TAMARA'S POV
I've never done my own laundry before.
At home, I wake up, wash the utensils, and head to the shop. By the time my mom returns from her store, she's already taken over the laundry — scrubbing until the white shirts shine like peace flags on the line.
Mama never likes dirt. She always says, "Cleanliness is next to Godliness"
But here I am now — standing over a basin of water that looks like muddy tea, my fingers raw and slippery with soap.
My once-white shirts are no longer white. My socks look tired. Even my checked maroon skirt is losing its pride — its color running wild, bleeding into everything else.
So now, all my clothes share one shade: brown.
Brown shirts. Brown socks. Brown dreams hanging on the line, dripping under the shy morning sun.
It's barely eight. I wake up early because today's Saturday — our so-called free day.
We're supposed to go to class by eleven, after tea break, which runs from ten to eleven.
Between now and then, we clean the dorm, sweep, mop, fetch water — all before the prefects walk in with that inspection look.
They say we'll receive our routine today — probably at the classes.
But for now, I'm standing by the dorm window, watching the line of brown clothes sway like they're whispering secrets about how bad I am at this.
Maybe I am bad at this.
But I'll learn.
After all, it's my first real Saturday away from home.
And here I stand, staring at my damp clothes dancing in the wind — guarding them like treasure. They say there's stealing in this school. How pathetic. Why would anyone steal something as simple, as personal, as another's clothes?
All around me, Form Ones hover by the drying lines, eyes scanning, hearts hoping. The air feels quiet but tense — like we're all waiting to see what disappears next. The senior's are nowhere to be found.Maybe they've grown used to this.
Still, I watch, waiting, as if my gaze could keep the brown stains from fading further — or my clothes from vanishing altogether.
Anyway, time slips through my fingers, ticking fast like the impatient hands of a clock. We leave our clothes hanging there, half dry, trembling in the wind — and I can only hope the new admission numbers won't start their thieving spree this early. Surely, they can be patient with us… right?
Slippers scrape against the dusty ground, laughter echoes somewhere between the dorms and the dining hall. No stiff collars or pressed skirts today; only the comfort of our PE kits. Some girls twirl in their tennis skirts like it's summer break, while others wear their full tracksuits, sleeves pushed up, spirits lighter than the weekday bell.
Breakfast is already done — hurried, noisy, typical.
Now we trickle toward class. But the whole school feels scattered, like no one knows exactly where they're meant to be. The footballers are out in the field, chasing dreams. The church girls have disappeared into their little forest sanctuary — we call it the Forest Place. It sits near the hall, quiet, sacred, touched by wind and whisper.
And here we are, in class — bodies present, minds wandering.The sunlight sneaks through the window grills, cutting across faces and books in thin, lazy lines.
That's when my eyes find her.
Savina.
She's not wearing the PE kit like the rest of us — no tracksuit, no school jumper. Just her white shirt tucked neatly into her maroon-checked skirt, sleeves folded halfway like she owns the air around her. She looks fresh — too fresh for a morning like this. Her hair catches the light, and for a second, the whole class fades into background noise.
I study her quietly, pretending to fix my sleeve. There's something about her today — maybe the way her face glows softly under the sunlight, or how she smells like a page of a new book. Sweet. Clean. Familiar.
And suddenly, my cheeks burn.
I quickly look away, pretending to fix my notebook, though my heart is thudding in that annoying way it does when I get caught thinking too much.
When I glance back, she's already looking at me.
Her lips curve into a half-smile — the kind that doesn't need words. It's teasing, knowing. Like she's caught me red-handed, staring too long.
I look down again, flipping my pen between my fingers, pretending to search for something in my bag. Anything.
"Why are you not wearing the school PE kit today?" I finally ask, my voice too casual to be real. "I think it's Saturday?"
Savina tilts her head, still smiling. "Oh… my size finished," she says softly. "They said they'll give me one after the new stock arrives."
"Ah, I see," I murmur, trying to sound uninterested — but my eyes betray me, tracing the edge of her folded sleeves. She laughs quietly, as if she knows exactly what I'm doing.
"Don't worry," she says, "you look more serious than the prefects themselves."
I laugh, shaking my head. "Maybe I'm just shocked. You're the only one in uniform, you know?"
"Maybe I like being different," Savina says, her voice soft but certain.
