The city was humming under the late afternoon sun, the air thick with heat and the distant noise of traffic. At the gates of the school, Chikaima adjusted the collar of his uniform shirt. He was twenty-two but looked older—tall, lean, muscles defined from years of sports and endless hours with his friends at the gym. Around him, his classmates laughed loudly, their voices full of easy confidence. They were his world—the straight, muscular boys who defined what it meant to be a man in their city.
But inside, something felt fractured.
He was used to hiding, used to pushing down the part of himself that didn't fit their expectations. The part that whispered secrets at night, the part that made his heart beat faster when he caught a certain boy's smile in the hallway.
Somtochukwu.
The new junior student who moved like a breeze—calm, unbothered, with eyes that seemed to see right through the world's chaos. Somto was everything Chikaima wasn't—free, gentle, and daring to be different in a place that punished difference.
That day, Chikaima spotted him again, walking down the corridor in his white uniform, the sun catching the soft fabric and turning it almost ethereal. The boy in white.
The hallway seemed to quiet around him.
Chikaima's pulse quickened, but he looked away, afraid.
He told himself it was just a crush. A passing thing.
But every time Somto smiled or laughed, the walls Chikaima built trembled a little.
That night, alone in his small room, Chikaima stared at the ceiling, the weight of his secret heavier than ever.
The city outside pulsed with life, but inside, he felt utterly alone.
---
The next morning, the schoolyard was already buzzing with energy. Chikaima moved with practiced ease, navigating through groups of students. His friends called out jokes and challenged each other to impromptu games of football on the dusty field. Their laughter was loud, their presence magnetic. To the world, Chikaima was one of them — confident, strong, untouchable.
But beneath the smiles, he felt an invisible wall closing in.
During assembly, when the principal's voice droned about discipline and future plans, Chikaima's gaze wandered. And there he was — Somto, standing quietly near the back, his eyes scanning the crowd, lips curved in a small smile that only Chikaima seemed to notice.
Chikaima's breath caught. It was an involuntary reaction, one he despised and feared. His heartbeat quickened, palms grew sweaty beneath his uniform. He could feel the weight of his friends' stares if they saw him like this — vulnerable, distracted.
The bell rang, a sharp release, and Chikaima moved with the crowd, but his eyes kept searching for the boy in white.
---
At lunch, Chikaima sat with his friends beneath the sprawling mango tree, their conversation full of football scores, girls they fancied, and plans for the weekend. They teased him for being quieter than usual, but he shrugged it off, focusing instead on a flicker of movement at the edge of the courtyard.
Somto was there, sitting alone under the shade of a palm tree, flipping through a well-worn notebook. Chikaima caught his eye for a brief moment, and Somto gave a small, almost mischievous smile before returning to his writing.
The distance between them felt smaller than before, yet the unspoken words stretched wide like a gulf. Chikaima wanted to cross it, to reach out somehow, but the fear kept him frozen.
Later that day, near the school library, Chikaima found Somto tucked in a quiet corner, headphones in, eyes closed as if the world had melted away. Summoning his courage, Chikaima took a few hesitant steps closer, clearing his throat softly.
Somto's eyes fluttered open, and he smiled gently, as if no surprise had touched him.
"Hey," Chikaima said, his voice low and slightly unsure.
"Hey," Somto replied, voice calm and warm. "You looking for a book? Or just lost?"
Chikaima chuckled nervously. "Maybe a little of both. I—I don't come here much."
Somto nodded, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "It's my favorite spot. Quiet. Away from all the noise."
Chikaima glanced around, then back at Somto. "You always look so calm. Like nothing bothers you."
"That's just a mask," Somto said, smiling faintly. "We all have masks."
Chikaima felt an unexpected ease settling in. "What's your mask then?"
Somto's smile deepened, eyes glinting. "I guess… I like to seem like I'm in control. Like I know where I'm going."
Chikaima nodded thoughtfully. "I wish I could wear a mask like that."
Somto's gaze softened. "Maybe you already do. Maybe it just needs a little… adjusting."
The air between them shifted, charged but unspoken. Neither pushed further, but the moment stretched, quietly connecting two worlds.
---
The days that followed blurred into a series of stolen moments. In class, Somto sat a few rows ahead, his soft laughter drifting back to Chikaima like a secret melody. During breaks, they exchanged shy glances, sometimes a brief smile. But every time Chikaima wanted to say more — to ask about Somto's poems or the music he loved — his tongue tied itself in knots.
The school was a battleground of whispered gossip and sideways glances. Rumors were a threat, and Chikaima knew better than anyone how quickly they could destroy a person's life here.
His friends, ever-watchful, never missed an opportunity to remind him of the "right" way to be a man. They teased him for his quiet moments, for his distracted looks, for the way he sometimes lingered near the library where Somto was often found.
"You're acting strange, man," one said once, nudging him roughly. "You better watch yourself."
Chikaima nodded silently, swallowing the lump in his throat.
---
One afternoon, Chikaima found himself walking beside Somto near the school garden, the scent of blooming hibiscus heavy in the air. Somto was humming a soft tune, eyes closed, lost in the music only he could hear. The sun filtered through the leaves, casting dappled light on his face — a face so open, so genuine, it made Chikaima's heart ache with longing.
They stopped by a bench beneath a jacaranda tree, its purple petals carpeting the ground like a dream.
Somto opened his eyes and smiled. "Do you like music?" he asked quietly.
Chikaima nodded, words failing him. The desire to tell Somto everything burned behind his lips, but fear sealed his mouth.
Instead, he said, "I listen. That's enough."
Somto laughed softly, a sound like wind chimes. "Sometimes, listening is the best way to understand."
For a moment, the world narrowed to just those two, the noise and fear and judgment fading away like a distant storm.
---
But the peace was fragile.
Back in his room that night, Chikaima wrestled with his thoughts. The city's night sounds filtered through his window — honking cars, distant laughter, the occasional shout. Life went on outside, but inside him, a war raged.
He was caught between who he was expected to be and who he wanted to be.
Between the safety of silence and the terrifying risk of truth.
He thought of Somto's gentle smile, the way his eyes held no judgment, only kindness.
And he wondered — could he ever be brave enough to love openly, in a place that condemned him?
---
Days turned into weeks. The school's halls echoed with footsteps and whispers. Chikaima's friends started to notice his distraction more often, their teasing sharpening into suspicion.
Yet, despite the fear, his bond with Somto grew in quiet, tender ways. A shared joke in the corridor. A brief touch of hands while passing notes. A look that said everything words could not.
But Chikaima remained locked in his struggle, terrified of the consequences of giving his heart away.
The city outside was vast and unforgiving, but inside the small school walls, a fragile connection was forming—one that promised both hope and heartbreak.