Whenever Morah walked past the department’s common room and chatted with her few friends, her laughter lingered in the air like a song that refused to end. She wasn’t the loudest in class, or the prettiest by conventional standards, but there was softness and grace in her eyes and in the way she walked that made people stop mid-sentence.
She didn’t know three pairs of eyes had followed her that afternoon: Tunde, Tobi, and Ade, each of them sizing her up for a cruel game.
It started as a joke.
"₦150k," Tunde said, smirking. "Whoever gets Morah to fall for him or at least convinces her to go out with him, wins; the losers pay."
"That’s messed up," Ade murmured, looking around the room like it was the wrong place to be, while unsure why he didn't walk away.
Tunde laughed, "Scared?" making that awkward face with the tip of his tongue stuck out, and pressing on his lower lip.
"No," Ade replied, jaw tight like he’s trying to push out a week’s old poop. "I need the money. That’s all."
Tunde, notorious for his ruthlessness, always got what he wanted: grades, girls, and the silence that followed.
He was a predator cloaked in good looks and charm. Nobody ever believed the girls who whispered about him, the things he had done to them, and every other thing he was capable of. The girls were left with no proof, just shame.
Now, Morah was the next name on Tunde’s list.
The days that followed were full of fake smiles and forced laughter.
Tobi spent time learning about Morah and what she might like. It wasn't easy to figure out what to do with what he found, but the money they had bet was more than they had ever bet on anything before, so he had to try harder. He discovered that Morah liked books and old-fashioned things. So, he used that. He slipped anonymous notes under her door: silly poems written in curly handwriting, with a light smell of lavender. At the end of each one, he drew a heart with a little wink beside it.
The poems were sweet and cheesy, full of lines about dancing under the stars and looking into each other’s eyes. Morah thought they were strange and threw them away, but sometimes she read them twice before bed, especially on quiet nights.
Ade chose a more innovative way. He made sure to be in the library whenever she was there. He started talking to her about books. At first, she just nodded politely. But as time passed, she began to smile a little longer. One time, she even laughed when he joked that she reminded him of a character in one of her favourite novels. He thought about that laugh for days.
As for Tunde, he didn’t do anything that looked too obvious. He hung around and made himself hard to ignore. He was smoother, constantly bumping into her as if by accident, offering her rides, and saying things when no one else was listening. One time, he gently brushed a leaf off her shoulder, and it made her shiver, but not in a good way. Morah found him too pushy. She couldn’t quite explain it, but something about him made her feel uneasy. He seemed charming, but it didn’t feel real.
About two weeks later, Tunde’s patience thinned out.
“She’s playing hard to get,” Tunde hissed to Funke, Morah’s roommate, during a chance meeting.
Funke, who’d been quietly jealous of Morah’s gentle popularity and elegance, didn’t need much convincing. Tunde promised her cash, which didn’t matter much to her because she just wanted Morah humbled.
So, they plotted.
They agreed on a few drops of a tasteless sedative in Morah’s food; it would be nothing lethal. The goal was to add just enough to make her pass out; then Tunde would sneak in, take compromising photos, show his friends, and claim victory.
Funke agreed with a smirk. "She won’t even know what hit her." She walked away feeling like she was the villain from a recent show she had seen, and hoped she could live it out.
That same week, Ade experienced one of his asthma episodes: an attack on the stairs. It came on suddenly. His breath became sharp, his vision blurred, and his limbs trembled. He fell to his knees, but fortunately, Morah was nearby. Without hesitation, she rushed over to him while the other students just stood by, watching and taking pictures. She quickly opened his bag, found the inhaler, and helped him breathe again.
As he regained consciousness, his eyes met hers, and his heart raced fast. It could be one of two things. Either that he was feeling guilty that his prey just saved his life, or he felt like he was in one of those fantasy movies where chance occurrences like that meant the beginning of an everlasting love story.
He felt the urge to confess to Morah about their plot, just looking at her spotless face and gentle smile, but he quickly stopped himself. He remembered that revealing anything to Morah would break the brother code and cost him the bet. So, he kept his lips sealed.
They became unlikely friends afterwards.
He discovered a few things about her that were unconventional for girls of this modern age.
For example, she liked cloudy weather and cinnamon tea. She always sang softly to herself while walking alone. She enjoyed gaming and planting trees, among other pursuits. He couldn’t understand why she was the target of such a cruel game.
And suddenly, the bet wasn’t just wrong. It wasn't very nice.
Saturday evening,
Funke stared at herself in the mirror, carefully applying her lipstick like any law-abiding citizen. She’s concealing her guilt beneath layers of makeup. She glanced at the already open juice box sitting on Morah’s desk. She had already laced it and was waiting for the outcome.
Morah walked in, tired but smiling. She reached for her jacket, her phone, and the juice.
"Heading to choir practice," she said, casually arranging her hair behind Funke.
Funke froze, and it was almost obvious. “Are you going to your music lesson right now? Didn’t you just get back from class?” she nearly screamed, looking unsettled.
Morah gently poked Funke on the shoulder and joked, “It is my own doing, taking on too many things at once. I’ll see you soon.” She walks out afterwards.
Funke panicked. She dialed Tunde. "She’s leaving. Now. Do something." Tunde is shouting about something, but the network wouldn’t allow them a smooth conversation.
Minutes later, on the bus, Morah’s vision blurred, her limbs felt heavy, and just as a scream was about to escape her throat, everything went black.
The news spread like wildfire: Morah collapsed. She’s in the hospital.
Ade ran like he’d never run before. By the time he got there, she was unconscious. IV drips tangled like vines beside her. He confessed to her in her unconscious state while holding her hand. Anguish gripped him. He lost his feeling of guilt, and he is in grief.
Back on campus, two coursemates, sent to retrieve Morah’s things, arrived at her room just in time to hear an argument.
"You fool!" Tunde barked. Pacing through the room, "You were supposed to keep her in the house!"
"I tried!" Funke snapped. "I didn’t know she was going out!"
"What if someone traces it back to us?" Tunde says, scratching his head as if there’s a whole lineage of lice on it.
They won’t," Funke assured with a trembling voice.
But someone already had.
The coursemates barged in. They had their phones recording; hearts are pounding.
On Funke’s bed were tiny vials, and in Tunde’s bag were recording gadgets, backup telephones, and a small folder labelled “M.” It was all the proof no one else ever had.
By morning, the campus was in an uproar.
The disciplinary committee summoned Tunde and Funke. Morah’s name was on everyone’s lips. She was a survivor, and many other girls could tell their version of the story and sound believable. Tobi ran home before anyone started pointing fingers.
Ade is by the hospital bed, acting as if it is all penance for his betrayal of Morah. If you were Morah, what would you do about Ade when you become conscious?
Original Story by Dorcas Michael
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