There's something tragically poetic about the way Catholic institutions cling to their aesthetics—all that red brick and salvation, those watchful gargoyles perched like ancient guardians over eighteen-year-olds carrying their entire lives in cardboard boxes.

Holy Cross College of Education wasn't trying to be Yale or Notre Dame; it knew exactly what it was: a sprawling collection of humble bungalows that wore their modesty like a nun's habit, spreading out rather than reaching up, as if someone had scattered a handful of buildings across the manicured lawn and decided that's where God meant them to stay.

The morning Nze arrived, the air smelled like fresh-cut grass and anxiety—that particular blend of fear and possibility that seems to permeate every university campus during move-in day.

Aunt Naomi hadn't come. She'd done enough, really, with her novenas and her obsessive book-buying sprees, treating each textbook like it was a holy relic that might somehow protect her nephew from whatever dangers lurked in higher education. But her prayers hung around Nze like a invisible cloak, while Uncle Eli's rules echoed in his head with far more immediacy: Don't wander into the woods alone. Don't stay out after 6PM. Period. Full stop. No room for teenage negotiation.

The campus stretched before Nze like a medieval village that had accidentally time-traveled into the present day Nigeria. Stone saints stood guard at regular intervals along the concrete walkways, their faces worn smooth by decades of rainfall and student prayers before exams. The gargoyles, though—they were something else entirely. They clung to the corners of the buildings with expressions that suggested they knew things about human nature that humans themselves had forgotten, their grotesque faces somehow both warning and welcome.

Between the bungalows, students flowed like streams finding their paths, some confident, others lost, all of them part of this strange orchestrated chaos of beginning. The buildings themselves, though modest in height, had a way of making you feel both insignificant and precisely where you belonged. Their red brick walls weren't just walls; they were the accumulated stories of every student who'd ever pressed their back against them, trying to study, trying to pray, trying to figure out who they were supposed to become.

As Eli's Hilux disappeared back down the winding entrance road, Nze stood there with his bags, watching other first-years and transfers mill about like atoms seeking bonds. The morning sun cast long shadows across the walkways, and somewhere in the distance, chapel bells began to toll. He couldn't help but notice how the shadows of the gargoyles seemed to shift just slightly with each toll, as if they were settling in to watch another year unfold beneath their stone wings.

Nze caught sight of a girl with enormous round glasses and thick oxblood braids, styled in two high buns while the rest fell loose down her back. The deep red of her hair somehow made her dark skin glow, a splash of color against the red brick and gray statues, like she belonged to the campus decor — unexpected, vibrant, and alive. She was walking carefully, clutching her books like they were her only friends in this new world. The next, she was caught in a tide of rushing students, spinning like a leaf in a harmattan wind until her books exploded across the concrete pathway in a sadly academic confetti.

Nze moved before he could think about moving, his body operating on some primal heroic instinct that apparently activated in the presence of damsel-in-distress scenarios. He dropped to his knees, gathering books with titles like "Educational Psychology" and "Modern Teaching Methods" while trying not to notice how the spine of one had cracked like a wounded soldier.

"Thank you," she said, voice soft but distinct, as she squatted down beside him. Her glasses caught the morning light, transforming momentarily into twin mirrors before revealing eyes that were squinting hard, like she was trying to solve a particularly difficult math problem written on his face.

"Those must be some pretty serious specs," Nze said, handing her a slightly battered copy of "Curriculum Development in the Modern Age."

She adjusted the glasses in question, a gesture that seemed as natural as breathing. "Oh, these? Yeah, they're my face shields against the blur that is reality." She scrunched up her nose, which somehow made the enormous glasses shift upward slightly. "Shortsighted. Everything past arm's length looks like an impressionist painting."

"Ah, a fellow soldier in the battle against clear vision," Nze grinned, stacking the last of her books into a neat pile. "I've got the same problem."

She looked around theatrically, as if searching for something obvious. "Really? Because I don't see any glasses on that face of yours. Unless..." she leaned forward conspiratorially, "they're invisible?"

"Oh no. The beast only comes out during lectures," Nze replied, tapping the side of his head.

