UNSEEN.

1°|The Girl Who Disappears

“I was never the pretty one, never the loud one, never the one people chose. I was always the space in-between."
  – Adeola Thompson.

Adeola.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned at Royal Crest College, it’s how to be invisible.

Not literally, of course, but I’ve perfected the quiet walk, the lowered eyes, the way you slip into a room so gently that nobody even bothers to look up. Invisibility is an art, and I am its most loyal student.

This morning was no different.

The Lagos sun had already begun its usual war against us, pressing heat into my back as I walked through the tall black gates of Royal Crest. The gatekeeper barely looked at me. He didn’t have to. Nobody ever looked at me.

I tugged at the sleeves of my navy cardigan,always my armor, even in this heat,ignoring the sweat slipping down my spine. Everyone else wore their uniforms long-sleeved, crisp, tucked in neatly. Not me. Never me. I kept myself covered, hidden, protected. I would rather suffocate than give people one more reason to laugh.

Royal Crest wasn’t just a school. It was a runway, a theatre stage, an endless competition. Who had the newest sneakers? Who was carrying the latest iPhone? Whose parents drove them in? Who could post the funniest TikTok from the courtyard? Every day was a performance, and the applause always seemed to go to the same people.

Me? I wasn’t even in the audience. I was somewhere behind the curtains, praying nobody noticed the girl who didn’t belong on stage.

“Thompson!”

The sound of my surname snapped me out of my thoughts. For a second, I stiffened, thinking someone was mocking me. But then I saw a familiar figure hurrying across the courtyard, braids swinging as she struggled with an armful of textbooks.

I exhaled. Ireti.

“Morning,” I said quietly as she reached me, my voice as low as ever. Speaking softly had become second nature to me, another form of invisibility.

Ireti grinned, slightly out of breath. “Morning, Adeola. Ready for Ogunleye’s test? Word is Half the class hasn’t even cracked the book.”

I shrugged, adjusting the books in my hands. “I studied.”

Of course I had studied. Books were my escape, my hiding place. Between the covers of a novel, I wasn’t a shapeless girl with dark skin people said couldn’t “glow.” I wasn’t awkward or forgettable. In books, I was a hero. Or at least, someone worth following.

Ireti bumped me gently with her elbow. “You’ll ace it. As usual. Meanwhile, I’ll be praying Ogunleye decides to have mercy.”

I smiled faintly. But before I could answer, something shifted in the air.

It was like the courtyard inhaled.

First came the squeals. Then the loud laughter. Then the quick shuffle of sneakers and sandals as students angled their bodies toward the same spot.

I didn’t need to look. I already knew what it meant.

He had arrived.

Stefan Adeyemi.

I should have kept walking. I should have glued my eyes to the ground and reminded myself that his world and mine would never touch. But of course I looked. Everyone looked. It was impossible not to.

He walked like he owned the ground beneath him, as if the tiles of the courtyard had been laid just to carry his weight. His white shirt was rolled at the sleeves, neat but casual. His designer wristwatch glinted under the sun. His bag—some imported brand I couldn’t pronounce—hung from one shoulder, as though placed there by a stylist. Even his hair seemed carefully careless.