She’s seated on the ledge behind the Arts Block, arms folded, shoulders high. 

Lanre shows up two minutes later, earphones dangling from his collar, face unreadable. 

No one says anything at first. 

Tobi breaks the silence. 

“You know Maro.” 

Lanre tenses. Zion looks away. 

Tobi nods slowly. “Yeah. I thought so.” 

Zion opens her mouth, but Tobi cuts her off. 

“You both lied. Not just by omission—deliberately. You knew I submitted that manuscript. You helped.” 

Lanre scoffs. “We didn’t help.” 

“You knew!” she snaps. “And you didn’t say anything.” 

Zion finally speaks. “Tobi, listen. Back then… you were different. You said things that scared me. The story, the way you wrote it—how close it was to something real—” 

“It wasn’t real!” Tobi’s voice cracks. “It was just a story.” 

Lanre steps forward. “Then why did you send it without remembering?” 

Tobi stares at him. The world goes still for a moment. 

“You… were there?” 

He sighs. “You called me. Out of the blue. Said you had something that needed to go out right now. That it had to go to Maro.” 

“I didn’t—” 

“You did,” Zion whispers. “You even asked me to proof it again. I thought you’d sleep on it. But the next day you acted like it never happened.” 

“I don’t even know who that is!” 

Zion pulls out her phone, scrolling fast. Then she holds up a picture — a blurry group photo. 

Students, staff. A seminar group. 

She points. 

“That’s him. Maro. You met him.” 

Tobi squints at the screen. 

Something flickers. 

Not memory. Something murkier — like déjà vu wearing a stranger’s face. 

She steps back. 

“No,” she whispers. “None of this makes sense.” 

Tobi sways a little. Her breath is short. 

“You never thought to ask? To check? To remind me?” 

“We thought you’d snap if we pushed too hard,” Lanre says quietly. “We thought it was just a phase.” 

Tobi doesn’t waste time. Just holds out the first note. 

Zion looks at it. Then at her. “What’s this?” 

“Just read it.” 

She does. Lanre peeking over her shoulder. 

Then again. 

Their faces shift—confusion first. Then something closer to fear. 

Zion’s voice lowers. “Tobi… what is this?” 

“I’ve been getting them,” she says. “Notes. Letters. For weeks.” 

Zion folds the paper again, more carefully this time. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I thought maybe it was you. Then Lanre. Then both of you.” 

Zion sighs. “Why would we do that?” 

“I don’t know.” She rubs her arms. “But I think someone’s trying to make me think I’m losing it. Or maybe… trying to make me remember something.” 

Zion hesitates. “Tobi, you’ve always been a little—” She stops. “I don’t mean that in a bad way. But you think deep. You spiral. Maybe this is one of those times.” 

“I submitted a story I don’t remember writing.” 

That stops Zion cold. 

“I read it last night,” Tobi says. “It has details I didn’t invent. Things that happened. Things I saw on the news. But it’s written like I was there.” 

Zion shakes her head slowly. “You’re scaring me.” 

“I’m scared too.” 

A breeze cuts between them. Dry. Dusty. 

Zion’s eyes stay locked on the note. 

Lanre digs into his folder. 

Pulls out a piece of paper — folded neatly. 

Hands it to her. 

“So I’m guessing this and the last weren’t you trying to be clever?” 

Tobi frowns taking it.

She hesitates. 

Unfolds it. 

Another note. 

The handwriting is neat. Familiar now. 

Tobi. You’re close. But you’ll ruin it if you panic. Show them. Trust them. 

Zion leans over her shoulder, reading. 

“Do you still have the others?” 

Tobi nods faintly. 

“Then let’s see them,” Zion says quietly. “All of them.” 

Her hands shake as she unzips her bag. 

One by one she pulls the nightmare into daylight. 

Slips of paper, each one heavier than the last. 

And when she finally looks up at them — 

she sees something she doesn’t expect. 

They’re not smug. 

Not conspiratorial. 

They’re scared. 

For her. 

Then Zion leans against the wall and crosses her arms. “You think you’re being watched?” 

“I think I’m being written.” 

Zion frowns. 

“Like someone is scripting my life. Feeding me pieces of a story I’m supposed to solve.” 

Zion shakes her head. “That’s— That’s too much, Tobi. You need help.” 

Tobi looks at her. “I think I need answers.” 

And that’s when the crack inside her splits wide open. 

She presses both palms to her face. 

“I don’t want to be crazy,” she says softly. 

It comes out like a confession. 

Or a prayer. 

Zion reaches for her hand. 

“Then let’s figure this out.”