The Sweetest Fruit ( Tomboy 🏳️‍🌈Love Story )

32. A waste of time

Sonia

"Turn to page sixty-five," the professor said, his voice calm yet commanding. The rustling of pages filled the room as we flipped to where we had last left off. "You will be in groups for this project," he added, straightening the lapels of his perfectly tailored black suit.

He was handsome in a detached, unreachable way—early thirties with sharp features and an air of authority that made him both intimidating and, to some, irresistibly attractive. Most of the girls at school nicknamed him Chocolate Dzaddy.

"He's looking at you again," Aliza whispered, her breath tickling my ear.

"No, he’s not," I countered, keeping my eyes on my notebook, refusing to indulge her.

We had been caught talking in class before and had promised ourselves we’d be more discreet. Aliza, however, wasn’t one to let things go. "Yeah, right," she grinned, attempting to hide her amusement.

I didn’t care about him or his glances—if they even existed. My mind was on MJ and the gnawing silence since I confessed my feelings. Why hadn’t she said she loved me back? The uncertainty was eating me alive, my patience hanging by a thread. I said I love you and she said me too. What is me too?

"Mrs. Ngugi." The professor’s stern voice snapped me back to the present.

"Yes?" I answered, startled, my face heating up as all eyes turned to me.

"You will be a team leader. Choose your group," he said, his tone making it clear he’d had to repeat himself.

I nodded mutely, suppressing the urge to argue.

"Stop using your head and start using your mouth," he quipped coldly.

"Daamn," Aliza muttered under her breath, her head bowed in mock defeat.

I bit back a retort, my fingers gripping the edge of my desk. Why was he picking on me? His glare lingered before he moved on, calling out more team leaders.

Who was I supposed to choose? I leaned toward Aliza, desperate for a solution. "Will you be on my team?"

"I'm also a team leader," she replied with a shrug, catching me off guard.

I had zoned out for half the lesson, missing most of the instructions. I barely even knew my classmates. I’d always been antisocial—one friend was more than enough.

"Can I be on your team?" a guy in front of me asked, his voice low and uncertain. He bit his lip, waiting for my answer.

"Sure," I said, relieved. "Do you know anyone else I could add?"

He leaned closer, the strong scent of his cologne making my nose twitch. "Yeah, just give me your number. I’ll help you find more people."

I hesitated briefly before handing him my phone. It seemed harmless enough.

"I thought I said to form groups, not look for boyfriends," the professor’s voice boomed unexpectedly, making my stomach drop. When had he gotten so close?

"It’s... not that," the guy stammered, his face flushing as he tried to explain.

"So she didn’t give you her phone number?" the professor snapped, his tone cutting.

"I did," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Why?"

"So we could find more team members," I explained, fiddling nervously with my pen as my leg bounced under the desk. I prayed silently for him to leave.

"See me after class," he ordered, his glare freezing me in place.

"Only me?" I asked, my throat tightening.

"Did I stutter?" His brows knit together in irritation. I couldn’t even look at him. My eyes darted helplessly between Aliza and the guy in front of me.

"No..."

The rest of the lesson blurred by, my mind racing with dread. When the bell rang, I took my time gathering my books, rearranging them over and over, hoping he’d forget. But his eyes stayed on me, unyielding.

Finally, I forced myself to approach his desk, every step heavier than the last.

"You’re on scholarship here, right?" he began, his large arms crossed over his chest.

"Yes," I replied, standing awkwardly.

"So you think you’re equal to the rest of the students?"

His words hit like a slap. "I... I don’t—"

"You’ve skipped classes for basketball practice," he continued, cutting me off.

"I needed an extracurricular activity," I defended, my voice shaking.

"Why did you skip class?"

I couldn’t mention basketball. The coach always filed reports. "I was probably unwell."

He perched on the edge of his desk, his body looming over mine. His piercing gaze made my skin crawl. I focused on the whiteboard instead, pretending it held some great secret.

"These students are the children of ministers and CEOs. Their futures are set. Yours isn’t," he said, his words dripping with disdain. "If you fail your classes, I’ll make sure you’re on the first bus back to the dirty village you came from. Don’t be mistaken—your looks won’t get you anywhere but a strip club."

I clenched my cardigan tightly, fighting back tears. His words cut deeper than I cared to admit.

"If I find you wasting time or not concentrating in my class, I’ll report you to the dean. Don’t waste our money."

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

"Because I think you’re a waste of time and money. Girls like you drop out by their third year—pregnant and directionless."

I couldn’t speak. His hatred for people like me was palpable, and I didn’t understand it. He didn’t even know me.

"Your tears won’t work on me," he sneered as I wiped a stray tear from my cheek.

"You may leave. I don’t want anyone associating me with someone like you."

I fled the room, the tears falling freely now. How could he say those things? My vision blurred as I ran to the hostel, ignoring Aliza’s concerned calls.

By the time I reached my room, I was trembling. I fumbled with the key, collapsing onto the floor as the door shut behind me.

"Sonia, baby, open up," MJ’s voice came from the other side. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

"Please, open up. I’m here."

Her voice was a lifeline in the storm of self-doubt. I needed her to hold me, to tell me it was going to be okay. That I belonged here. That I deserved this chance.

That I was more than what was in my pocket.