Faking With You.

A FAMILIAR STRANGER.

The vice chancellor slid a file across his desk.

“Your scholarship is renewable.”

I looked at the document but didn’t touch it.

“Renewable?”

“Every academic year.”

My stomach tightened.

He adjusted his glasses.

“Which means your performance matters.”

“I understand.”

“I don’t think you do.”

I looked up.

He wasn’t being unkind. If anything, his voice was almost gentle.

“You’ve earned this opportunity, Miss Bello. But Crownbridge is demanding. The students here have access to almost every advantage money can buy. Private tutors. Study resources. Technology. Connections.”

He tapped the file.

“Your scholarship gives you access to the same classrooms. It does not give you permission to fall behind.”

My fingers curled around the strap of my handbag.

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

He smiled.

“Then welcome to Crownbridge.”

I thanked him and walked out.

The door closed behind me.

Only then did I breathe.

I pulled out my phone.

Three missed calls from my roommate.

One message from the landlord.

Reminder: balance due Friday.

I locked the screen.

One problem at a time.

Crownbridge first.

Everything else could wait.

⸻

The university looked like a place that had never heard the word budget.

Glass walls. Polished floors. Students carrying laptops that probably cost more than my monthly rent.

I kept my eyes forward.

I had spent too long working for this.

I wasn’t going to let the size of the buildings make me feel small.

Then my shoe slid.

I grabbed the wall.

A mop stopped inches from my feet.

“Seriously?”

I looked up.

The guy holding it was tall, annoyingly handsome, and clearly annoyed with me.

I looked behind him.

A yellow caution sign stood several feet away.

“Oh.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“That’s usually what people say before apologizing.”

I looked at the wet floor.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

There was something about his voice.

Something irritatingly familiar.

I stepped around him.

“Have a good day.”

“I’m trying.”

I almost smiled.

Almost.

Then I walked away.

I didn’t see him turn to watch me.

⸻

By lunchtime, I had found my classroom and survived three introductions.

I was beginning to think maybe my first day wouldn’t be as terrible as I’d imagined.

Then I heard a girl’s voice behind me.

“Have you seen the new transfer?”

I looked down at my food.

“She has a scholarship.”

“Oh, so she’s one of those brilliant poor girls.”

A few people laughed.

I kept eating.

Then another voice joined them.

“I heard she’s really smart.”

“Of course she is. You don’t get into Crownbridge on charity.”

My appetite disappeared.

I pushed my tray away.

Across the cafeteria, a group of students sat around a table that looked like it belonged in a magazine.

At the center was the girl everyone seemed to know.

Sofia Sinclair.

She was beautiful.

Not the kind of beautiful that needed effort.

The kind that made people move aside when she walked past.

Beside her sat the guy from the hallway.

I looked away.

I didn’t know his name.

I didn’t want to.

⸻

The lecturer asked us to introduce ourselves after lunch.

One by one, students stood.

When it was my turn, I rose.

“My name is Aisha Bello. I’m a transfer student.”

“Welcome, Aisha.”

I nodded.

Then I felt it.

Someone staring.

I turned.

The guy from the hallway was sitting near the back.

His face had changed.

He wasn’t amused anymore.

He was staring at me like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

Our eyes met.

For one strange second, something inside me shifted.

Not recognition.

Not exactly.

Just a feeling.

Like I’d opened a door in my memory and found darkness waiting on the other side.

I looked away.

When class ended, I packed my things quickly.

I didn’t understand why my hands were suddenly shaking.

As I reached the door, I heard his voice behind me.

“Aisha.”

I stopped.

I didn’t turn.

There was something in the way he said my name.

Something that made my heart beat harder.

Then he laughed softly.

And suddenly, I remembered another laugh.

A boy.

A dusty street in Surulere.

A schoolbag pulled from my shoulder.

A voice saying, What are you going to do about it?

I turned.

He was still standing there.

Watching me.

And for the first time, I wondered if I had seen him before.

Not today.

Years ago.

I couldn’t remember his face.

But I remembered the feeling.

And I hated it.