PERFECTLY BROKEN

CHAPTER 6 : IN HER ELEMENT

DAWN'S POV

By the second week after resumption, the school had settled into its usual rhythm—the kind that made you forget how loud everything had been on the first day. Bells rang like they were tired of announcing themselves. Teachers relaxed into routines. Even the hallways learned how to breathe again.

I liked it like this.

There’s something comforting about predictability. About knowing which corner will smell like floor polish, which staircase will always echo too loudly, which class will take attendance ten minutes late. It makes everything feel… manageable.

I waved at three people before I even reached the senior block.

“Morning, Dawn!”

“Hey, Dawn!”

“Dawn, you’re glowing o.”

I laughed, because laughing comes easily to me. It always has.

My uniform was crisp—white shirt neatly tucked, sleeves rolled just once, not too neat, not too careless. My navy skirt sat perfectly at my waist, the hem brushing my knees when I walked. I liked to personalize things just a little. A slim belt. Clean sneakers instead of shoes on days we were allowed. My braids were pulled into a high ponytail today, dark and full, swinging behind me when I moved. I’d added gold cuffs to a few strands—not flashy, just enough to catch light when I turned my head.

People notice details. They always do.

Yemisi walked a few steps ahead of me, posture straight, expression unreadable as usual. Her braids were darker, longer, parted neatly down the middle. She wore her uniform like it was armor—perfect, untouched, almost intimidating. Someone greeted her. She didn’t respond. Not rude. Just… distant.

Aurora walked on the other side, calm as ever. No rush. No unnecessary movement. Her uniform was immaculate, her hair sleek, her presence quiet but commanding. People greeted her too. Some she ignored. Some she acknowledged with a glance that said I heard you. That was all.

I answered greetings for the three of us. I didn’t mind.

At the lockers, Coco, Lemmy, and Pitahn stood nearby, mid-conversation.

“Dawn!” Coco called out.

I turned. “Morning.”

She smiled. Lemmy nodded. Pitahn raised a brow in acknowledgment. Nothing dramatic. Just a moment passing. We weren’t inseparable, but there was history there. Familiarity.

As we moved on, I spotted Olumide leaning against the wall near the science lab, laughing about something Emeka had said. He looked up just as I passed.

“Good morning,” he said, easy smile, casual tone.

“Morning,” I replied, just as easy.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

Classes blurred together that day. Notes. Chalk dust. Teachers talking about WAEC and futures like they were destinations we could reach by simply trying hard enough. I listened. I always did. But my body felt restless, like it was waiting for something else.

By the time school ended, I already knew where I was going.

The dance studio sat at the far end of the arts building—quiet, slightly forgotten. The mirrors inside were tall and unforgiving, but I liked that. They didn’t lie. They reflected exactly what you brought with you.

I changed quickly—leggings, oversized tee, hair tied up again. The moment I stepped onto the floor, something inside me loosened.

Music filled the room. Soft at first. Then louder.

I moved.

Not for an audience. Not for approval. Just because my body needed to speak.

Every step felt like exhaling. Every turn like release. I danced the way I always did—fully, instinctively, without thinking about how it looked. My movements were fluid, powerful, controlled. I felt grounded. Alive.

This was the version of me I trusted most.

I didn’t notice the door open.

I didn’t notice someone step in and stop.

It wasn’t until the music faded that I sensed it—that subtle shift in the air, like when you realize you’re no longer alone.

I turned.

Olumide stood near the entrance, one hand still on the door handle, like he hadn’t meant to come in at all.

“Oh,” I said, slightly breathless. “Hey.”

“Sorry,” he replied quickly. “I—uh—I thought this place was empty.”

“It usually is,” I smiled. “You’re fine.”

There was a pause. Not awkward. Just… quiet.

“You dance a lot,” he said.

“Yeah.” I wiped my forehead with the hem of my shirt. “It helps.”

He nodded, like he understood something he hadn’t expected to.

“I didn’t mean to watch,” he added.

I laughed softly. “It’s okay. I wasn’t performing.”

Another pause.

“Well,” he said, shifting slightly, “I’ll… let you be.”

“Sure.”

He left the same way he came—quietly, without fuss.

I stood there for a moment after he was gone, heart still steady, body still warm. Nothing had happened. And yet… something had.

Not everything needs a name.

As I packed up, I thought about how people saw me. Bubbly. Friendly. Easy to approach. They weren’t wrong. I liked people. I liked moments. I liked being light in rooms that felt heavy.

But there were parts of me that only the mirrors saw.

And that was okay.

When I stepped outside, the sun was already low, painting the school in gold. Tomorrow would come with its own noise. Its own drama. Its own secrets.

For now, I just walked home smiling, music still humming in my bones.