Chapter One
935 Words
The hostel corridor at the University of Lagos was loud and alive.
Girls shouted greetings across the narrow hallway. Radios competed with one another, blasting old highlife songs that echoed against the cracked cream walls. Buckets scraped across the tiled floor. Laughter rose and fell like waves. From the common kitchen at the end of the corridor, someone was frying plantain, and the sweet, oily smell floated through the air, mixing with perfume and detergent.
It was chaotic.
It was overwhelming.
It was home.
Amaka dragged her heavy metal box down the corridor, her slippers slapping against the floor. Sweat gathered at the back of her neck, but she refused to complain. She had prayed for this moment. Worked for it. Fought for it.
“This is my new life,” she whispered to herself.
University.
Independence.
Success.
Her fingers tightened around the handle of the box as she turned toward her assigned room.
Suddenly, her hand slipped.
The box hit the ground with a loud crash.
The lid flew open.
Clothes spilled everywhere—jeans, blouses, underwear, notebooks—scattering across the corridor like a public announcement of her embarrassment.
“Oh no—” she gasped, dropping to her knees.
Girls slowed down to stare. Someone giggled. Heat rushed to her cheeks.
Before she could start gathering the clothes, another pair of hands appeared beside hers.
“Don’t panic,” a soft voice said gently. “Let’s pack them before someone steps on your things.”
Amaka looked up.
Bright eyes. Smooth brown skin. A warm smile that felt strangely comforting.
The girl moved quickly, folding what she could and placing them back into the box.
“I’m Ngozi,” she said.
“Amaka. Thank you… I’m so embarrassed.”
Ngozi laughed lightly. “Welcome to hostel life. Today it’s your clothes. Tomorrow it might be your bucket.”
Amaka couldn’t help but laugh.
Within minutes, everything was packed again.
“Which room?” Ngozi asked.
“Room 14.”
Ngozi’s eyes widened. “That’s mine too!”
Amaka stared. “You’re serious?”
“Very serious,” Ngozi said, standing up and dusting her hands. “Looks like destiny wants us to meet.”
They carried the box inside together.
That night, they sat on the lower bunk, their legs stretched out, the room dimly lit by a small bedside lamp. The noise from the corridor had softened into distant murmurs. Somewhere outside, a generator hummed.
Ngozi hugged a pillow to her chest. “So, what’s your dream?”
“I want to graduate with first-class,” Amaka replied firmly. “I want success. Money. Respect.”
Ngozi smiled. “I just want love. Real love. And happiness.”
“Love doesn’t pay bills.”
“But it makes life sweet.”
They laughed.
From that day, they became inseparable.
Weeks later, during a youth leadership seminar in the main auditorium, everything changed.
The hall was packed.
Students filled every seat. Some stood by the walls. A large banner hung behind the stage: Dare to Be More.
Then he walked onto the stage.
Tall. Calm. Confident.
“My name is Chike,” he said. “And if you want success, you must be ready to sacrifice comfort.”
The hall fell silent.
Amaka stared.
Her heart beat faster.
“He’s different,” she whispered.
Beside her, Ngozi leaned forward, smiling.
Chike spoke about discipline, focus, and sacrifice. His words felt sharp and deliberate, like they were aimed at people who wanted more out of life.
Then his eyes swept across the hall.
They stopped.
On Ngozi.
He smiled.
She smiled back.
Amaka’s stomach tightened.
She didn’t know why.
But something inside her shifted.
After the seminar ended, students crowded around him.
“Should we go?” Ngozi asked excitedly.
“If you want,” Amaka replied.
They approached him together.
“Thank you for coming,” Chike said.
“Your speech was inspiring,” Ngozi said.
Amaka asked a question about sacrifice, and he answered calmly.
They walked back to the hostel with his words still lingering in their minds.
That evening, something new happened.
Chike’s social media handle had been displayed briefly on the projector screen during the seminar. Many students had quickly taken note of it.
In the quiet of the room, Amaka sat on her bed staring at her phone.
Her heart pounded.
Should I?
She inhaled deeply.
Before she could overthink it, she searched for his name.
Found him.
And sent a message.
Short. Simple.
She dropped her phone immediately after, her hands slightly trembling.
“I saw him first,” she whispered under her breath.
Across the room, Ngozi was scrolling through her phone too.
After a few minutes, Ngozi suddenly sat up.
“Did you get his handle?” she asked casually.
Amaka hesitated for a split second.
“Yes.”
Ngozi grinned. “I just messaged him.”
Amaka’s heart skipped.
“Oh,” she said quietly.
Neither of them mentioned who had done it first.
But Amaka knew.
She had reached out before Ngozi.
She had taken the first step.
Minutes passed.
Then Amaka’s phone buzzed.
Her breath caught.
Across the room, Ngozi’s phone buzzed.
She gasped softly.
Amaka’s eyes snapped open.
“Who’s that?” she asked casually.
Ngozi hesitated for a second.
Then she smiled into the glow of her screen.
“Chike,” she said quietly.
And in that moment—
Something fragile between them cracked.
Amaka stared at the ceiling again.
For the first time since arriving at the University of Lagos, she did not feel safe.
She felt threatened.
- Writer
