Faking It, Chapter 1
It was the first week of the second semester at the University of Excellence, Abuja.
The campus buzzed with activity. Some students were busy with registration, others immersed in lectures or poring over notes in preparation for upcoming tests.
In an empty lecture hall, Aziza Umar, a 16-year-old hundred-level Civil Engineering student, sat quietly, her head resting on her arms as she drifted into a peaceful nap. This room had become her sanctuary, far away from the chaos of campus life. It was her favorite spot, a place where she could study, read, and escape the world—just like the outcast she often felt she was.
"Aziza," a voice called softly, breaking the stillness.
"Please, I'm sleeping. Don't disturb me," she mumbled without looking up, her voice laced with irritation.
But then the voice came again, playful and teasing. "You can't be sleeping when your Salim is here."
Her eyes flew open, and she quickly looked up.
There he was. Salim Ali, the 25-year-old, Civil Engineering final-year student, leaning his head casually on one arm that rested on the desk. He looked impossibly dashing, his features so sharp and captivating that it made her heart race. His every movement seemed effortless, as if he carried the weight of the world with grace and charm.
Aziza's breath hitched. No matter how many times she saw him, his presence always left her spellbound. Salim was, without a doubt, the most handsome guy in the entire school—and in her eyes, the most handsome man she had ever seen.
For a brief moment, she allowed herself to imagine waking up to that face every day. The thought made her cheeks flush, but she quickly pushed it aside.
Soon, Aziza's sweet dream shattered when she heard a louder voice call her name.
"Aziza!" the voice boomed.
"Yes, Salim," she replied loudly, rising abruptly from her seat, her heart racing.
But as she looked around, her surroundings slowly came into focus. This wasn't an empty classroom. It was a lecture hall filled with students, all attentively listening to the professor. The dream dissolved in an instant, leaving her bewildered and humiliated.
Standing at the front of the room was Professor Idi, a man in his mid-forties with a stern but fair demeanor. He was the one who had called her name—not Salim. It had all been a dream.
The classroom erupted into laughter, the teasing voices of her coursemates echoing around her.
"Salim!" one of them repeated mockingly, prompting even more laughter.
Aziza's face burned with embarrassment. She had never felt so humiliated in her entire life.
The professor shook his head, his gaze sharp but calm. "I don't tolerate students sleeping in my class," he said, his voice carrying authority. "You're lucky you're who you are, Aziza. Otherwise, I would have asked you to repeat this course next semester."
"I'm sorry, Sir," she mumbled, her voice barely audible over the lingering giggles from her coursemates.
Professor Idi gave a curt nod and continued with the lecture. Aziza sank back into her seat, her cheeks still flushed. She avoided making eye contact with anyone, wishing she could disappear into thin air.
The embarrassment stung even more because she was known for being one of the brightest students in the class. At just 16, her sharp intellect and quick thinking had earned her a place at the university, setting her apart from her peers. Even the professor acknowledged her brilliance during interactive lectures.
But now, all she could feel was the weight of awkwardness and shame from what had just happened. She resolved to stay alert for the rest of the lecture, though the sting of the moment would linger long after.
As soon as the lecture ended, Aziza quickly gathered her books, slipped them into her bag, adjusted her hijab, and left the classroom, keeping her head low to avoid the curious stares of her classmates.
Maybe I've been dreaming too much about him recently, Aziza thought, shaking her head. Because in reality, it could never happen.
The truth of her situation crashed over her like a wave as she moved through the bustling corridors. The idea of her and Salim being anything more than strangers was absurd. He was the university's golden boy—handsome, wealthy, and brimming with confidence. He commanded attention wherever he went, and everyone admired him. She, on the other hand, was his complete opposite.
Aziza was just a girl from a village, attending this university on a scholarship granted by a distant relative who recognized her academic potential. Her intelligence was the only thing she had going for her. She lacked the charm, social presence, and self-assurance that came so easily to people like Salim.
In this world of elegance and privilege, Aziza didn't belong. She was an outcast, invisible to most. And now, her heart and thoughts were tied up in something—or rather someone—who couldn't possibly see her as anything but a stranger.
To make matters worse, she was a thousand miles away from him, both literally and figuratively. The odds stacked against her were overwhelming. The very thought of being close to him was like stepping into a trap—dangerous and inescapable.
She sighed deeply, clutching her bag tighter as she quickened her steps. Dreams like this, she reminded herself, were better left untouched, confined to the safety of her imagination.
It all started, Ever since that moment last semester, when he'd saved her from falling on the stairs during her final exams, she couldn't stop thinking about him.
She had clung to that brief interaction as if it were something meaningful. But it wasn't—not to him. She remembered how she'd gone to thank him the next day, nerves fluttering in her chest. Salim had looked at her with polite indifference and asked, "Who are you again?" He had already forgotten the encounter.
What had been a significant moment for her was nothing more than a fleeting, forgettable act of kindness for him.
Now, her chest felt heavy as she made her way to her sanctuary—the empty classroom she often escaped to when she needed to think, read, or simply be alone. It was the one place where she felt a semblance of peace in a bustling world that constantly reminded her of her insignificance.
