Chapter 3: Hailey's Secrets
There was something about late nights on campus — the way the buildings looked quieter, the air cooler, the voices softer. Rosewell University didn't sleep early, especially during exam season. But Jason wasn't studying that night.
He was waiting.
Hailey had texted him:
"You up? Suya and secrets?"
He replied with a location pin under the giant mango tree behind the economics block.
She showed up ten minutes later, carrying two paper-wrapped packs of sizzling meat, a bottle of malt, and that same wild glow in her eyes.
"You always come bearing gifts," Jason said as he made space beside him on the bench.
"Don't ever say I'm not generous."
They sat together under the yellow campus lights, the smell of grilled beef rising between them. Hailey's fingers were already stained red from suya spice as she handed him a chunk wrapped in foil.
Jason ate quietly while watching her — the way she kicked off her sandals to cross her legs, how her gold anklet caught the light, how she tilted her head when thinking. She was beautiful, yes, but more than that — she was present.
"Can I ask you something?" he said finally.
Hailey gave a lazy nod, her eyes still on the moon. "Only if I can ask you something too."
"Deal," he said. "You first."
She turned to him, chewing slowly. "Why are you really here?"
Jason froze for a second, masking it with a sip from his drink.
"You don't talk about family. No social media. You move like someone hiding from something."
Jason offered a crooked smile. "Maybe I just enjoy being mysterious."
"That's not an answer."
He chuckled. "Let's just say… I needed a break from the world I was used to. Too many people. Too much noise."
"Hmm," she murmured. "Sounds like heartbreak or betrayal."
Jason looked at her, surprised.
"I recognize the signs," she added quietly.
There it was again — that shift in her voice. That shadow passing over her brightness.
"My turn," he said, turning toward her. "Tell me about James."
She flinched.
Not dramatically. Just a small inhale, as though hearing the name scraped something raw inside her.
"You really want to go there?" she asked, eyes still on the moon.
"I won't ask twice."
She paused, then nodded slowly.
"James was... my first serious relationship. We met during my second year. He was older — a music student, talented, confident, charming. Everyone loved him. And at first, so did I."
Jason didn't interrupt. He just listened.
"Then things changed. He got possessive. Paranoid. Jealous. He'd call me 30 times in an hour. Show up uninvited. Accuse me of flirting with anyone who smiled at me."
She took a breath.
"He hit me once. Apologized for a week. Swore it would never happen again. Then he hit me again. And again. I stayed longer than I should've… because I thought love meant patience."
Jason felt a slow-burning fury begin to rise in his chest.
"I finally left when he tried to lock me in his apartment after a fight. My friend tricked him into opening the door. We ran. I blocked every number. Changed my hostel. Started over."
Jason's fists were clenched, knuckles pale. "And he hasn't tried to reach out since?"
"Not directly. But sometimes I get unknown calls. Weird messages. I always feel like he's watching."
Jason's jaw tensed. "Why didn't you report him?"
"Because in Nigeria, you know how that ends. They'd ask what I did to provoke him. Or tell me to 'go and settle it at home.'"
Jason looked at her — truly looked at her — and saw the strength it took for her to speak those words. She wasn't a victim. She was a fighter who refused to break.
"I'm sorry, Hailey."
She shrugged. "It's in the past."
"No," he said softly. "It's part of your story. But it's not your end."
She glanced at him — eyes glistening. "Why do I feel like you've been broken too?"
Jason didn't answer. But she already knew.
They sat in silence for a while, not awkwardly, just peacefully. Like two people who finally saw each other clearly for the first time.
And in that quiet, Jason made a silent promise to himself.
If James ever came back… Jason wouldn't let him touch her. Not again.