Fred barely slept.
The gun sat next to him all night like a silent demon, whispering thoughts he didn't want to hear.
Morning came heavy, dragging his body off the mattress like an anchor tied to his soul.
Campus life moved on outside his window.
Laughs.
Gossips.
Motorbike engines roaring.
Girls in short skirts talking about prom dresses.
Boys flashing fake Rolex watches they borrowed for the weekend.
The rich moved like the world owed them light.
Fred moved like he didn't deserve even a shadow.
---
At 8:00 AM, the Notice Board in the middle of campus became the battlefield of dreams.
The new list was out:
> Top 10 Most Beautiful Girls of Sunrise University (Prom Edition)
#1: Vanessa Monroe – 21 years old, Law Student. Half-Caucasian, glowing skin, green eyes, a body like a goddess sculpted out of moonlight.
#2: Zara Kimani – 20 years old, Media Student. Kenyan-Indian blood, caramel complexion, fierce cheekbones, curves that made boys fail exams.
#3: Layla Deon – 22 years old, Drama Student. Chocolate skin, dreadlocks that danced when she moved, a smile that stopped hearts.
And on and on.
The hall buzzed with envy.
Some girls cried in bathrooms.
Others plotted how to "accidentally" spill juice on Vanessa's prom dress.
Boys argued over which girl was "wifey material" versus "just for fun."
Fred stood at the back, invisible as always.
He scanned the list out of boredom — until his heart froze.
There she was.
At #9.
Nadia Mwaura.
The same girl who had returned his notebook.
Nadia.
The girl in the hoodie.
The girl with the scar.
The girl who smiled without asking for anything.
And she was ranked — beautiful.
Suddenly, the world felt even more unreachable.
---
Across campus, rich boys scrambled to "Prompose" to the Top 10 girls.
Renting helicopters.
Hiring marching bands.
Sending 100 red roses in gold-plated boxes.
Vanessa received a diamond necklace just to say yes.
Layla got a luxury spa voucher worth $5,000.
Zara rejected a boy who bought her a new iPhone 15 Ultra Max because his shoes weren't designer enough.
Fred?
Fred couldn't even afford a rose stolen from a cemetery.
---
By 2:00 PM, whispers spread like wildfire.
> "Did you hear? Professor Bantu is offering extra credits for dates!"
> "Some girls are already sleeping with the organizers to get 'Best Dressed Awards'."
> "They're auctioning prom kings and queens at that fancy yacht party!"
Fred overheard it all from behind his cracked notebook.
The world of glamor wasn't built on fairy tales.
It was built on deals in dark rooms.
And sometimes...
...they weren't even deals you could refuse.
--
At 5:00 PM, Fred's worst nightmare walked towards him.
It was Trevor.
Senior student.
Rich.
Ruthless.
Son of the Governor.
19 years old, already owned 3 businesses, 4 cars, and 7 fake smiles.
He was followed by a group of spoiled boys and two girls who wore their daddy's bank accounts as perfume.
Trevor sneered at Fred.
> "Hey, beggar boy," he said loudly, throwing a black envelope at Fred's chest.
Fred caught it, confused.
Inside was an invitation.
> "Private Yacht Party – Pre-Prom Celebration. Sapphire Bay. Invite Only. Dress Code: Billionaire's Club."
Fred looked up.
Trevor smirked.
> "Don't get excited, cockroach. You're not invited to dance," he said.
"You're invited to clean the deck. Mop boy. $5 an hour."
The crowd exploded in laughter.
Fred felt the envelope burn in his hands.
Not from anger.
From humiliation.
He dropped it at Trevor's feet.
The envelope fluttered in the wind like a broken feather.
> "I'd rather mop hell," Fred whispered.
Trevor's smile dropped for half a second before laughing again, louder, meaner.
> "Good. Stay poor, trash," he said, walking away with his entourage.
---
Later that night, Fred sat under the lonely oak tree behind the old football field, sketching broken dreams in his notebook.
Nadia found him there.
She wore the same hoodie.
Same shy smile.
Same scar that somehow made her even more beautiful.
She sat down without asking.
> "You okay?" she asked softly.
Fred shrugged.
> "Some people are born holding silver spoons," he muttered.
"Some are born cleaning them."
Nadia pulled out a small, wrapped sandwich from her bag.
Handed it to him.
> "Eat first," she said.
"Philosophy later."
Fred stared at the sandwich.
Simple.
Cheap.
Probably made with love.
His hands shook slightly as he unwrapped it.
It tasted like heaven after a lifetime of swallowing pride.
For the first time that day, Fred smiled — a real smile.
Tiny.
Broken.
But real.
---
As Fred and Nadia sat in silence, staring at the torn up stars above campus, a single thought gnawed at Fred's heart:
> "How many dreams do you have to bury before you become the graveyard?"
He didn't know the answer.
But he was willing to find out.
Even if it killed him.
---