Since that day at the court, everything started to feel… different.
Devon wasn't texting like before. He wasn't smiling at Hazel the same way. His usual teasing glances and warm attention had been replaced with a cold, distant politeness. And it was suffocating.
Hazel saw him often now, but never alone.
Always with Blair,
Walking together. Laughing. Sharing drinks at the canteen. Sitting close under the mango tree like nothing had ever happened between them. Like she didn't exist. Like that night at the basketball court had meant nothing.
It hurt in a way she couldn't explain.
And the worst part? He didn't even try to explain himself. He didn't look guilty. He didn't look sorry. He looked… happy.
Or maybe that was just what she told herself to feel less broken.
One afternoon, Hazel walked past the boys' hostel and saw them together again. Blair was sitting on his lap, laughing at something he whispered in her ear. Hazel kept walking but her chest was heavy, and her steps slowed like her legs were remembering everything she was trying to forget.
She clutched the hem of her top tightly, trying not to cry. But her eyes betrayed her.
Later that evening, she did something she thought would make her feel better.
She washed the yellow sweatshirt, Folded it neatly.
And took it back.
Devon and Blair were seated outside again—this time under the tree near the hostel gates.
She walked up to them without saying anything and handed Devon the sweater.
His brows furrowed for a moment. "What's this?"
"You left this with me," she said softly.
He hesitated, looking at her, maybe expecting something more. A smile? A joke? But Hazel didn't offer anything else.
She turned to walk away, but Blair's voice stopped her.
"Wait." Hazel turned slightly.
Blair looked up at Devon with squinted eyes. "She had your sweater?"
Devon shifted in his seat. "It was from the other night. She was cold. That's all."
Blair raised a brow. "You didn't tell me you gave her your clothes."
Hazel stood frozen for a second, then began walking again, faster this time.
Behind her, she could hear the faint sounds of a rising argument. But she didn't stop to listen.
She didn't want to know what he was saying.
Not anymore.
Because sometimes, what hurts more than the lies… are the truths you already knew but pretended not to.
Two days after Hazel returned Devon's sweater, something shifted in Blair.
The moment Hazel walked away, Blair didn't just question Devon — she watched him. Closely. Too closely.
And when Devon brushed off the whole thing like it was nothing — just "a cold night" and "no big deal" — Blair didn't believe him. Not for a second.
Because she saw the way Hazel looked at him.
And she saw the way he didn't deny it.
So Blair did what Blair knew how to do best: protect her territory.
Even if it meant crossing a line.
It happened just after sunset, when Hazel had gone to buy noodles from the stall near the back fence — the one few people visited after dark.
She didn't notice the three girls trailing behind her.
She didn't hear the low whistle that signaled the trap was set.
All she heard was a sharp voice behind her.
"Na you dey find person boyfriend abi?"
Hazel turned — confused, heart starting to race — but she didn't even get the chance to speak before the first blow landed.
She stumbled backwards, shielding her face as two more fists followed. Kicks. Slaps. Hair being pulled. Her phone clattered to the ground.
She screamed, but the music from nearby hostel rooms drowned her out.
Then, as quickly as they came, the girls disappeared into the shadows.
Hazel sat in the dust, blood on her lip, her shirt torn slightly at the shoulder. Her breathing was shaky. Her ankle, still recovering, throbbed again.
Tears blurred her vision — not just from pain, but from betrayal.
Because deep down… she knew exactly who sent them.
After the attack, Hazel could barely move. Her ankle screamed in pain. Her shirt was torn, her lip was bleeding, and her head spun with dizzy confusion.
She tried to stand. Failed.
She tried again.
This time, she stumbled a few steps away from the stall — dragging herself toward the hostel. But her body was shutting down.
She hadn't even made it halfway when the spinning got worse.
Her knees buckled.
And then everything went black.
She collapsed in the narrow alley between two blocks — a place so quiet and hidden that no one noticed her body lying there.
That night passed.
Then another.
And another.
By the third day, people began to notice.
"She hasn't come out since Monday," Matilda said to Divine.
"I haven't seen her phone online," Darcie added.
"I knocked, but she didn't answer," someone else said.
Some assumed she traveled.
Others whispered that maybe she dropped out.
But no one knew where she was.
No one had checked the back alley — the forgotten path between the old fence and the abandoned classroom blocks.
That Friday evening, Warren was going for a run — his usual stress-relief routine after a long week.
He wasn't even thinking of Hazel at first.
But as he turned past the classroom block, something made him stop.
A shoe.
A single white slide, half-buried in dust.
And then… a hand.
Warren's heart stopped.
He rushed forward, his eyes locking onto a crumpled figure barely breathing in the shadows.
Her hair was tangled. Her lips dry. Her arms covered in bruises. She was unconscious — barely alive — lying like someone the world forgot.
"Hazel!" he called, panic tightening in his chest.
He knelt beside her, pressing his fingers to her wrist.
She was alive.
Barely.
Without thinking, he picked her up in his arms, holding her close like something fragile.
"I've got you," he whispered, trying to stay calm. "You're okay now. I've got you."
As he walked quickly toward the clinic, holding her gently but tightly, Warren didn't even realize… his hands were shaking.