Her Quiet Run

✦ ✦ ✦ Nottingham looks different at six in the morning. The buses hiss as they slow down, the air is cold enough to sting the tip of your nose, and the whole street has this grey-blue tint like the world hasn’t fully woken up yet. Malisa Okafor pulls her hood tighter around her braids and steps over a puddle that hasn’t quite frozen. She’s been awake all night again. Not for any good reason. Her headphones drown the silence with LeoStayTrill’s voice, low and hazy, the kind of music that feels like a memory you can’t stop replaying. She crosses the street toward her flat. The building looks tired --- the kind of tired that sags into the pavement --- and the lights in their window are off. Meaning her dad’s probably crashed on the sofa again. Malisa exhales. Another morning, another quiet. She pushes the door open, and the warm, stale smell hits her instantly. Empty takeaway containers, old air freshener, something like spilled beer. “Dad?” she whispers. No answer. She doesn’t expect one. On the sofa, Desmond Okafor lies half sideways, one shoe off, one shoe on, a blanket tangled around him. His chest rises and falls with heavy snores. He must’ve made it home sometime after midnight… or sometime after two. She’s stopped keeping track. Malisa picks up a fallen can from the floor and places it in the bin. Barely. The bin’s already overflowing. She stands there for a moment, looking at him. When he’s like this, he feels a thousand miles away. When he’s sober --- the rare days --- he’s warm, funny, soft-spoken. He tries. He really tries. But most days are not those days. She sighs and heads to her room. Her room, at least, feels like hers. Soft purple LED lights along the ceiling, posters taped up at odd angles, notebooks full of scribbles, half-written lyrics, and half-finished college assignments scattered across the desk. Her phone buzzes. Priya: “U alive or nah? 8am lecture, ur defo skipping innit.” Jay: “Bruv where r u, I need someone to suffer w me.” Sienna: “I brought iced coffee. It’s awful. Come taste.” A small smile tugs at Malisa’s lips. Her trio of chaos. She types back one-handed: Malisa: “I’m coming. Calm down.” Her reflection in the mirror looks… tired. Her eyes are slightly dimmer than they used to be. Her body feels heavier than it should. She pushes the feeling aside. “Today’s chill,” she mutters to herself. “Just get through today.” ✦ ✦ ✦ By the time she reaches Nottingham College, the halls buzz with morning noise. Students shout across the courtyard, buses pull up, someone’s vaping too close to the entrance. Priya Kaur appears out of nowhere, linking their arms dramatically. Priya: “Babes… tell me why I’m here on time and you look like you ain’t slept since 2019?” Malisa laughs under her breath. She’s good at pretending. Malisa: “Long night.” Priya: “Mm-hmm. You say that like it explains anything.” She nudges her gently. “You alright though?” Malisa dodges the question with a shrug. Priya notices --- she always notices --- but lets it go. Then Jay Adetola arrives, hood up, backpack half open, a walking disaster as usual. Jay: “Oi, Malisa! Man thought you died.” Priya: “Jay, you think everyone dies when they don’t text you back.” Jay gasps dramatically. Jay: “That’s because I care. Some of us got empathy, thank you.” Malisa shakes her head, smiling faintly. Sienna Walsh jogs up last, her hair in a messy bun, iced coffee in hand — the drink sloshing dangerously close to spilling. Sienna: “Try this. I think it’s poisonous.” Malisa: “Then why would I try it?” Sienna: “To confirm my suspicions, duh.” They all laugh. Moments like this feel like air. Something lighter, easy. Something she doesn’t get at home. ✦ ✦ ✦ Classes drag on --- two lectures, one tutorial --- and Malisa struggles to focus. Her leg bounces under the desk. Her fingers won’t stay still. The restlessness gnaws at her ribs like something sharp. At break, Jay gives her a searching look. Jay: “You good? You seem… off.” Malisa: “Just tired.” Jay nods but doesn’t look convinced. Just as she’s about to slip outside for air, her phone lights up with a new message --- one that makes her stomach flip. Keon: “U at college? I’m outside.” Her breath catches. Keon Marshall. Her calm in the storm. Twenty, soft smile, steady energy. The kind of guy who remembers how you take your tea and notices when your laughter sounds forced. He doesn’t come to her college often. Something must be up. Outside, Keon stands leaning against a brick wall, his hands in his pockets, his dark curls tucked under a beanie. When he sees her, his face softens immediately. Keon: “Hey, Liss.” Her chest warms. Just hearing his voice feels like an anchor. Malisa: “You good? Why you here?” He hesitates before answering. Just half a second. But she catches it. Keon: “Wanted to check on you.” She raises an eyebrow. Malisa: “I’m fine.” Keon: “You always say that.” There’s no judgment in his tone --- just concern. He reaches out, brushing a thumb under her chin to lift her face slightly. Not romantic --- gentle. Reassuring. Keon: “You look like you ain’t slept.” She steps back a little. Not because she doesn’t want comfort. But because she hates being seen. Malisa: “Had things on my mind.” Keon studies her for a long, quiet moment. Keon: “If there’s something going on… you can tell me. You know that, yeah?” Her throat tightens. There are things going on. Things she doesn’t want to name out loud. Malisa: “…I know.” But before either of them can say more, his phone buzzes, and he stiffens --- barely noticeable, but she sees it. He turns the screen slightly away as he checks it. His jaw tenses. Only for a second. Malisa: “Everything alright?” Keon: “Yeah. Just… family stuff.” He’s lying. She feels it instantly --- that shift in the air. But she doesn’t push. They both have things they don’t talk about. He exhales, forcing a small smile. Keon: “Finish your classes. I’ll see you later, yeah?” Malisa: “Yeah.” He pulls her into a soft, brief hug before leaving. Warm, grounding. But the tension he tried to hide lingers in her mind long after he’s gone. ✦ ✦ ✦ By the time she heads home, the sky has turned cloudy again. Rain threatens the horizon. Inside the flat, her dad is awake now, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, looking… normal. For once. He glances up. Desmond: “Hey, pumpkin. How was college?” Pumpkin. He only uses that name when he’s sober. Malisa: “…It was alright.” Desmond: “Good. Good.” An awkward silence settles between them --- the kind that comes from months of unspoken things. He clears his throat. Desmond: “I’m proud of you, you know. You’re doing your best.” Her chest tightens again. This version of him --- the gentle one --- always hits harder because she never knows how long he’ll last. Malisa: “Thanks, Dad.” He nods, sipping his tea. Desmond: “We’ll be alright, you and me.” She wishes she could believe him. That night, as Malisa lies in bed listening to the rain tap against her window, her mind drifts to Keon. The way he tensed. The hidden worry in his eyes. The half-lie he told her. She knows he’s keeping something from her. She just doesn’t know that whatever he’s hiding is about to change her entire life. ✦ ✦ ✦