She laughed then, a genuine sound that seemed to surprise even her, "I'm Izabella," she said, emphasizing the 'z' with a flourish of her hand. "With a Z, because my parents apparently wanted to ensure I'd spend my entire life specifying that. But friends call me Iza." She paused, those magnified eyes studying him with sudden intensity. "You know, in case you were planning on being one. A friend, that is."

The way she said it—half confident, half terrified—made Nze realize that maybe he wasn't the only one feeling like an actor in a teen movie who'd suddenly forgotten their lines but was somehow making it work anyway. They stood there, surrounded by the swirl of campus life, her slightly damaged books between them like a bridge.

"Arinze. But you can call me Nze," he offered, helping her gather the books into her arms. "And I think friend status was pretty much guaranteed the moment I joined your book rescue mission."

"Well then, Nze, my knight in shining armour, want to help me carry these to the campus bookbinding goddess? Someone told me there's an old librarian who can fix anything with paper and glue." She adjusted her glasses again, this time with her elbow since her hands were full. "Unless you have somewhere more important to be?"

He thought about Uncle Eli's rules—don't go into the woods alone, don't stay out after 6 PM—and decided that neither mentioned anything about helping girls with enormous glasses fix their books. Besides, he figured saints and gargoyles were probably excellent chaperones.

The walk to the campus bookbinding goddess's lair (or, as Iza referred to it, the "sacred domain of paper and glue") was filled with the kind of easy banter that suggested Nze and his newfound companion had known each other for far longer than mere minutes.

They traded stories about childhood vision issues, with Iza confessing that she'd once accidentally glued her glasses to her face during a particularly enthusiastic science fair project, and Nze countering with a tale of a trip to his mom's workplace that had ended in him losing his first glasses to a toddler.

But as they rounded a corner and approached one of the red brick bungalows, Nze suddenly found his attention diverted from Iza's engaging company.

There, striding towards them with the kind of graceful, almost feline catwalk that seemed to defy the laws of both gravity and modesty, was the girl who looked like she'd stepped straight out of a rebellious teen movie. From her scuffed Converse high-tops to the tight crop top that bared a tattooed midriff, every inch of her screamed "do not attempt to tame me."

And yet, despite the seemingly defiant ensemble, there was an undeniable beauty to her—from the honey-colored eyes that stood out against her platinum-gold curls to the delicate features that seemed almost at odds with the piercings dotting her ears and nose.

This was the same girl he'd spotted a few weeks back, on one of those town-run errands with Eli.

As she approached, a small smile played at the corners of her mouth, and for a moment, her gaze locked with Nze's, a silent wink punctuating the exchange before she disappeared around the corner.

Nze felt his mouth drop open, his mind suddenly whirring as he tried to reconcile the vision he'd just seen with the reality of the girl walking beside him. Iza, oblivious to the silent drama unfolding, continued chatting away, completely unaware of the way Nze's attention had been so thoroughly diverted.

"Something catch your eye back there?" Iza asked, glancing over her shoulder with a curious tilt of her head.

Nze paused, his thoughts tripping over the sight of her, like a loose thread catching on rough wood. It was the kind of encounter that didn't fit neatly into the orderly rhythm of his first day. Did she remember him, too, or was that wink just part of her natural orbit? After all, what were the odds that the rebellious beauty he'd spotted was also a student at this modestly traditional Catholic college? And even if she was, did it really have any bearing on his own life, beyond the initial shock of recognition?

"Oh, uh, no—just thought I saw something familiar, that's all," he replied, offering Iza an apologetic smile. "Sorry, got a little distracted for a moment there."

Iza shrugged, seemingly untroubled by his brief lapse in attention. "No worries. I'm just glad you're still here to help me get these books to the binding lady before they fall apart completely."

As they continued on their way, Nze couldn't help but glance over his shoulder, half-hoping to catch another glimpse of the mysterious girl. But she had vanished, leaving him with the lingering impression of her effortless grace and that knowing wink—a silent challenge, perhaps, to see if he could unravel the mystery of her presence on this unassuming Catholic campus.

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