Patience, Comrade, Patience
They say she was the strictest mistress in the dorms, a woman whose red stilettos announced judgement with every koi… koi… down the tiled halls. One rainy term she vanished—expelled, transferred, dead—no one agreed. But on harmattan nights when the moon sits round as gossip and the field is slick with dew, you still hear it crest the dark like a heartbeat on heels: koi… koi… koi… And if you follow the sound, careful now, you’ll see only a stride cut from shadow and a glint of lacquered red, stepping just ahead, never turning, as if the road itself were remembering you.
