Chapter 18 Chapter Eighteen
The hostel room had slowly turned into the kind of chaos that felt like home — bags half-opened, snacks on the table, Bisola’s loud laughter ricocheting off the walls, and Mope arguing with the fan that refused to rotate in her direction.
Felicity sat on her bunk, watching everything with a small smile.
It was the first time in days she felt something close to normal.
Or at least, she was pretending to.
She and Leon had been texting again.
She didn’t know how it happened — one late-night message about “Are you okay?” turned into a conversation about lecturers, then music, then jokes that reminded her too much of the boy she wasn’t supposed to miss.
She told herself to stop.
But every time her phone buzzed, her heart softened a little more.
Across the room, Charity was digging through her handbag for what had to be the tenth time.
“Where is my lip oil?!” Charity groaned dramatically. “I swear someone in this school is after my beauty.”
Mope burst out laughing. “Who will be stealing lip oil, please?”
“You’ll be surprised!” Charity snapped her fingers. “Angel stole my wig last semester. Don’t let me start.”
Bisola gasped. “This wig matter again—”
“No, let me say it,” Charity insisted, sitting upright. “Tell me why Angel is walking around with a wig that looks EXACTLY like mine? Same curls. Same color. Same middle part. And after that small issue we had?” She hissed. “She’s lucky I’m not petty.”
“You?” Mope snorted. “You are petty.”
Charity raised one brow. “And proud.”
The room erupted in laughter.
Felicity loved this atmosphere — chaotic, warm, full of energy. It reminded her that life kept moving, even when her heart felt like it was always stuck between two beats.
Bisola suddenly clapped her hands. “Oh! Felicity, please tell Mope that story about the guy that fell down the CFA stairs.”
Mope perked up. “Yes! That guy Deji said jumped like Jackie Chan to impress a girl.”
Felicity burst into laughter before even starting. “No, because the way Leon reenacted it—”
She didn’t get to finish.
Charity’s head snapped up instantly.
“Leon?” she asked, tone casual but eyes sharp.
Felicity swallowed. “Uh… yeah. We’ve talked a few times.”
Charity held her gaze for a moment too long. Then she nodded with a small, unreadable smile.
“Oh, okay. I just wanted to be sure I wasn’t mixing people. You know how this school is — too many Leons.”
Her voice was light, but Felicity felt something subtle shift — not hostility, not suspicion, just an awareness.
A mental note.
She quickly steered the conversation away.
But Charity wasn’t done talking about people’s madness.
“Speaking of stupidity,” Charity said, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “have I told you about Winnifred trying to drag Leon into that dark classroom last semester?”
Bisola and Mope groaned. “This story!”
“No, let me say it again!” Charity stood up like she was performing for an audience. “Imagine calling someone with the seriousness of ‘Leon please, I want to talk to you.’ Only for the talk to be an attempt at kissing him.” She scoffed. “And the girl had mouth to say he kissed her? AS IF.”
Felicity’s stomach twisted for half a second — old doubts trying to crawl back — but she pushed them down.
Charity continued. “I chased her that day. I would have caught her if not for those stupid slippers.”
The room erupted in laughter again.
It was easy — too easy — to fall into their noise.
To forget the ache sitting quietly behind her ribs.
Hours passed. Evening settled.
Mope was braiding Bisola’s hair on the floor. Charity lay on her bed scrolling. Felicity had just turned off her laptop when she noticed Charity slip out into the hallway with her phone.
She thought nothing of it.
Until her phone buzzed.
Leon:
Did Charity ask you anything today?
Felicity blinked.
Felicity:
She just asked if I knew you. Why?
A moment later—
Leon:
She messaged me. Asking how I know you. I just told her it’s nothing deep. I don’t want any drama.
Felicity exhaled softly.
He said it like he was used to preventing explosions.
Used to walking on eggshells.
She typed back:
Felicity:
Okay.
She didn’t know why she suddenly felt guilty.
She hadn’t done anything wrong.
The room was quiet now, the girls drifting into their night routines. Bisola lay half-asleep. Mope scrolled mindlessly. Charity was humming under her breath while applying lotion.
For a brief moment, Felicity let herself relax.
She even smiled when another message came from Leon.
Leon:
I miss talking to you.
She closed her eyes.
She shouldn’t feel warm.
She shouldn’t feel anything.
But she did.
She typed:
Felicity:
Go and sleep, please.
He sent a laughing emoji.
She placed her phone aside, trying not to think too hard about anything — Leon, Charity, the tension she pretended she couldn’t feel. Everything felt delicate. Like one wrong move could break something she wasn’t ready to lose.
Meanwhile, across town…
Leon tossed his phone aside and leaned back on his bed. His room was a mess. His mind worse.
Charity had gone quiet on him for days.
His parents were stressed beyond belief.
Isabel — the girl threatening him over that stupid tape — was being dealt with by his father’s lawyers.
And Felicity was talking to him again.
For once, things felt… manageable.
Until his phone rang.
His mother.
He answered reluctantly.
“Leon,” she said, voice firm, “your father and I need to finalize when we’ll speak to Charity’s parents. People will start asking questions soon.”
Leon sat up, pulse spiking.
“Questions about what?”
A pause.
Then—
“The pregnancy, of course.”
His heart stopped.
Pregnancy.
The pregnancy.
He had pushed it out of his mind for weeks, hoping—
Assuming—
Expecting—
That Charity would have… taken care of it by now.
But she hadn’t.
And his parents were already planning the next steps.
His mother was still talking, but Leon didn’t hear a word.
He stared at the wall, blood roaring in his ears, as the reality he had been avoiding finally slammed into him.
A baby.
A real one.
And no one else — not his friends, not Felicity — had any idea.