The day started on a sharp note.
The morning sun was fierce, and Olivia already felt irritated. The generator didn't come on, her towel was damp, and her rice from last night had gone sour.
She had barely stepped outside when she saw Chidera fixing the school's broken window again, hammer in hand, whistling like life was perfect.
"Morning," he greeted lightly.
"Mm," she mumbled, brushing past him.
He chuckled. "That's a grumpy corper greeting, abi?"
Olivia spun around. "You think everything's funny, don't you?"
His smile faded a little. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You disappear whenever you like, you come back pretending you're doing everyone a favor. You don't even act like the rest of us—like you're better or something."
He stared at her quietly, hammer frozen mid-air. "So now it's a crime to mind my business?"
"It's not your business that's the problem," she shot back. "It's the mystery. Everyone keeps whispering about you, and you act like you don't owe anyone an explanation."
Chidera set the hammer down. His tone softened but carried weight.
"Olivia, why do you care so much about what people whisper? You came here with nails and lashes and thought the world would bow for you. Now you're angry because I'm not as miserable as you expected?"
Her breath hitched.
The words stung more than she'd admit.
"I just—" she began, but her voice cracked.
"Forget it."
He sighed, wiping sweat from his brow. "You want to pick a fight with me, fine. But don't twist things you don't understand."
"I understand enough!" she snapped. "You're not who you pretend to be, Chidera. And one day, everyone will see it."
He looked at her for a long second, disappointment flickering across his face. Then, quietly:
"You talk too much when you're scared."
Olivia blinked. "Excuse me?"
He turned away, picked up the hammer, and went back to fixing the window like nothing had happened.
The silence between them stretched through the day — long, heavy, and uncomfortable. She avoided him at lunch, ignored his greetings, and pretended not to hear when he asked if she needed help fetching water.
That night, the air was thick with unspoken words.
She sat on her bed scrolling through her dead phone (the battery had been at 2% since morning), pretending to text someone. But the truth was, her fingers trembled — not from anger, but from something more confusing.
Guilt.
And the ache of knowing she might've been wrong.
Outside, she could hear Chidera humming faintly while washing his hands at the basin, his voice low and calm — the same voice she'd just raised hers against.
Olivia pulled her pillow close and whispered into it,
"Why can't I just ignore him?"
But she already knew the answer