Anna's feet pounded against the cold hallway floor as if she could outrun evil itself. She clutched Olivia's journal to her chest like a sacred relic,her breath ragged, her eyes wide with fear and fire. Behind her, footsteps thundered. Doors creaked open. Voices called her name- not with concern, but with intent. She burst through the side corridor, turning sharply towards the administrative place. She headed towards the principal's office. She burst into the principal's office without knocking, shoving the door open so hard it slammed against the wall.
“Principal Hawthorne!” She shouted. The head of the school,a tall, grey haired man with a stone set jaw and eyes colder than marble, looked up slowly from his desk. “Anna,” He said calmly but cold. “What is the meaning of all this disruption?”. She didnt answer or apologise for barging in. She just went straight to the point. “ I need to speak to you now”, She said, voice hoarse but determined. The principal blinked as if he were mildly amused by a fly that had landed on his desk.
He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his chest. “ What scandal are we creating today?”. Anna threw the journal on his desk with a shaky hand. “Read it it’s Olivia journal. She wrote everything. She didn't fall. She didnt commit suicide. She was raped by Mr Matthew, the biology teacher”.
The office became quiet for a moment.
Then he laughed . It was cold, cruel and echoing. He didn't even touch the journal.
“My dear girl,” he said mockingly, “ Do you expect me to believe a tale of rape and murder based on the Scribbles of a hormonal teenager and the rantings of a hysterical little orphan?”. Anna blinked, stunned. She was expecting the principal to support her and take her side, but it was the other way round. “ Olivia was dying inside and you all watched her fade and did nothing!” . “Olivia was troubled”, He said with a shrug. “But she had a bright future. You.. you were always the stray cat tagging along. The charity case”. His words sliced through her. “I'm not lying”, She whispered.
“Oh, but lying is all you have ever been good at”, he sneered. “You show up here, already carrying your mother's madness in your blood. You spin stories and stir pity like it's your profession. Always, the poor, broken girl no one loves. Anna took a step back, her eyes stinging. He wasnt finished. “You have no family. No money. No future. You are a girl who should be grateful we let you in. But instead ,you barge into my office throwing around rape accusations as if this is a soap opera and a tragic heroine”. His voice rose now, sharp and booming. “You think anyone will believe you over one of our most respected staff members? Do you want to destroy a man's career just because you are jealous no one ever looked at you the way they looked at Olivia?”. Tears brimmed in Anna's eyes. “ I'm not jealous. I'm telling the truth”. “I've heard enough,” he snapped. “And believe me, so will the others”. Before she could move, he pressed a button on the intercom and said, “Attention: All students and staff, please gather in the great hall immediately. A very important announcements is about to be made”.
Anna's stomach dropped. “ What are you doing?”. He smiled thinly. “Teaching you a lesson”.
Some moment later, Hundreds of eyes turned to Anna as she was dragged in by two security staff. Hawthorne stood on the podium like a judge, cool and towering. The buzz of confused whispers rose like a storm.
“Students, faculty, thank you for assembling on such short notice. I’ve called you here because it has come to my attention that a certain student has been spreading vicious and unfounded allegations threatening not only the reputation of this institution, but the future of innocent staff.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Anna stood frozen, her breath caught in her throat.
The principal turned to face her, pointing as if she were a plague.
“This student,Anna Earnshaw has accused one of our most beloved teachers, Mr. Matthew, of unspeakable acts. She has claimed, without evidence, that Olivia Montgomery was… murdered.”
Now the gasps became louder. A few people began whispering.
“She’s lying!” Anna shouted, voice cracking. “Read the journal—Olivia wrote everything—”
But Hawthorne raised a hand, silencing her.
“What she has done is not just disrespectful. It’s delusional. This is not the first time Miss Earnshaw has shown signs of instability. She has a troubled history, and it seems her trauma has finally taken over.”
Laughter. Mocking. A student from the back snickered.
“Crazy Anna strikes again.”
“She’s just mad she’s not Olivia.”
Anna’s legs felt like they might collapse.
“You all loved Olivia,” she said weakly. “But none of you saw how broken she was.”
“She’s dead, Anna,” Principal Hawthorne said coldly. “And we will not let your fantasies soil her memory or ruin an innocent man’s life.”
Then he gestured to the guards. “Escort her to her dorm. She will be suspended until further notice. She will not be allowed to come to class and also not be allowed to eat any food in the dining. If she continues to harass staff or students, we will have no choice but to notify authorities and remove her from the academy permanently.”
“No! Please! I’m telling the truth!” Anna cried out.
But it was too late.
The guards grabbed her arms. Her shoes scraped the marble floor as they dragged her away.
As she passed through the rows of students, she saw their faces—some were smirking, others shaking their heads. Only a few looked uncertain. None moved to help her.
Her journal lay forgotten on the principal’s podium.
Tears blurred her vision.
She wasn’t just humiliated.
She was buried
They shoved her outside, and the heavy doors slammed shut behind her.
Rain began to fall. Cold. Soaking through her uniform.
Anna collapsed onto the steps.
She was nothing.
Just the orphan girl. The liar. The reject.
But as the rain poured, as the tears mixed with the storm, she whispered:
“I’m not done. I swear on Olivia’s soul… I’m not done.”
