Autumn crept into Dublin in a wash of amber and wind. Leaves curled on the university lawns. Scarves reappeared. Life kept moving.
Melissa and David walked hand in hand down the corridors of Trinity College, a sight that had become surprisingly familiar to others. Still, the whispers hadn't stopped. If anything, they had sharpened.
"Did you hear?" one girl murmured behind a lecture hall door. "He turned her grades around. Like, completely."
"I heard her parents might actually—like—accept him," another whispered back, as if shocked such a thing were possible.
Melissa caught snippets, but she kept her chin high.
She wasn't ashamed.
But David noticed.
In the library one afternoon, he closed his book and looked over at her. "Does it bother you?"
Melissa glanced up. "What?"
"The way they talk. The looks."
She hesitated, then smiled faintly. "A little. But not enough to care."
He tilted his head. "You used to live for what people thought."
"I used to live for distraction," she said. "Now I live for meaning."
He smiled. "That sounds dangerously close to something I would say."
She laughed. "It's rubbing off."
But that night, as she lay awake beside him, the doubts crept in like cold air.
Was love enough to quiet the world? To silence the cynics and satisfy a society that still looked sideways at couples like them?
David rolled over and found her staring at the ceiling.
"Tell it to me my love," he said softly.
"I'm scared of losing this," she admitted. "Of losing you."
He touched her cheek. "You won't lose me, Mel. I didn't come this far to turn back."
She closed her eyes. "Promise me."
"I promise."
She leaned into his embrace, and slowly, the fear ebbed away.
When David invited her to a student-led cultural showcase, Melissa hesitated.
"Will I… fit in?" she asked.
He smiled. "You won't just fit—you'll be celebrated."
The event was hosted at a modest theatre near campus. Banners in brilliant colours lined the walls. Traditional African attires displayed boldly, especially, the black and white Angḕr of the TIV tribe—which she was now familiar with, of course.
Tables overflowed with West African dishes: jollof rice, suya, puff-puffs, the much talked about pounded yam. The scent of spice and tradition hung in the air, …and so did 'pidgin English'.
Melissa wore a flowing green dress, as if to represent the national colours of Nigeria, her red hair pinned up. She looked radiant—and very obviously out of place, if only visually. But the warmth of the space melted her nerves.
David introduced her to everyone—his classmates, his mentors, even his cousin Nkechi, a fellow scholarship student from Nigeria.
"You're the Melissa?" Nkechi asked with a teasing grin.
"The one and only," David said proudly, wrapping an arm around her.
Melissa shook her hand. "You've heard of me?"
"Only everything," Nkechi said. "He doesn't shut up about you."
Melissa blushed. David laughed.
As the night went on, music filled the hall—drums, guitars, voices rich with pride. A dancer took the stage in vibrant Ankara fabric, moving with grace and joy. Melissa watched, awestruck.
"You see that?" David said softly. "That's home to me."
She turned to him. "I want to know it all."
He smiled. "You will."
Later, they danced together—awkwardly at first, then freer, laughing as David spun her under his arm. Melissa's heels clicked against the wood floor as he pulled her close.
"You're not bad," he murmured.
"I have an excellent teacher."
They kissed beneath a string of hanging lights while a soft ballad played in Yoruba. Melissa didn't understand the words, but she understood the feeling.
By the end of the night, her feet hurt, her hair was wild, and her heart felt full.
As they stepped into the chilly night air, David draped his jacket around her shoulders.
"I've never felt more alive," she whispered.
He looked at her. "And this is only the beginning."
She grinned. "Then show me everything."
He leaned down, kissed her, and whispered against her lips, "oh! I will."