Aziza pushed the door open, stepped inside, and sank into her usual seat. Her heart was still racing from the embarrassment of the lecture and the storm of emotions she couldn't seem to control lately. Resting her head on the desk, she let out a long, shaky breath, trying to make sense of it all.
Aziza hadn't been in the empty lecture hall for more than 30 minutes when the door creaked open. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked up, only to see Hannah walk in.
Hannah, the school's most beautiful girl, was as elegant as ever. She wore a fitted purple gown that hugged her figure perfectly, paired with a neatly tied veil and high heels that clicked sharply against the floor. Aziza's breath caught, and she instinctively slid lower in her seat, hoping to remain unseen.
The last thing she wanted was to encounter any of her coursemates here, especially not Hannah. Hannah wasn't just anyone—she was Salim's girlfriend. Since last semester, the two had been inseparable, always turning heads as the campus's most admired and envied couple. They were the perfect match in every way, and Aziza knew she couldn't compare.
Worse still, Hannah had made it clear last semester that Aziza should stay far away from Salim. After Aziza had gone to thank him for helping her, Hannah had confronted her, issuing a warning that left no room for misinterpretation.
Now, from her hiding spot, Aziza lay flat on the bench, watching Hannah through the small gap between the desk and the seat. To her surprise, Hannah didn't look her usual confident self. Instead, she seemed frustrated, her expression clouded with sadness as she paced the room.
Before Aziza could make sense of the situation, the door opened again, and her breath caught as Salim walked in. He moved with his usual effortless grace, his presence commanding the room as always.
From her spot, Aziza could see him speaking to Hannah, though she couldn't hear what they were saying. The tension between them was palpable, their body language revealing unease and conflict.
Then, Hannah's voice rang out loud and clear, breaking the silence.
"No, Salim," she said, her voice filled with emotion. "I'm sorry, but we have to break up."
Aziza's eyes widened in shock, her heart racing. She pressed herself further into her hiding spot, afraid of being discovered, but unable to tear her eyes away from the scene unfolding before her.
"No, Hannah. Don't say this, don't do this," Salim's voice was soft yet desperate, and Aziza could hear the strain in his words.
She stayed hidden, her heart racing as she tried to make sense of what was happening. She couldn't catch most of their conversation, but from what she could hear, it was Salim pleading, trying to stop Hannah from leaving him, while Hannah remained firm in her decision.
Aziza's emotions were a whirlwind. She wondered what could have caused this breakup but couldn't deny the pang of jealousy that crept into her chest as she watched him pleading for another woman. Still, a part of her pitied him. Salim, who always seemed so composed and untouchable, was now vulnerable and broken.
Soon, Hannah turned and left the room, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. Salim was left alone, collapsing to his knees in the middle of the empty classroom.
Aziza's heart ached at the sight. She wanted to approach him, to offer some form of comfort, but fear and uncertainty held her back. He didn't even know she was there, and if he found out, she was sure it wouldn't end well for her.
Time seemed to stretch endlessly as Salim remained on the floor, his shoulders heavy with the weight of whatever had just transpired. Aziza could feel his pain from where she hid, but she couldn't bring herself to move.
It took almost 30 minutes before Salim finally composed himself. With a deep, shaky breath, he rose to his feet, brushing off his clothes.
Just as he turned to leave the room, Aziza's phone buzzed loudly, breaking the tense silence.
Her heart stopped, panic setting in immediately.
Why now? she muttered under her breath, fumbling to silence the device.
Salim froze, his eyes narrowing as he turned toward the sound.
"Who's there?" Salim's voice rang out again, sharper this time, his tone demanding an answer.
Aziza held her breath, muttering prayers under her breath, hoping he would leave.
"Whoever is there, come out now, or else," Salim said, his words carrying a weight that felt like a promise.
Realizing she had no other choice, Aziza slowly rose from her seat, her legs trembling. Her eyes met Salim's, and for a moment, she felt as though the air had been knocked out of her lungs.
"Who are you?" Salim demanded, his piercing gaze locked on her. "What are you doing here? Did you see what just happened?"
Aziza shook her head quickly, panic surging through her. "No, I didn't," she lied, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Don't lie to me," Salim said, taking a step closer. His voice was low but firm, making her feel as though he could see straight through her. "I know you saw everything. Listen to me carefully—this stays between the two of us. No one, and I mean no one, should hear about this. If I find out you've told anyone, you'll face my wrath. Do you understand?"
Aziza nodded frantically, unable to find her voice.
Satisfied, Salim gave her one last look before turning and walking out of the lecture hall, leaving her frozen in place.
Her knees felt weak, and her chest heaved as she tried to calm her racing heart. What is it about him? she wondered. He seemed to have an effect on her that rendered her completely powerless, as though she'd lost her voice the moment they locked eyes.
As the silence of the empty room enveloped her, Aziza sank back into her seat, her mind spinning. Her encounter with Salim left her shaken, confused, and strangely captivated.