Chapter 12 PART 2
1504 Words
The next morning came faster than I wanted. I barely slept.
Every time I drifted off, my mind would replay fragments of the night before… the voices, the tension, the headlights, and him.
I forced myself out of bed anyway. There was no room for hesitation now.
Classes didn’t stop because I was tired. Responsibilities didn’t pause because I couldn’t get my thoughts in order.
So, I moved. Routine. Structure. Discipline.
By the time I stepped out of the dorm, my expression was composed, my posture steady, no different from any other day.
No one would know. No one would see how little rest I actually had. Because whatever was happening inside me, it stayed there.
And as I walked toward the university, blending in with the usual flow of students, I kept my focus forward.
Just another day. Just another step closer to the life I promised myself I would build.
No distractions. No matter how persistent they were.
By midday, the campus had returned to its usual rhythm, students moving between buildings, conversations overlapping, the faint hum of routine settling back into place.
I walked beside Lyna toward the cafeteria, still running on minimal sleep but determined not to let it show.
“I swear, if I don’t eat now, I might actually pass out,” Lyna muttered, adjusting the strap of her bag.
“You say that every day,” I replied, my tone lighter than I felt.
“And every day, it remains true.”
Despite everything, I found myself almost smiling.
The cafeteria was moderately crowded when we entered, the air filled with the usual mix of voices, clinking utensils, and the scent of freshly cooked food. Nothing unusual… until Lyna suddenly slowed beside me.
“Wait,” she said quietly.
I followed her gaze. And there he was.
Wallace.
Seated alone at one of the corner tables. That, in itself, was already unusual.
But what caught my attention more was what sat in front of him… a simple meal. Nothing extravagant. Just a basic serving you’d expect any average student to have.
No premium add-ons, no excessive portions, none of the things that usually surrounded someone like him.
For a moment, I just stared.
“That’s… new,” Lyna murmured under her breath.
I didn’t respond immediately. Because it was. Everything about it was different. No group of friends around him. No attention. No display of status.
Just him.
Eating quietly.
“Have you heard?” someone whispered from a nearby table, not quite discreet enough.
“His allowance got cut,” another voice replied. “Big time.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Because of that complaint. His dad didn’t hold back.”
I stiffened slightly, though I kept my expression neutral.
“Serves him right,” a third voice added.
“Still… that girl really went all the way, huh?”
There was a brief pause.
“Well, would you have done the same?”
“No.”
“Exactly.”
The conversation shifted after that, but the implication lingered.
I didn’t need to look to know who they were referring to.
Lyna glanced at me, her expression tightening slightly. “Ignore them,” she said quietly. “They talk like that because they don’t have the spine to do what you did.”
“I am ignoring them,” I replied calmly.
And I meant it. Because their opinions didn’t change anything. What happened, happened.
And I wasn’t going to carry guilt for something that wasn’t my fault.
Still, my eyes drifted back to Wallace. He hadn’t looked up once. No reaction. No acknowledgment of the whispers around him.
If he heard them, he didn’t show it.
There was something… restrained about him now. Not subdued but controlled in a way that felt deliberate.
Different from before.
“Are you okay?” Lyna asked.
I nodded. “I’m fine.”
“Good,” she said, nudging me slightly. “Because we’re not letting other people ruin lunch.”
That earned a small, genuine exhale from me.
“Right.”
We moved forward, grabbed our food, and settled at a table not too far, but not close enough to draw attention either.
As we ate, Lyna kept the conversation light, talking about the gala preparations, possible volunteer assignments, and how chaotic things usually got once the event officially started.
I responded when needed, listening more than speaking.
But every now and then, my gaze would shift. Back to that corner table. Back to him. Not out of concern. Not entirely. Just… observation.
Because for someone who used to command attention without effort, Wallace Rachford sitting alone, eating a simple meal in silence, was something I hadn’t expected to see.
And I wasn’t sure yet what it meant.
The days that followed slipped into a demanding rhythm, the kind that left little room for overthinking.
Lectures became heavier, deadlines tighter, and on top of that, the preparations for the University Gala intensified.
What I initially thought would be a simple volunteer role turned into a structured responsibility that required planning, coordination, and constant communication.
Our team under the Academic Support and Outreach Initiative met almost every afternoon.
We were assigned to design interactive learning booths for the visiting children, most of them coming from partner foundations.
My specific role centered on literacy and basic mathematics, which meant I had to prepare simplified lesson materials, visual aids, and small activity kits that could engage children with different levels of understanding.
It wasn’t easy.
It demanded patience, creativity, and precision. Every instruction had to be clear, every activity carefully thought out so it wouldn’t overwhelm them.
But despite the pressure, it felt… meaningful. Familiar, even. It reminded me of the orphanage… of sitting on worn-out chairs, helping younger kids sound out words or solve basic equations.
Here, it was just more structured. More refined. And more observed.
There were moments, unexpected ones, when Wallace would step in. Not intrusively. Not in a way that drew attention. Just… present.
He would stop by during preparations, glance over the materials, and offer suggestions that were surprisingly practical.
“Don’t overload the instructions,” he said once, pointing at one of my activity sheets. “If they have to think too much about what to do, they won’t enjoy it.”
"Thanks," I replied with a smile.
"You're welcome. Happy to help," he said and left. I watched him until he was already out of sight.
Another time, he adjusted the layout of the booth I was assigned to. “Make the table lower,” he suggested. “You’re working with kids. If they can’t reach comfortably, they lose interest.”
I nodded and did as he says.
They were small things. But they mattered.
And slowly, without me fully realizing it, my initial resistance toward him began to soften.
I started listening. Not because I had to, but because what he said made sense.
One afternoon, as Lyna and I were about to sit down for lunch, Wallace approached us.
“Can I join?” he asked.
It was simple and direct. Lyna didn’t even hesitate.
“No.”
The answer was immediate, firm. I glanced at her briefly, slightly surprised by how quickly she shut it down.
Wallace didn’t react. No irritation. No argument.
He just gave a small nod. “Alright.”
And then he walked away… calm, composed, as if the refusal didn’t affect him at all.
I watched him take a seat alone again, the same quiet corner he seemed to prefer lately.
Something about that… didn’t sit right with me. Not because I owed him anything.
But because he hadn’t pushed. Hadn’t used his position. Hadn’t even tried to make it uncomfortable for us.
He simply accepted it. I looked back at my food, suddenly less focused.
“You don’t need to feel bad,” Lyna said, noticing the shift in my expression.
“I don’t,” I replied, though it came out quieter than intended.
She raised a brow. “You do.”
I didn’t argue. Because maybe, just a little… I did.
The week built toward the gala faster than I expected. By the time it arrived, the entire university had transformed.
Colorful banners stretched across buildings, each one representing a different organization. Booths were arranged across the open grounds, carefully designed and decorated… some vibrant and playful, others sleek and professional.
Lights were installed along walkways, giving the entire campus a polished, almost festival-like atmosphere.
Students moved with purpose, dressed better than usual, carrying roles and responsibilities that extended beyond academics.
And then, the opening ceremony.
A large stage had been set at the central grounds, complete with a professional sound system, LED screens, and rows of seating for guests and attendees.
Sponsors, faculty members, and selected students occupied the front rows, while the rest of us stood or sat wherever space allowed.
I stood with my team. My attention was divided between the program and the crowd.
Until… he arrived.
Wilthon Rachford.
- Writer
