The contract
The notice was pinned on the notice board outside Lecture Hall B. It was written on plain white paper, but with a red stamp that said OFFICIAL.
WANTED: Fake girlfriend. 50K per semester. Must attend 3 family events. No questions asked. Contact Dr. B.K - Office 4.
I almost laughed out loud. It had to be a joke from some broke comrade.
Until I saw who posted it.
Dr. Brian Kipchumba. Moi University's youngest lecturer. 29 years old, PhD from Nairobi, always in a black suit, always cold. The man who failed me in CAT 1 with a 12% and called me 'an unserious student with a pretty face and an empty head' in front of 200 students.
And now he was offering money to pretend someone loved him?
I should have walked away. I really should have.
But my phone buzzed. MPesa balance: 23 shillings. My landlord in Kesses had locked my single room yesterday. My fees balance was 48,000 and the portal was going to close on Friday. My mom in Kitale just told me on the phone, "Vicky, I have nothing this month. Pray."
50K was not for weaves. 50K was not for clubbing. 50K was my school, my house, my life.
I knocked on Office 4. He didn't look up from his laptop. "What?"
"The notice," I said, my voice shaking. "Outside Lecture Hall B. The fake girlfriend one. I... I want to apply."
He finally looked at me. Up and down. Slowly. "You? The girl who got 12% and argued with me? My family is wealthy, not blind. They will never believe it."
I felt small. "I can act."
He stared for a minute, then pulled out a printed contract and a fancy pen. "Rule one: No kissing. No feelings. This is business. End of semester, we break up. You get your money, I get my family off my back. Understand?"
I took his pen. 50K was 50K. What was the worst that could happen?
I stared at the contract paper. It was two pages, typed neatly. Party A: Dr. Brian Kipchumba. Party B: Victoria Cherotich. It listed my duties: smile, hold hands in public, attend family dinners, post one photo on i********: per month pretending to be happy.
My hand was shaking so much the pen almost fell. The office was quiet except for the ticking of his wall clock and the typing of his laptop. Outside, I could hear students shouting, boda bodas hooting near Gate B.
"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice softer this time, almost concerned. "Once you sign, you can't tell anyone it's fake. Not even your best friend."
I thought of my locked door in Kesses, of the padlock my landlord bought yesterday. I thought of my mom's voice note, tired and broken. I thought of my fees portal flashing red.
I pressed the pen hard and wrote my name: Victoria Cherotich. The ink bled a little.
He took the paper, signed his own name with a quick, sharp signature, and stamped it. "Welcome to the job, Miss Cherotich. Your first assignment is tomorrow 8am. Lecture Hall B. Don't be late. And wear something... decent."
I walked out of Office 4 with the contract in my bag and 50K waiting in my future. My heart was beating fast, not because I was scared, but because for the first time in months, I had hope.
