Morayo Whitfield had learned early that silence was safer than curiosity.
She walked through campus quietly, her bag swinging lightly at her side, scanning the crowded paths without drawing attention. At twenty-three, she carried the weight of her parents' voices in every step: Don't speak too loudly. Don't want too much. Be grateful.
Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the message.
Daniel: Where are you?
She exhaled softly, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. Daniel...her boyfriend, dependable, ordinary, predictable—waited for her somewhere ahead. He was kind, patient, and struggling just like she was. And yet… it wasn't enough. Not that she would admit it, not even to herself.
Lia, as usual, arrived without warning, practically bouncing into her side.
"Finally," Lia said, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a grin. "I was beginning to think you'd been swallowed by this campus."
Morayo offered a small smile. "I… got held up."
Lia rolled her eyes. "You worry too much. You worry about everything. Look at me; I'm alive. I follow the boys, the sun, the cafeteria line… and no one's stopping me."
Morayo watched her friend stride forward, confident, light-skinned, effortlessly magnetic. Heads turned as Lia walked by, and she noticed it. Always did. Always noticed everything that Morayo had learned to ignore.
They walked together, the campus buzzing around them. Morayo's heart felt heavy under the routine—the lectures, the part-time job, the quiet compliance demanded by her parents. Some days, she wondered if freedom was just a word adults used to punish children for imagining too much.
She didn't notice the glances of students passing by. She didn't notice the sleek cars lining the administrative building. She didn't yet know that a different kind of life, one that moved slowly but with impossible gravity....was already circling the edges of her carefully controlled world.
But even if she had, she wouldn't have understood it yet.