Zara pov:
Isa basically saved my life.
The ginger-haired boy had been in my personal space—so close I could smell his mint gum and see the stupid confidence in his eyes. It took everything in me not to punch him. I really needed to stop letting fear freeze me. I needed self-defense classes. I needed a whole new spine.
I was deep in my thoughts until Isa tugged my sleeve. When I looked up, the hallway was empty.
Ginger was gone.
Thank God.
"Are you okay? Is there something you're looking for? Maybe I can help?" Isa asked, eyes soft with concern.
I sighed. "Food."
"Oh!" She brightened instantly. "So I still get to give you a tour after all. But first—food."
She sounded proud of herself, like she won some invisible battle.
I followed reluctantly, letting her lead the way. We walked through campus buildings, Isa chatting nonstop as she pointed things out. But all I could think about was going home, putting on something comfortable, and eating in peace.
Finally, we stopped at a café.
Note to self: I need a car. I thought the bad days in Nigeria were rough—nope, this was worse. Everything was too far, too cold, too confusing.
Just as I stepped in, feeling the tiniest bit relaxed—
I saw them.
Ginger.
Juniper.
Two other boys.
Nope. Absolutely not. I wasn't hanging out with psychos today.
I spun around to leave, but Juniper spotted Isa, and if I lingered even a second longer, she'd force me to stay.
Best bet? Go home and cook.
I rushed out so fast I almost collided with a pole.
By the time I got to my dorm, I slammed the door shut behind me and exhaled like I'd run a marathon. Changing into shorts and a tan tank top felt like therapy. I put on my headset, blasted Rema, and headed to the kitchen.
Egusi time.
My comfort food.
Thank you, past me, for packing fufu.
Being alone was actually nice—dancing, cooking, not worrying about people breathing in my direction. I poured the palm oil into the pot, mixing my egusi in a bowl while everything heated up.
Then suddenly—
A shadow fell over me.
I froze.
Slowly, with every atom in my body screaming please be imagination, I turned around.
There was a man standing behind me.
At least 6'2 or 6'3.
Broad shoulders.
Black hair falling messily over his forehead.
Sharp jawline.
Eyes an ice-blue that looked both bored and aware at the same time.
He looked familiar—but this one… this one looked dangerous.
And unfairly fine.
Oh shit.
Enough about how fine he is—why is a man in the girls' dorm?
And why is he in my kitchen?
I stepped back slowly.
He stepped forward.
"Stop," I said, trying to sound like I wasn't terrified.
He didn't stop.
I panicked.
Moved another step back.
My hip bumped the pot of palm oil I had set aside.
It toppled.
The oil hit the flame—
WHOOMPH.
Fire exploded upward.
Before I could process anything, a strong arm wrapped around my waist and yanked me away from the stove, pulling me tightly against a solid chest.
I struggled instantly—twisting, fighting, trying to get away from him and the fire.
"Let go!" I hissed.
He didn't.
So I did the only thing that came to mind.
I kicked him.
Right in the nuts.
His breath left him in a sharp exhale. He released me, more in shock than pain.
I didn't waste a single second.
I ran to the stove, turned off the burner, grabbed the pot lid, and slammed it over the burning oil. The flame hissed angrily, then died, leaving only smoke and the smell of burnt palm oil.
My heart was racing.
I exhaled shakily, relieved the fire was out.
Then—
A low, amused exhale sounded behind me.
I had completely forgotten he was still in the room.
Before I could turn, a hand wrapped around my arm, spun me, and shoved me up against the wall. My back hit it with a soft thud. His body caged mine in place—close enough that I felt his warmth, smelled his cologne, and instantly regretted breathing.
His voice was smooth, British-tilted, cold under the surface:
"Where do you think you're going?"
My breath hitched.
I was trembling.
He tilted his head, studying me like he was deciding whether to be annoyed or entertained.
"You almost set the kitchen on fire."
"I didn't—"
My voice cracked. My hands shook.
He didn't care.
He leaned in slightly, eyes locking with mine.
"Name."
I pressed back against the wall harder.
Silence.
His expression sharpened.
"Don't make me ask again."
Fear and instinct broke through whatever pride I had.
"…Zara."
A slow smile curved his lips—satisfied, dangerous, like he'd forced the sun to rise.
"Good."
He straightened, releasing me, adjusting his jacket like nothing happened.
"Soren." He said, "remember it"
Then he turned and walked out of the kitchen, out of the dorm, out of my sanity—
as if he hadn't just pinned me to a wall, threatened me, and nearly watched me burn down the entire building.
Leaving me alone, shaking, staring at the doorway like he might walk back in at any moment.