Johnson Adewale was the kind of student everyone noticed the moment he stepped into Bright Future College. At sixteen, he was tall, handsome, and always wearing a smile that made people feel comfortable around him. His jokes were famous. Some students said he could turn a boring class into a comedy show, while others believed he should have been a comedian instead of a student.
Every morning, Johnson walked into school with confidence. His school bag hung loosely on one shoulder, and his voice echoed through the corridors as he greeted friends, juniors, and even seniors. Laughter followed him everywhere. Teachers complained about his noise, but deep down, even they knew the school felt quieter whenever Johnson was absent.
To everyone else, Johnson’s life looked perfect.
But Johnson knew the truth.
Behind every joke was a reason. Behind every laugh was a distraction. He joked because silence made him uncomfortable. He laughed because thinking too much reminded him of things he didn’t want to face. Being funny was easier than being serious. Being popular was easier than being understood.
In class, Johnson rarely paid full attention. Not because he was dull, but because he didn’t want teachers to expect too much from him. Once people labeled him as “the funny guy,” they didn’t ask difficult questions. They didn’t look too closely. That suited him just fine.
That Monday morning started like any other.
Johnson arrived early, cracked jokes with his friends, and teased a junior student who rushed past him. The bell rang, and students hurried into their classrooms. Johnson strolled in slowly, still laughing as he took his seat.
Then something unusual happened.
The classroom door opened again.
This time, it wasn’t a late student—it was the teacher, followed by a girl Johnson had never seen before. The room grew quiet. Even Johnson stopped talking.
She walked in calmly, her eyes focused ahead. She wore the same school uniform as everyone else, but there was something different about her. She didn’t look nervous. She didn’t look excited either. She simply looked… composed.
She took a seat near the window.
Johnson found himself staring.
The teacher cleared her throat and introduced the girl to the class. Her name was Sarah. She had just transferred from another school. Her voice was soft, yet confident. When she finished speaking, she sat down quietly, opening her notebook as if she had always been there.
Johnson waited for the whispers. The giggles. The usual reactions.
But Sarah didn’t look around for attention. She didn’t smile at anyone. She didn’t even glance at Johnson.
That bothered him more than he expected.
For the rest of the class, Johnson tried to focus, but his mind kept drifting back to the girl by the window. When he made a joke, the class laughed as usual—but Sarah didn’t. She only lifted her head briefly, then returned to her notes.
By the end of the lesson, Johnson felt something unfamiliar.
Curiosity.
As students rushed out for break, Johnson remained seated for a moment, watching Sarah pack her books. For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t thinking of what joke to make next.
Something told him that this school term was not going to be the same.
And for Johnson Adewale, that was both exciting and terrifying.
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