Morning sunlight slanted through the cracked window, catching on the dust that hung in the air like mist. Olivia turned on her bed, groaning. The rooster had been at it since 5 a.m., and the smell of smoke from the neighbor's firewood breakfast crept inside the room.
"Olivia, you no go stand up?" Chioma's voice floated from the doorway. "They say principal dey come today o."
Olivia muttered, "Tell her to post me to heaven."
Chioma chuckled. "Better post yourself to the borehole first. The bucket you borrow yesterday still dey there empty."
That jab stung a little. She hated how this village had reduced her. Back in Lagos she never fetched water; here, even the little kids carried jerry cans bigger than her pride.
By mid-morning she was trudging toward the school, khaki sticking to her skin, hair tied up lazily. A group of women sitting under the mango tree paused their gossip to stare. Then came the snickers.
"Shey na this Lagos girl wey dey form?" one whispered.
"The one wey dey follow that fine corper like say dem marry?" another replied.
Olivia's stomach tightened. The gossip in this place traveled faster than network signals. She forced herself to ignore them and kept walking, heels of her boots scraping the red dust.
Inside the staffroom, she found Chidera already seated, sleeves rolled, marking exercise books. He looked up, gave her that calm smile that always confused her—half teasing, half tender.
"Morning, Miss Lagos."
"Don't call me that," she snapped, dropping her bag. "People already talk too much."
"About what?" he asked, genuinely—or pretending to be—innocent.
She glared. "You and I. They think there's something going on."
He shrugged. "Let them think. People need entertainment."
"That's easy for you to say," she shot back. "You're used to this place."
He didn't reply. Just tapped his pen gently against the desk, then looked at her in that slow, steady way that made her heartbeat misbehave.
When the bell rang for break, she escaped outside, but the whispers followed. Two pupils giggled as she passed; one called out, "Aunty Olivia, Aunty Chidera say he go marry you!" The class erupted in laughter.
She felt heat rush to her face. For a second she wanted to shout, but instead she turned and walked off, head high, steps heavy. Behind her, she heard Chidera scold them softly, "Respect your teacher," and the room went quiet.
That evening, when she passed by the community square, she saw him again—this time talking with some elders. One of the men made a crude joke about "the fine Lagos girl that follows you everywhere."
Olivia froze behind the wall, waiting for the usual laugh.
But Chidera didn't laugh. His voice was calm but firm:
"She's not that kind of girl. She's working hard. You should be proud she's teaching your children."
The elders muttered something and changed the topic.
Olivia stood there in the dark, breath catching in her throat. He'd defended her—again.
For the first time since she came to this dusty village, she felt small in a good way. Not humiliated—humbled.
That night, the moon was pale and lonely over the corpers' lodge. Olivia couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she replayed Chidera's voice in her head — the calm way he'd defended her in front of the elders, like someone who actually saw her beyond the khaki uniform and city attitude.
She sat up, sighed, and grabbed her wrapper, heading outside for fresh air. The compound was quiet — only the chorus of crickets and the distant hum of generators.
Then she saw him.
Chidera sat near the mango tree, the same place they often quarreled during CDS meetings. He was wearing a simple black shirt, no uniform, and there was something different about him — calm, confident, but oddly distant.
"You're still awake?" she asked softly.
He smiled faintly. "Couldn't sleep. Too many thoughts. You?"
She shrugged, hugging her arms. "Same. I keep thinking… you didn't have to defend me today."
"I did."
His voice was quiet, but the firmness made her heart skip.
"You don't like gossip," he continued. "Neither do I. I don't want people to stain your name because of me."
Olivia looked at him for a long second. "You talk like you're… more than a corper sometimes."
He chuckled, looking down. "Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not."
That answer puzzled her. But before she could ask, he turned serious again.
"Olivia, this place is full of eyes. You can't control what they say. The only thing you can control is how much you let it bother you."
She hesitated. "So you're saying I should ignore it?"
"I'm saying you should live your life. Whether they talk or not, you'll still be the one who has to face the mirror every morning."
There was a long pause — the kind that's louder than noise. She could smell the faint scent of cologne on him, subtle but clean.
"Thanks," she whispered finally.
He nodded, but his gaze didn't leave her face. The silence stretched again until she grew nervous.
"What?" she asked, half-smiling.
"Nothing," he said quickly, looking away. "Just wondering how someone can be this stubborn and still so…"
"So what?"
He hesitated — then laughed softly. "Forget it."
But she didn't forget. That single line replayed in her mind all night long.
The next morning, Olivia woke up later than usual — the night's conversation had lingered in her dreams, looping over and over like an unfinished melody. She yawned, stretched, and was about to wash her face when she heard two female voices near the corridor.
"Did you see Chidera this morning?" one whispered.
"He left early, without his uniform again o. Where does he even go?"
Olivia froze. Her toothbrush nearly slipped from her hand.
"He said he was going to the community center," another replied, sounding doubtful. "But that guy… I swear he's hiding something."
They giggled and walked off, leaving Olivia standing by the window with her heart beating a little too fast.
Without his uniform again?
She tried to brush it off, but curiosity gnawed at her. After breakfast, she noticed Chidera's room was empty — his bed neatly laid, his khaki jacket folded perfectly on the chair. No boots, no cap, no clue.
By noon, she was restless. She told herself she didn't care — that it wasn't her business if he chose to wander off. But somehow, she found herself walking in the direction of the community center anyway.
The road was dusty and long, with the sun burning overhead. She squinted and spotted him from afar — Chidera, standing beside a group of men near a black SUV.
They were laughing, talking seriously, and one of the men handed him a brown envelope.
Olivia stopped dead. Her heart thudded. The other men wore polished shoes and crisp shirts, nothing like the locals. Chidera's body language was completely different — confident, composed, like someone used to giving orders.
Then, as if sensing her eyes, he turned.
For a split second, their gazes met — hers, wide with shock; his, calm and unreadable.
He didn't flinch. He just gave a faint, polite smile… then turned back to the men.
Olivia's heart twisted in confusion. Who exactly is this guy?
That night, when he returned, she was waiting by the corridor.
"You were gone all day," she said, trying to sound casual.
"Had some things to handle," he replied simply, setting down a bag of foodstuff he'd brought for everyone.
"Important things?"
"Very." His tone was soft but firm — the kind that said don't push further.
She wanted to ask more, to dig into that secret he clearly carried, but something in his eyes stopped her.
So she just nodded, biting her lip. "Right. Thanks for the food."
He smiled faintly. "Anytime."
As he walked past, she caught the scent of his cologne again — clean, expensive, and completely out of place for a struggling corper.
That night, she didn't sleep again. She lay awake staring at the ceiling, whispering to herself,
"Who are you, Chidera?"