Mornings had always been Rudd's favorite — the calm before the school buzzed to life, the mist hanging low over the football field, and the sun lazily making its way up. But today felt different. The air was thick, the silence felt too sharp. He walked slower than usual, his backpack carelessly slung over one shoulder, his mind replaying bits of yesterday's chat with Scarlet.
She had confided in him. Opened up about her mom, sitting so close, like they were more than classmates. Now he was left wondering how to act around her.
In class, Scarlett greeted him with a small smile that felt heavy with unspoken words. He managed to return it, but his stomach fluttered. Something had shifted between them, an invisible thread connecting them, fragile yet taut.
The day kicked off like any other — Mr. Ajayi barking at students who were late, girls in the back row laughing loudly, chalk scratching against the board. But Rudd couldn't concentrate. Every time Scarlet tucked a strand of hair behind her ear or leaned in to write in her notebook, he was aware. And every time he caught himself noticing, he quickly looked away.
When Literature class rolled around, the teacher announced the upcoming Open Day assignment: a group project with a partner. As expected, the class groaned.
"I'll assign partners myself," Mr. Ajayi said. "You lot can't be trusted to choose wisely."
The room buzzed with anticipation. When he called out, "Rudd and Scarlet," playful whistles erupted.
Rudd's face flushed.
Scarlet raised an eyebrow at him, clearly entertained. She didn't protest. He managed a weak smile.
After class, they found a spot under the mango tree near the sports field, brainstorming ideas.
"What about something on modern relationships?" Scarlet suggested. "Like how communication has changed with technology."
"Hmm. That sounds smart," Rudd replied, "but also... kinda personal."
She laughed. "Don't worry, I won't spill your secrets."
"I don't have secrets," he said, not quite truthfully.
Scarlet narrowed her eyes playfully. "Everyone does."
The breeze played with her braids, and for a moment, Rudd lost track of time. Everything seemed to slow down. Then his phone buzzed.
A message from his dad: Get home early. Meeting.
Rudd tensed. "I have to go soon."
Scarlet nodded, not pushing him. "We can wrap this up later."
As he got up, she said, "Thanks for yesterday."
He hesitated. "You don't have to thank me."
"I know. But I want to."
He left, feeling a mix of lightness and weight all at once.
Home was a different kind of battlefield. His dad was waiting in the living room, arms crossed.
"You're slipping," he said without a hello. "Your second-term results aren't great."
Rudd stayed silent. The lecture continued — about responsibility, expectations, and those university plans that felt less like options and more like demands.
His mom stayed quiet, and his sister looked uneasy. It wasn't new, but it still stung.
Later that night, he opened the group chat Scarlet set up for the project. It was just the two of them. She'd already sent three voice notes, brimming with energy and ideas. Rudd replayed them over and over.
He didn't respond; he just listened.
The next day, things shifted again.
A new boy came in. Tall, sharp features, with a confident stride and a voice that cut through the classroom chatter like glass. Dapo.
The teachers barely explained anything — just said he was transferring from a private school in Abuja, mid-term.
Dapo took the seat right in front of Scarlet.
And just like that, everything changed.
He made jokes that had the class laughing. Answered questions with a confidence that drew attention. And during break, when he walked out with Scarlet — claiming he just wanted to show her the library — something twisted in Rudd's chest.
He wasn't sure what it was. Jealousy? Insecurity? Confusion?
Whatever it was, it made the next class unbearable.
When Scarlet came back, she seemed brighter. Not overly dramatic, but enough for Rudd to notice.
She tapped his desk. "We'll finish the project today, right?"
He nodded, forcing a smile. "Sure."
But it didn't reach his eyes.
Later that evening, as they sat in the library again going over their outline, he noticed her phone light up. A message. She didn't hide it — just smiled faintly before flipping the phone face down.
"Dapo?" he asked before he could stop himself.
She blinked. "Yeah. He's funny. Doesn't act like a new guy."
"Right."
A moment of silence hung between them.
"He asked if I had a boyfriend," she added, almost casually.
Rudd's pen froze. "Oh."
"I told him no."
He looked up, unsure how to decipher her expression.
"But I also told him I wasn't looking."
Their eyes locked.
Scarlet smiled. "Just thought I should let you know."
Rudd let out a quiet chuckle, a breath he didn't know he was holding releasing at last.
"Thanks for the heads-up."
"Anytime," she replied, returning to the paper in front of them. But something was different in the air — a new thread woven into their quiet exchange.
And just like that, the space between them shrank — and it felt a lot more dangerous.