Moonlit Hearts

Port Harcourt smelled like candle wax and anxiety. NEPA had taken light again. My room was dark except for the weak circle of my torchlight on the textbook. My back hurt. My eyes burned. Then my phone buzzed. I almost ignored it. But the sender made me freeze. Stanford University - Office of Admissions My fingers shook as I opened it. "Dear Miss Della Martins, We are pleased to offer you admission to Stanford University for the Fall 2026 semester. We are also pleased to inform you that you have been awarded a Full Scholarship..." I screamed. "Mama!" She burst in, wrapper half-tied, eyes wild. "What? What happened?" I shoved the phone at her. She read it once. Twice. Then her hands flew to her mouth. "Jesus. My daughter. Stanford." Stanford. California. Full ride. 13,000 kilometers from home. Three months later, I was standing outside Gates Building with jet lag in my bones and a crumpled campus map in my hand. I was late. "Hey! You look lost!" The girl barreled into me with a stack of notebooks and a smile that could power the whole campus. "I'm Karen!" The guy behind her adjusted his glasses. "Tyler." "And I'm Skylar," said the girl with braids, identical to Tyler. "Twins. We have Calc 11. You?" Relief hit me so hard my knees almost gave out. "Della. Della Martins. From Nigeria. Scholarship." Karen gasped. "Omg international! And wait... oh you scored the highest score despite the tricky exam. No wonder you got the scholarship!" Karen linked her arm with mine. "Okay, principal first, then class. Come on." They talked the entire walk. "First rule of Stanford," Karen said, "don't be late to Calc 11." "Second rule," Tyler added, pushing his glasses up, "don't sit in the back corner window seat." Skylar's expression went serious. "Yeah. That one’s taken." I frowned. "By who?" All three answered at once. "Jaden Cole." "Who's that?" Tyler lowered his voice. "Only the richest, most dangerous guy on campus." "His dad owns half of Silicon Valley," Skylar whispered. "And he hates people," Karen finished. "Especially scholarship students. No offense." The Principal's office smelled like old paper and authority. Principal Davis stood when he saw me. "Miss Martins. Welcome to Stanford." He handed me a folder. Schedule. Map. Student ID. "Your first class is Calculus 11, Room 204, Gates Building. Don't be late." "Thank you, sir." He paused, eyes softening. "And Miss Martins? If you have any problems... with anyone... you come to me. Stanford protects its scholars." I nodded. But I was already five minutes late. Outside, we hugged fast. "Text us! Room 204!" Karen said. "Remember about the seat!" Skylar called. I ran. The lecture hall was massive. 200 seats. The professor didn't look up when the door banged open. "Five minutes late on first day. You must be the new scholarship student. Introduce yourself." "Della Martins. Scholarship student from Nigeria." Two hundred eyes turned to me. The whispers started immediately. "Is she gonna sit there?" "Don't be dumb." The professor waved a hand. "Any empty seat." I didn't look up. I couldn't. My face was on fire. Front — full. Middle — full. Back corner by the window — one empty seat. I walked to it. Sat. Pulled out my notebooks and textbooks. Tried to breathe. Ten minutes later, the door slammed. The lecture hall went silent. Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. They stopped right beside my desk. A shadow fell over my notebook. I finally looked up. Black hoodie. AirPods. Dark circles under eyes that looked like they hadn't slept in a week. Jaden Cole. Standing over me. In his seat. His jaw clenched. For a second I was sure he was going to explode, to yell, to drag my bag off the chair. Instead, he leaned down. Close. Close enough that only I could hear him. Close enough that I could smell cedar and cold coffee. And he whispered —