Shadows stretch long across the pavement as they cut through the back paths of campus.
Tobi walks ahead this time, her fingers curled tight around the envelope in her pocket.
Zion and Lanre follow just behind — a little too quiet, but she doesn’t ask why.
At the far edge of the Arts building, a row of old lockers leans against the wall.
The metal is scratched, dented, faint numbers painted in black.
It smells faintly of dust and rust.
Tobi stops.
Her chest tightens.
It’s not memory exactly — more like recognition, lurking under her ribs.
Lanre speaks first.
“How many combinations could there even be? You’re sure it’s one of these?”
Zion crouches in front of the first locker in the row and yanks it open — empty.
The next one too.
And the next.
Tobi just stares at locker 27.
Her hand moves before she decides to.
The dial feels cold and familiar under her palm.
Right.
Left.
Right again.
A number comes to her fingers without thinking.
The lock clicks.
Inside, a single notebook sits at the bottom.
Black. Worn.
No name on the cover.
Tobi pulls it out, fingers trembling slightly.
She flips it open.
Not pages.
Photographs.
Dozens of them — all black and white, all of her.
Sleeping in classrooms.
On the bus.
Sitting under the mango tree.
On the floor of the lecture theatre that first night.
Every angle.
Every shadow.
Her.
Zion lets out a low whistle.
Lanre mutters something sharp under his breath.
Tobi turns the pages slowly, her breath shallow.
On the last page, a single line scrawled in black ink:
You see yourself now, don’t you?
Her hand closes over the notebook.
And for the first time all evening, she feels cold.
Zion speaks softly, breaking the silence.
“So. What now?”
Tobi glances at the lockers.
Then at the notebook.
Her jaw tightens.
“Now,” she says quietly, “we find him.”
And she shuts the locker door behind her.
Comments (0)
See all