."
Kelvin chuckled, unsure if he was being lectured or lured. "I'll stick to my books. Girls and clubs aren't my thing."
Paul squinted. "You're either lying… or you need urgent rescuing."
Just then, Karimi walked back in, mop still in hand and a mischievous glint in her eye.
"You guys heard?" she asked, excitement bouncing in her voice. "There's a mad concert this Friday at Makutano,hosted by DJ Grauchi himself!"
Kelvin blinked. "Who?"
Paul jumped. "DJ Grauchi? The one who makes Wake up call mixtapes? Wueh!"
Karimi nodded like a preacher giving prophecy. "It's going to be lit. Rumor is,one of Kenya top artist will be performing."
Paul's eyes gleamed. "We have to go."
Kelvin raised a palm. "Eeh, hold up,me? I don't even know how to walk in clubs, let alone dance in them."
Karimi laughed. "You don't need to dance. Just come. Sit. Watch. Smile. You'll blend."
Paul nudged him. "We'll be your security."
Karimi grinned, playfully tossing her hair. "Just don't wear those high school shoes of yours."
Kelvin shook his head. "I'll think about it."
Paul leaned forward, voice lowering like a bad influence whispering in your dream. "You've been thinking too much since you came here. Time to live."
The argument went back and forth, but eventually, after more teasing, exaggerated promises of "only one hour," and a vow from Karimi to buy him soda if he felt overwhelmed, Kelvin agreed.
Reluctantly.
"Fine. But if I die in that club, bury me with my headphones."
Paul laughed. "We'll even put a speaker in your coffin. DJ Grauchi will play at your funeral."