The hostel corridor was quiet when Anna returned. The usual hum of gossip and muffled laughter from other rooms sounded distant, almost unreal. Her steps were slow, unsteady—like someone walking through a fog. She reached for her key with trembling fingers, struggling to fit it into the lock. When the door finally opened, she stepped in, closed it behind her, and leaned against it as if her entire world was caving in.Her room, dimly lit by the pale evening sunlight filtering through the curtains, offered no comfort. The same mattress on the floor, the pile of books she hadn’t touched in weeks, the dress she wore two days ago still lying carelessly on the chair. Everything felt foreign, like she was looking at a version of her life she no longer belonged to.She stumbled to her bed, collapsed on it, and broke into heavy sobs. Her chest heaved as she cried into her pillow, her body curling into itself. Her throat burned, her stomach churned. Every fiber of her being felt dirty, broken.
Anna couldn’t sleep.All night she tossed and turned, her mind replaying the fragments of the horror she had only just begun to piece together. Her skin crawled under the blanket, and no matter how many times she shifted her position, the emptiness in her stomach and the dull ache in her thighs refused to go away.Just as the sun threatened to rise, she shot up from her bed, clutching her abdomen. The nausea hit her like a violent storm. She stumbled to her feet, barely making it to the waste bin before retching uncontrollably.Her breathing was sharp. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she wiped her mouth shakily. Her hands trembled. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at her surroundings—books scattered, the bedsheet wrinkled from a sleepless night, the air thick with confusion and shame.A knock echoed on the door.“Are you okay?” a voice asked softly from the hallway.Anna pressed her palm to her chest and tried to steady her breath.“I’m fine,” she replied quickly, her v
The first rays of morning crept through the sheer curtains, casting golden streaks across the tangled bedsheets. Anna stirred, her head pounding, body sore, and mouth tasting of dread. Her vision blurred as she blinked awake, the scent of stale alcohol and male cologne heavy in the air.Her limbs felt foreign, exposed—naked.Her breath caught in her throat.Panic clawed at her chest as she pulled the sheet tighter around her bare skin. Dimeji lay beside her, sprawled on his back like he had not a care in the world. Shirtless. Smirking.She scrambled up, clutching the sheet to her chest. “W-What happened last night?” she whispered, heart hammering against her ribs.Dimeji rolled his eyes lazily and stretched. “What do you think happened?” he said, his voice annoyingly casual. “You passed out. I handled the rest.”The blood drained from Anna’s face.“You... you touched me?” Her voice broke. “You had sex with me while I was unconscious?”He sat up slowly, yawning. “Stop acting like a chi
The hallway stretched longer than it should’ve.Anna blinked hard, trying to steady her breath. Her heels tapped unevenly on the sleek tiled floor as Dimeji walked ahead of her, shoulders relaxed like this was nothing. Like this was normal.But her mind felt like it was drowning in fog.*How much did I drink?* *Why is everything spinning?*Her steps faltered. “Wait…”Dimeji paused and turned around. The hallway light caught the side of his face, carving his features in sharp contrast. His smile was still there—too calm, too sure.“You okay?” he asked, stepping back toward her. “You need to lie down. You’re swaying like a candle flame.”Anna leaned against the wall. “I don’t remember agreeing to… to go anywhere.”“You didn’t,” he said lightly. “I just figured you could use a break. You drank more than you realized.”He held up a keycard and flashed it before her eyes, like proof that everything was under control.“I booked a room earlier,” he added. “Thought it might come in handy. You
The next few days unfolded like quiet notes of a new song—soft, unsure, and delicately stitched together with silence and almosts. Anna had started to recognize the rhythm: classes with dull-eyed lecturers, dry meals she barely tasted, late afternoons buried in textbooks—and Dimeji.Always Dimeji.He had a way of showing up, like clockwork, sliding into the chair beside her in the library, headphones slung casually around his neck, that lazy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.“You always read like the world’s about to end,” he teased one afternoon, setting down a cold bottle of malt drink beside her.Anna didn’t look up from her book. “It kind of is. Exams in two weeks.”He laughed, the kind of laugh that vibrated deep and smooth, the kind that made people turn to look, wondering what was so funny.“You act like the book’s going to bite you.”She finally glanced at him, brow arched. “It already has.”He shook his head, still smiling. “You’re cute when you’re grumpy.”She hated h
The library smelled of aged paper and soft polish, the kind of scent that wrapped around you like a memory. Anna stepped inside, her bag slung loosely over her shoulder, eyes darting across the familiar rows of shelves. It was one of the few places on campus where silence felt like a sanctuary instead of a punishment.She needed this—space to breathe, think, and maybe escape the echo of whispered judgment that seemed to follow her everywhere. The events of the past few days had weighed heavily on her spirit: the fight with Mercy, her temporary removal from the room, the warning from Dr. Asake, and that anonymous message: "Why did you fight?" It all swirled around her like a thick fog she couldn’t escape.This morning, she had woken up in her temporary room in the quieter wing of the hostel with a pounding headache and a deeper sense of fatigue. Her exam in Post-Colonial African Politics was in two days, and although she'd tried to study in the hostel, the tension made it impossible to