Part 1: The Girl From Break Time

<h2>Part 1: The Girl From Break Time</h2> My first day at IADC,an Anglican missionary schoolresting quietly in the red soilof Ijebu Ode. I arrived weeks after resumption—a new boyin a uniform that still felt borrowed,walking through corridorswhere everyone already belonged. Then the bell rang. Break time. That sacred ten minuteswhen classrooms burst openand students ran toward the butterylike freedom had suddenly been declared. Coins clinked.Voices rose.Laughter filled the air. I walked slowly—still learning the geographyof a schoolthat did not yet know my name. And then I saw her. The girl I had noticed earlier in class. Pretty in the quiet waythat makes a young boy suddenly awarethat his heartbeathas its own language. They called her Jobitex. She stood theretalking with another classmate,smiling like the day itselfhad chosen her as its favourite person. I stepped forwardand did the most foolish thinga shy JSS1 boy could do. I bought everything. Biscuits.Chin-chin.Drinks I didn’t even like. Not because I was hungry—but because couragesometimes hides insidesmall offerings. And with a confidenceborrowed from somewhere beyond my fear,I offered her some. That was how it began. Not with roses.Not with love letters. Just shared snacksand the bravery of a new boytrying not to look shy. Prep time soon became our secret hour. Between textbooks and silence,little folded notes travelledfrom desk to desk—tiny birds carrying messagestoo small for the world to notice. Sometimes it was homework.Sometimes jokes.Sometimes nothing at all. But inside those paperslived a quiet warmthwe did not yet knowhow to name. She wanted the best for me. Always reminding,always nudging,always making sureI paid attention in class. And maybe—just maybe—she wanted my attention too. But I never said the words. Maybe I was just a boythinking like an old man,already worrying about tribesand problems that should never visita pre-teen-old heart. So I kept quiet. And the feeling stayed there—growing softlybetween homeworkand prep time. Then life did what life often does. Distance grew.Communication faded. And something that once felt brightbecame a memorywalking gently through time. But we remain good buddies still. And sometimes I rememberthat shy boy at the butterybuying courage with biscuitshe never planned to eat. Back thenI thought love had to be spokento be real. Now I know better. Sometimeslove is just a warm memorysitting quietlyinside a school bellthat rangmany years ago. --- Part 2: The Day the Bell Rang Differently

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