"By the way," she adds, opening her locker and pulling out a notebook, "did you do your laundry? I did mine, but I'm just not at ease right now." She glances over her shoulder, lowering her voice. "I heard there's stealing of uniforms."
"Yeah, I've heard about that too," I say, turning toward her. "But we were told the seniors were warned. If anyone's found with a Form One's item, they get suspended — and have to buy five times what they stole."
Her eyes widen. "For real?"
"For real," I say, sliding down my chair lazily until my back almost touches the seat's edge. "So, there's nothing to worry about."
She leans forward slightly, resting her notebook on the desk, watching me with a faint smile. "That's a relief," she says softly. "I hope they behave this time."
For a second, her gaze lingers — tracing how I'm sitting, maybe wondering if I'll actually fall off the chair. I can feel her watching me, even when she looks away and pretends to write. Then, almost like she can't help herself, her eyes find mine again.
There's a flicker. A thought she doesn't say.
I catch her staring, and she quickly blurts out, "Um… don't you miss home?" Her tone is awkwardly gentle, like she's trying to cover up what she was really thinking.
I smirk. "Of course I do. Who doesn't?"
Leaning back, I rest my head against the chair, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The fan spins lazily, stirring the warm air.
Savina laughs quietly, tapping her pen against the desk. "Everyone misses home," she says, her voice carrying a softness that makes me glance at her again.
Savina taps her pen on the desk, eyes still half–lost in thought. Then she says, almost out of nowhere, "I miss my brothers though. Especially the small one. He's so naughty."
I turn to her, smiling. "You have brothers?"
"Yeah," she says, her face brightening. "Two. And one sister. We're four in total." She laughs softly. "The house is never quiet. Someone's always shouting or chasing someone."
"Four?" I repeat, a little amazed. "That must be fun. We're only two at home. Just me and my brother. Sometimes it feels like the walls are louder than we are."
She smiles. "What class is your brother in?"
"He's in Grade Four," I say. "You?"
Her eyes widen, a spark of surprise flashing across her face. "Wait — my big brother too! Grade Four!"
"Seriously?" I lean forward. "Which school?"
She tells me, and my eyes light up. "No way! That's my brother's school!"
We stare at each other, half–shocked, half–amused, before bursting into laughter.
"What if they actually know each other?" she says, covering her mouth.
"Then that means we've been… connected this whole time," I tease.
She laughs again, shaking her head. "That's crazy."
I look at her — really look. The way her eyes shine when she talks about home, the way she keeps brushing her hair back when she's laughing — it makes something inside me feel warm, like sunlight sneaking through a window I didn't know was open.
"I like how you talk about your family," I say softly. "It sounds lively."
She tilts her head. "And yours sounds peaceful."
I chuckle. "Peaceful or boring?"
She grins. "Both."
We both laugh again, the sound mixing with the faint chatter outside. The moment feels light, easy — like the kind of laughter you don't plan.
Then—
Drrrriiiing!
The bell rings, sharp and echoing through the corridor.
Savina glances toward the door. "Oh no," she mutters.
And just then, Roxan storms in — energetic, loud, the kind of girl who makes her presence known without trying. Her perfume hits the air before her words do.
"Tamara!" she calls, spotting me instantly. "Let's go for lunch before that crazy queue starts!"
She barely glances at Savina, but when she does, it's quick and cold — an up–and–down scan, the kind that says who's this new friend of yours?
Savina blinks, straightens her notebook, her earlier brightness dimming like a candle flickering in the wind.
I hesitate, looking between them. The shift in air is sharp — like stepping from sunshine into shadow.
"Uh… can we go?" I ask Savina, half–hoping she'll come along.
She doesn't look at me right away. She presses her lips together, pretending to focus on her book, though she's clearly not reading a thing. "No," she says softly, her tone clipped. "You can go."
It's not rude — but it's not warm either.
I tilt my head, confused. "You sure?"
She nods quickly. "Yeah, I'm fine. You go."
Roxan grabs my arm playfully. "Come on, Tamara! Before the ugali disappears!"
I give Savina one last look. She's already turned back to her notebook, pen in hand, pretending to write something. But her grip is too tight, and her smile doesn't reach her eyes.
As I step out with Roxan, I glance back just once. Savina's still there, staring at her open page — though I'm not sure she's reading it anymore.
And somehow, I feel like I'm leaving something behind.