By the time I step out of the lecture hall,
the sun is burning higher,
humidity clinging to my skin like a second layer.
I barely register the walk across campus.
All I can think about is Haim—
the awkwardness,
the way he cut the class short
after seeing my face.
His name keeps echoing in my head,
more of a prayer than a dare.
Something in me won't let go of the way his voice wrapped around the word justice—
soft, then sharp.
I was doing fine not feeling anything—
until that class.
Until him.
Underneath it all, grief hums—
low and stubborn,
like a bruise I keep forgetting
until something presses too hard.
I head toward the next lecture: Public Law.
The lecturer stammers,
his voice barely cutting through the buzzing in my head.
My pen moves,
but nothing sticks.
At lunch, the other freshers talk around me.
One girl, Emmy, sits beside me—
talking more than I want to hear.
I smile.
Nod.
Chew.
But it all feels unreal.
Still wondering if Mum would've told me to fix my collar—
or warned me not to get too distracted
by dimples and good posture.
My phone buzzes.
A message from Ms. Ama:
Zuri, I just saw your voice note — I'm so sorry, I wasn't near my phone.
Can I call you? Just for a minute?
You okay, baby?
A short, breathless sound escapes me.
I almost type back.
But I don't know what to say.
Not yet.
Back home, I'm worn out.
I kick off my sneakers,
shrug off my hoodie,
and sink into bed—eyes on the ceiling.
It feels like I'll drown if I keep this up.
So I close my eyes—just for a nap.
When I wake up,
the sun is dipping lower,
orange streaks sliding across the wall.
My phone buzzes softly beside my pillow.
It's Ms. Ama, calling.
I hesitate—just a moment—
like I'm not sure if I'm ready to speak again.
But I pick up anyway.
"Zuri! How's my favorite star student doing today?"
"I'm managing," I say, almost a stammer,
settling back against the wall.
I can hear her smile through the line.
Then a pause.
"That's good," she says, more gently now.
"But are you okay? I saw your voice message this morning… That's not like you."
I press my lips together.
My fingers curl around the blanket's edge.
If only I could talk freely…
I assume everything and answer.
"I… I guess I just needed to hear a voice."
"I get that," she says, softer still.
"You don't have to talk if you don't want to.
I just wanted you to know I'm here."
I nod, even though she can't see me.
The hum on her end feels like a hug I can't quite reach.
"Thanks. I'm okay… just tired."
"That's allowed, you know."
Then a warm laugh.
"Even brilliant first-year law students get to be tired."
A breath escapes me — almost a laugh.
"I should eat something."
"Please do. And text me when you can."
"Okay. Love you."
"Love you more. Baby."
The call ends.
The silence returns—
but it feels a little less sharp now.
I set the phone down.
Lightly.
I drag myself to the kitchen,
pick a packet of spaghetti,
a couple of tomatoes softening on the counter,
and garlic that smells a bit too bold.
I slice and stir on autopilot,
the rhythm of boiling water and sizzling garlic
giving me something to hold onto.
The tomatoes break down slowly,
staining the pan red.
It smells like home—almost.
I eat slowly, like the day is still stretching behind me.
Like I need to make space for tomorrow.
Afterward, I rinse my plate,
let it air-dry,
and shuffle back to bed.
I plug in my phone,
open the laptop,
and log into my email.
I hover for a second.
Then I start typing:
> Hey Mum,
I made it through my first day.
I wish I could say it felt like a victory.
But it was more like… surviving.
The lectures blurred into each other.
Everyone else seemed louder, shinier — like they belonged.
I kept thinking about what you'd say if you saw me like this.
I sat with people at lunch.
But it felt like watching myself from the outside.
I smiled at the right moments, nodded along —
but everything felt a beat off.
I miss you.
Love,
Zuri.
I hit Send.
For a moment, I just sit there,
hands still on the keyboard,
letting the quiet wrap around me.
Then—
my phone buzzes on the mattress beside me.
A WhatsApp notification lights up the screen:
Class of 2025
Guys fr, is Maloba always gonna be that intense in lectures
or did we just catch him on a passionate day?
I blink at the screen—
part irritated, part amused.
Even here,
the universe has jokes.