“Berly, I missed you!” Joyce called across the parade ground, her arms already outstretched.

Beryl turned, her face lighting up. “Joycie! You have no idea, I have missed you too.”

They locked in a warm embrace, swaying slightly before Joyce pulled back. “How was your holiday?”

Beryl’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, amazing. My dad finally took us to France! Can you believe it? Paris was something else. The Eiffel Tower was magical at night. Mom wouldn’t stop taking pictures. And the food? Joyce, I had escargot!”

Joyce’s nose scrunched. “Snails? Ew! You did not.”

Beryl laughed. “I did! And they were actually good. But the pastries? Heaven. Croissants, eclairs, and—”

“Okay, okay,” Joyce interrupted playfully. “You’re making me hungry.”

Students streamed into the parade ground, some alone, most in pairs and tight clusters. The parade ground swelled with voices overlapping in animated conversation and laughter.

Nia drifted between conversations like a shadow, catching fragments without belonging to any of them.

Christine joined them, nudging Beryl’s arm. “You’re back! Oh, I need to show you what I got over the holidays. My brother took me shopping, and listen, I found the cutest boots. Black, sleek, ankle-high—”

You? Willingly walking into a mall?” Beryl teased, raising an eyebrow. “I need proof.”

Christine smirked. “I have receipts, literally. My brother dragged me along, and somehow, I ended up loving it.”

Roll call momentarily subdued the chaos, but as soon as it ended, the noise roared back. Friends pulling each other away, fingers clasping, voices rising as they caught up.

As Nia walked back to her dorm, her thoughts looped over the conversations she’d overheard.

Beryl’s trip, so lavish, so unreachable, it was intimidating. Would I ever have a story like that?

But Christine’s shopping trip was simple and familiar. Anyone could do that. So why had it sparked excitement?

Did this mean that my quiet Sunday afternoons watching action movies with my siblings and the telenovela marathons with Ann were they worth sharing? Or would they sound small? Insignificant?

Was it that I had nothing to say, or was it that I didn’t know how to say it?

Or was it something else entirely?

“Was it that I didn’t know how to connect, or that I was simply too anxious to try?”

An opportunity to learn presented itself.

Maureen, a new student in second year of high school, stepped into the classroom moments before Mr. Kinuthia arrived for the first English lesson of the term. She was tall, elegant, poised and carried herself with effortless grace. Her neatly tucked-back hair framed her face, exposing rimless glasses that rested on the bridge of her nose. The tailored school uniform hugged her figure, enough to make heads turn.

Jose, a bubbly outgoing student seated up front was quick to compliment her. “Hi, you are so pretty.”

Maureen warmed into a smile and turned towards her. “Thank you,” she replied.

And just like that, they clicked.

By break time, they were walking side by side, laughing together, their gestures mirroring each other as though they had known each other for years.

Nia, seated toward the back, had watched it all unfold.

Is it really this simple? she thought.

A compliment was enough to start a conversation. I could have done that. Could I?

Unable to do it, she walked the hallways alone. No one asked where she was going. No one waited for her to arrive. At lunch, she ate quickly, eyes fixed on her plate, and spoon moving in slow, absentminded motions. After school, while others scattered, some heading to clubs, others retreating to their rooms in tight-knit groups, she packed her books and disappeared into the library.

Finding a Thread to Hold

The school had a long-standing tradition where each first year, or fresher as they were called, was paired with a school mum, an older student meant to guide them, offer advice, and ease their transition.

Emily, Nia’s school mum was warm and always smiling when she saw her. They shared a room with Eva, another fresher, and Evelyn, Eva’s school mum. The three of them were kind, acknowledged her existence, checked in occasionally, and shared jokes to lighten the moment.

These interactions tethered her to the school’s fabric and offered her comfort.

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Despite the small threads of connection she had found, Nia still felt like an outsider. If navigating friendships with the girls was already difficult, how complicated would it be with the boys? Let’s find out in the next chapter.