Ejiro's heartbeat

Fear

The days moved like water—quiet at times, overwhelming at others. Ejiro began to settle into the rhythm of university life, but not without some stumbles. Classes were demanding. Lecturers didn’t slow down for anyone. She’d never been in a place where silence meant you were left behind. In her small village school, the teachers had known her name, checked on her when she seemed lost. But here, she was just a face in a hall full of voices and rushing footsteps.

One cold Tuesday morning, Ejiro arrived late to a General Studies lecture. The massive auditorium was packed, with barely a seat in sight. She stood at the back, unsure whether to squeeze into the narrow bench spaces or quietly slip out. She hated attention. But her fear of missing out overpowered her shyness. She shuffled in quietly and settled beside a girl with brightly painted nails and earphones still half dangling from her ears.

“Hi,” Ejiro whispered nervously.

The girl turned, raised a brow, and nodded. “You’re the girl in History 102, right?”

“Yes, I think so,” Ejiro responded.

“I’m Naomi. Second year. I can send you notes for this class if you want.”

Ejiro’s heart lifted. “Please. Thank you.”

Over the next few weeks, Naomi became another thread in Ejiro’s slowly weaving tapestry of campus life. Confident, bold, and funny, Naomi had a kind of freedom Ejiro admired. She wore bright colors unapologetically, asked questions in class, and never hesitated to challenge a lecturer when she disagreed with something. She was everything Ejiro wasn’t—but needed.

But for all her brightness, Ejiro still felt out of place sometimes. Most of the girls talked about weekend parties, makeup tutorials, and boys. And even though Ejiro was curious about some of those things, she couldn’t quite bring herself to participate. She still found joy in quieter things—writing in her journal, reading under a tree near the library, and taking slow walks through the edges of campus that reminded her of home.

It was on one of those walks that she saw Emeka again.

He was sitting under the shade of an old mango tree, reading. The wind ruffled his shirt slightly, and the golden sun made him look older—more like someone from a movie than a university student. When he looked up and caught her eye, he smiled with a kind of recognition that made her cheeks warm instantly.

“Ejiro,” he said, rising. “Taking your quiet walk again?”

She smiled, shy but pleased. “It helps me think.”

“Mind if I join?”

And just like that, the silence between them became a space of comfort.

They didn’t talk much, but the things they said stayed with her long after they parted. Emeka told her about his younger sister, who was struggling with secondary school math. Ejiro shared how much she missed her mother’s ofe akwu. They laughed about hostel drama and the overly serious librarian who always stared at students like they were criminals.

Ejiro found herself drawn more and more to these moments. They weren’t dating—she wouldn’t even dare to dream that far. But she liked the way he made her feel: seen, heard, and somehow special without trying too hard.

But not everything was simple.

Rumors began to float in the hostel halls. One afternoon, Naomi pulled her aside.

“Be careful with Emeka,” she warned.

Ejiro frowned. “Why?”

Naomi hesitated. “He’s nice, but he’s known. He’s had other girls. They say he doesn’t stay long.”

The words settled on Ejiro’s heart like dust. She didn’t know what to believe. Emeka had never crossed a line, never made her feel uncomfortable. But Naomi’s warning echoed. Maybe she was naive. Maybe this heartbeat she’d felt building wasn’t special at all—maybe it was just one of many.

That night, Ejiro sat by the window, her notebook open.

*Entry:*

*"What if I’m only one of many pages in someone else’s story? And what if I was hoping I was the cover?"*

But the next day, Emeka met her with the same gentle tone, the same warm eyes. He handed her a book he thought she’d like. A collection of poetry.

“You seem like someone who reads between the lines,” he said.

She smiled, even as her heart remained cautious.

University life, she was learning, was a dance. A mix of excitement and fear. Of reaching out and holding back. She didn’t know where her story with Emeka was going. But she knew it was hers—and she would write it slowly, carefully, like turning the pages of a diary she wasn’t ready to show anyone yet.