All Chapters of The weight of whispers: Chapter 11 - Chapter 17

I let out a strange chuckle, the kind that scraped my throat on the way out.“Guys, y’all chill,” I muttered, lifting both palms like I was calming a mob. “Let’s move the party to another day. Something serious came up. My mom called not quite long ago.” I dragged a hand through my hair, forcing a tired breath. “We have a mandatory family meeting. And trust me—no one dares miss those. Y’all know how my mom can be.”My eyes skimmed their faces one after the other, searching for cracks—hesitation, doubt, anything that said we don’t believe you. Tristan looked thoughtful. Layla looked concerned. Maxwell just looked entertained.“Seems to me like he promised a shawty date tonight” Maxwell teased, his lips curling as his brows bounced suggestively.Before I could react, Layla slipped her hand out of mine and stepped forward. Her fist connected with Maxwell’s stomach in a sharp, unhesitating jab.He doubled over instantly, a startled grunt bursting from his throat.“He’s mine,” she snapped,

I didn’t know if what I was doing was right. I only knew I needed somewhere to hide, until whenever. Until life figured itself out for me. Or until the people who placed me on a pedestal stopped looking so closely.I can’t let them know. Not now. Not anytime soon. Maybe never. I just don't know.Being into guys would tear everything apart for me The respect, the image, the version of me they’d already memorized. I’d rather choke on the truth than hand it to them.I was walking down Maple Walk, the narrow path that cut through the academic block and the old library, when I saw him.Philip.My chest tightened before my brain caught up. He leaned against the brick wall like he’d been waiting, arms crossed, jaw tense. The same guy I was making out with at the freshers’ party. The same guy Lucas had seen me with.He didn’t look happy to see me. Neither did I.Public places were dangerous. Philip knew that. I knew that. Still, he pushed himself off the wall and stepped straight into my pat

“If you think I’d mention a name,” Philip said, his voice steady despite the blood sliding down his face, “then you’re all tripping. Do your own investigations.”He dropped the mic.The sound echoed dull through the crowd as he stepped down from the podium, pushing through the side of the platform with one hand pressed tight to his bleeding forehead. No security rushed him. No one helped. The crowd just watched him go, disappointed, like a show that ended too soon.Something inside me finally loosened. My lungs worked again. My blood stopped roaring in my ears. I sucked in air like I’d been underwater and just resurfaced. My knees felt weak, but at least they held.The crowd broke apart in pieces, students drifting off, laughing, arguing, already bored. Phones slipped back into their pockets. The moment had passed. The damage though stayed.“I can’t believe Philip of all people is gay,” Layla said beside me, her voice sharp with disgust. “God, he’s such an embarrassment to his family.

It is a beautiful day for all the students of Lincoln Royal college, but an anxious one for the candidates. Students gathered around, their face lit with excitement. Some dashed toward their supposed winners without hesitation, while confusion lingered on others’ faces as they paused, weighing who truly deserved their vote. The candidates stood before the crowd of students, Sunlight washed over their faces while their hands stayed busy reaching out, gesturing, persuading passersby one conversation at a time. Laughter floated around, banners fluttered, voices overlapped. Today was election day on who would emerge as Miss Lincoln and other posts to be held. And tomorrow, the results will be out, and the winners will be announced.I’d been thinking about what Lucas said the other day. About me. About the influence I carried, and the gravity of the effect it would have on his voting poll. About standing up and calling people out, giving them a real reason to choose him as Miss Lincoln Ro