chapter four
837 Words
By the time Mercy had fully settled into my room, everything about hostel life had changed for me.
Days no longer felt ordinary because she was always part of them.
If I woke up, she was there.
If I returned from class, I expected to find her already sitting on the bed or waiting outside the room.
If night came, it no longer felt complete unless we were talking, laughing, or simply sitting quietly together.
At first, I told myself it was just friendship.
A close friendship.
The kind that happens when two people understand each other deeply.
But deep inside, I had already started noticing feelings I could not explain easily.
Small things began affecting me in ways they never had before.
The way my heart reacted whenever she smiled directly at me.
The way I noticed when she was unusually quiet.
The way the room felt empty anytime she stayed away longer than expected.
One afternoon, the weather was unusually calm.
Most girls in the hostel had gone out, and the compound was quieter than usual.
Mercy and I stayed inside the room.
She was lying on the bed, scrolling through her phone, while I sat beside the table pretending to arrange my books.
But my attention kept moving back to her.
After some time, she dropped her phone and looked at me.
“You’ve been quiet for too long,” she said.
I smiled lightly.
“I’m not quiet.”
“You are thinking.”
That made me laugh because she was right.
She had already learned how to read my silence.
“What do you think I’m thinking?” I asked.
She sat up slowly and looked at me with that steady confidence she always carried.
“That maybe something is disturbing you.”
I hesitated.
Then I looked away.
The truth was, something had been disturbing me—not in a painful way, but in a way I didn’t know how to explain.
Because the more time I spent with her, the more difficult it became to hide what I was beginning to feel.
Mercy stood up and came closer.
“Mary.”
Her voice was softer now.
I looked up.
She was standing directly in front of me.
“What is it?”
For a moment I said nothing.
Then quietly, I answered:
“I don’t know what is happening to me lately.”
She stayed silent, waiting.
I took a slow breath.
“When you’re not around, I notice it too much.”
Her eyes remained fixed on mine.
“And when you are around…” I continued, “sometimes I feel nervous for no reason.”
For the first time, Mercy did not joke.
She did not smile immediately.
Instead, her expression changed into something thoughtful.
Then she sat beside me.
For a few seconds neither of us spoke.
The room felt smaller than usual.
Outside, distant voices passed through the corridor, but inside everything felt still.
Then Mercy spoke quietly.
“I thought I was the only one feeling strange.”
I turned to her fully.
“What do you mean?”
She lowered her eyes briefly before answering.
“Sometimes when I’m outside, I rush back because I want to see you.”
My heart began beating faster.
“And when you laugh,” she added, “I notice I keep wanting to hear it again.”
The honesty in her voice made it impossible to look away.
That was the first moment both of us stopped pretending our closeness was ordinary.
Because friendship did not explain why silence between us suddenly felt heavy.
Why simple eye contact now carried meaning.
Why every small touch felt remembered long after it happened.
Then something happened that neither of us planned.
My hand was resting near hers on the bed.
Slowly, without speaking, her fingers moved closer until they touched mine.
Neither of us pulled away.
The contact was light, almost uncertain.
But it changed everything.
I looked at her.
She looked back at me.
And in that quiet room, both of us understood the same truth at the same time:
This was no longer just friendship.
The feeling had already crossed into something deeper.
Something softer.
Something impossible to ignore.
Mercy’s voice came almost like a whisper.
“Maybe that’s why I feel comfortable here more than anywhere else.”
I smiled faintly.
“Maybe that’s why I wait for you every day.”
She held my hand properly then.
Not as a joke.
Not casually.
But carefully, like the moment mattered to her too.
And it did.
That afternoon became unforgettable because nothing dramatic happened, yet everything changed.
No one outside the room knew.
The hostel remained normal.
Girls moved through the corridor.
Doors opened and closed.
Voices rose and faded.
But inside that small room, two hearts had quietly admitted what words had been avoiding.
From that day forward, every moment between us carried new meaning.
Because once feelings are recognized, even silence begins to speak.
- Writer
