Chapter seven

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If there's one thing I've learned since getting here, it's that people will always try to put you in a box.
Scholarship girl. I've heard it more times than I can count, and each time, it irritates me a little more. As if that's all I am. They don't see me Busayo, the girl who worked twice as hard to get here. No. I'm just "the girl who got lucky," the one who should be grateful she's even allowed to breathe the same air as them.
But I didn't come all the way from Nigeria to let these people define me.
Today was no different. The stares, the whispers-Darren included. No, especially Darren. He was the worst of them all. For someone who acted like I didn't exist, he sure did spend a lot of time looking at me. Not talking to me, though. Never that.
Fine by me.
I adjusted my backpack and headed to my next class, my mind running through my to-do list for the day. It was Friday, which meant I needed to finish my lab report, prepare for next week's quiz, and squeeze in some extra reading for Econ. Professor Walsh was tough, but I wasn't worried. What I lacked in connections, I made up for in hard work.
As I walked, I couldn't help but think about Darren again. Not that I wanted to. But after that first argument we had, he seemed to always be there. Lingering at the edges of my day, like a shadow I couldn't shake.
I didn't understand him. One minute, he looked at me like I was a challenge-someone he couldn't quite figure out. The next, he ignored me completely, like I wasn't even worth his time. It was exhausting.
Part of me wished I didn't care, but I did. Not because I wanted his attention. I didn't need it. But because I couldn't stand people who acted like they were better than everyone else. And Darren? He was the embodiment of privilege. The rich, entitled kid whose life was mapped out before him.
Still, sometimes I caught glimpses of something else in him. Something he tried to hide. When our eyes met across the classroom or when I saw him leaving the library just as I walked in, I could see it-a flicker of doubt, of uncertainty, like he wasn't as sure of himself as he pretended to be.
Not that it mattered. Darren's problems weren't my concern.
I reached the entrance of the science building and pushed open the heavy glass doors. The cold air hit me as I stepped inside, and I was greeted by the familiar hum of students rushing to class, their voices blending into a dull roar. I made my way to the back row of the lecture hall, hoping to find a quiet spot where I could focus before the professor arrived.
But of course, he was there. Darren.
Sitting near the back, his gaze fixed on the front of the room like he hadn't noticed me at all. Except I knew he had. He always did.
I took a deep breath and made my way to the seat furthest from him, determined not to let him get under my skin. I had enough on my plate without letting him mess with my head.
As the professor started the lecture, I found myself glancing over at him anyway. I hated how much space he took up in my thoughts, how he seemed to occupy some corner of my mind even when I didn't want him to.
Why did he care? Why did he keep looking at me like I was some puzzle he couldn't solve?
I shook my head and forced myself to focus on the lecture. Numbers. Logic. Things that made sense. Not Darren. Definitely not him.
But halfway through class, I felt his gaze again. This time, when I looked over, our eyes locked, and something passed between us-something I couldn't quite name.
And for the first time, I wondered if maybe I wasn't the only one confused.
I tore my eyes away from Darren, my heart beating faster than I wanted to admit. I couldn't let myself get distracted by him. I was here for one reason to succeed, to prove that I deserved this opportunity, that I earned my place here. Not because of luck or a scholarship, but because of me.
Still, there was something about that look. Something in the way his eyes softened for a split second, as if the cold, indifferent Darren that everyone knew wasn't the whole story.
Focus, Busayo.
I forced myself to take notes, my pen flying across the page as the professor droned on about supply and demand curves. It was a topic I already knew well, but I didn't mind the review. Anything to keep my mind from wandering back to him.
But even as I wrote, I couldn't help but feel like Darren and I were circling each other, like two magnets with opposing forces-drawn together even though I kept trying to push him away.
The class ended quicker than I expected, and I packed up my things, ready to escape the heavy air that hung between us. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and stood, but just as I turned to leave, I saw Darren moving towards me.
I froze, my heart skipping a beat.
He stopped in front of me, his expression unreadable. For a moment, we just stood there, caught in this strange silence that neither of us seemed to know how to break.
"What do you want?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
He blinked, as if surprised by my tone. "I-uh, I wanted to ask you something."
I raised an eyebrow, not bothering to hide my skepticism. "What could you possibly want to ask me?"
His jaw clenched, and for a second, I thought he was going to walk away. I almost wanted him to. But then he spoke.
"Why do you hate me?"
I blinked, completely thrown off by his question. Hate him? If anyone should be asking that, it was me.
"Why do I-?" I shook my head, incredulous. "I don't hate you, Darren. I don't even know you."
He frowned, like he didn't quite believe me. "You act like you do."
"Maybe because you act like you're better than everyone," I shot back, my frustration finally bubbling to the surface. "You walk around like you own this place, like people like me don't belong here."
His eyes darkened. "That's not what I-"
"Isn't it?" I cut him off, my voice low but firm. "You've been judging me since the day I got here. You think I don't notice the way you look at me? The way you don't even bother to hide it?"
His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, I thought he wasn't going to respond. But then, something shifted in his expression, and he exhaled, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
"I don't-" He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. "It's not about you."
I crossed my arms, my skepticism growing. "Really? Because it sure feels like it's about me."
"It's about me," he said quietly. "I don't know what it is, but... you just-you make me feel..." He trailed off, his face tightening, like he hated admitting it. "You make me feel like I don't have everything figured out."
I stared at him, thrown off balance by the honesty in his voice. This wasn't the Darren I was used to. The Darren I knew was cocky, sure of himself, always in control. This Darren looked... vulnerable.
I didn't know what to say. Part of me wanted to keep pushing him, to call him out for all the times he made me feel small, but another part of me, the part I didn't want to acknowledge, understood what he was saying.
Because truthfully? He did the same to me. Made me question things I thought I knew. Made me feel things I wasn't ready to feel.
But I wasn't about to admit that.
"Well, I'm not here to figure anything out for you," I said, my voice softer but still guarded. "I have my own stuff to deal with."

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