I didn't think that night with Zion would change anything. At least, not much. It wasn't the first time we had clawed at each other in the dark, biting down breaths we couldn't afford to let loose.
But the next day, something felt off.
Miriam was chattering beside me as we made our way to class, complaining about her roommate who left wet towels on the floor and a plate of half-eaten beans on her desk.
"Honestly, Jade, I don't understand how people can live like that," she said, shaking her head. "I had to air out the room for almost an hour this morning."
I nodded along, glancing across the courtyard where Zion leaned against a wall, arms folded, his gaze fixed somewhere distant. I wasn't planning to look his way, but my eyes betrayed me, and our gazes met. For a split second, I thought I saw something—an unspoken question trapped behind his stare.
"Are you even listening?" Miriam waved a hand in front of my face.
"Sorry," I muttered, glancing back at Zion. He was still looking, unblinking.
Miriam followed my line of sight, smirking. "Ah, Jade. So, you're doing silent telepathy with him now?"
"He's not—" I started, but she cut me off with a knowing grin.
"Not your boyfriend. I know, I know. You're just—what's the word? Situationshipping."
I rolled my eyes and nudged her toward the classroom. "Abeg, let's go."
______________________________________
Professor Mick was in full swing today. His voice carried a charge that always managed to draw us in, even when half the class had their heads buried in their phones. The topic was "The Impact of Social Media on Public Perception," and it had already become a verbal battleground.
Zion was in his usual spot with Michael and Segun. Stephen sat closer to the front, taking notes like the studious saint he tried so hard to be. I shared a desk with Miriam, who was still whispering about her roommate's "demonic hygiene habits."
Professor Mick's question cut through the noise. "So, who here believes that influencers genuinely shape public opinion, and who thinks they're just performing for clout?"
Michael kicked off, his voice steady. "Influencers are products of the market. They reflect what we want to see, not necessarily what we believe."
Zion leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "But what we see affects what we believe, doesn't it? If you keep watching the same curated version of success, don't you start to think that's what success looks like?"
I leaned back, crossing my arms. "But people aren't that gullible, are they? We all know the difference between reality and a performance. We just enjoy the performance more."
Stephen chimed in, his tone casual. "But how do you know you're not part of the performance too? Isn't every opinion you post online an attempt to be seen?"
I laughed, and a few others joined in. "I'm definitely not trying to impress anyone on the internet. Trust me."
Zion's eyes flicked to me, something unreadable behind them. "Maybe not, but you can't pretend that attention doesn't affect what you share. Why else would people 'curate' their lives online?"
His words felt like a jab, but I brushed it off, smirking. "Not everyone is curating, Zion. Some of us just live."
Professor Mick's voice cut in before Zion could respond. "This is what I like to hear—critical thinking. Not just opinions, but the ability to defend them."
Class continued, debates spiraling into side arguments, laughter, and a few lighthearted insults. Zion barely looked my way after that. Stephen, however, caught my eye just before we were dismissed.
______________________________________
Stephen waited by the door, his signature smile in place.
"Walk with me?" he asked.
Miriam shot me a side glance, the corners of her mouth twitching. "Alright, Miss Popular. I'll catch you later."
I rolled my eyes at her retreating back and turned to Stephen. "Yeah, sure."
We strolled through the corridor, easing into a conversation about the class, debating who made the most sense, and whether Professor Mick secretly enjoyed watching us go at each other.
"Michael is way too serious," Stephen chuckled. "Sometimes I think he's auditioning for CNN right there in class."
"Or BBC," I added. "He has that 'I'm smarter than you' aura."
Stephen laughed, and I found myself relaxing. He was easy to talk to, no pretenses. Just a guy who seemed to enjoy my company.
When we reached the school gate, he nudged me lightly. "So, you're a fan of late-night walks?"
I frowned, thrown off. "Late-night what?"
"Walks," he repeated, smiling. "I saw you stepping out around 11 last night. Thought maybe you were sneaking out to meet someone."
My laugh was awkward, my heartbeat picking up. Was he watching me? The idea felt strange.
"Maybe I just needed fresh air," I replied lightly. "Or suya."
"Maybe," he grinned, his eyes lingering. "Or maybe someone else already calls you Arìké."
Something in his voice made me pause. The smile on his face was easy, but there was an edge to it—like he was testing me. Before I could think of a response, he laughed and waved me off.
"See you tomorrow, Jade."
I watched him walk away, a knot of unease tightening in my chest.
______________________________________
Zion's POV (brief flash)
Zion watched from a distance, his jaw tight. Stephen had no friends, no real background that anyone knew. He had slipped into their class like he belonged, but Zion knew better. He saw the way Stephen watched Jade, the way he lingered a moment too long.
When Stephen finally left the campus, Zion followed. Just a few paces back, careful, measured. Stephen's phone was pressed to his ear, his voice barely audible. Zion paused, straining to catch the words.
"...I'll handle it. She doesn't know anything."
Zion's chest tightened. The suspicion that had been simmering for weeks began to boil over.
______________________________________
Jade's POV
By the time I got home, Aunt Linda was already on her usual tirade. Her Bible was open, and she was mid-prayer when I walked in.
"Father! Keep my daughters from the spirit of Jezebel!" she bellowed, eyes squeezed shut, hands raised to the ceiling. "May no loose woman with her corrupt ways draw my children into damnation! Let not the seed of Sodom grow in this house! Ah! Deliver us from every daughter of Babylon wey no get shame!"
I sighed, slipping past her into the room. Her voice thundered through the walls as I collapsed on my bed, my mind tangled—Stephen's smooth words, Zion's intense stare, the way everything felt like it had hidden corners.
My phone buzzed. Miriam.
"Babe, abeg shine your eye o. No be every fine boy wey smile dey genuine. Just saying."
I huffed a laugh, but something caught in my chest. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure whether to brush it off or ask what she meant.
For the first time in a while, I felt watched. And I wasn't sure by whom.