Careful, It's Just Me

By the time she stepped out of the lecture hall, the sun had burned higher, and humidity clung to her skin like silk soaked in sweat.

She barely registered the walk across campus. Faces blurred, voices faded. All she could think about was Mr. Maloba.

She said the name in her head like it was a test. A dare. A prayer.

And failed every time.

The rest of her classes dragged. In Public Law, the lecturer spoke in a mumble that barely cut through the buzz in her head. In Criminal Procedure, she doodled swords and scales in the margins of her notes. Even lunch with fellow freshers felt unreal, as if she were watching herself from somewhere slightly above.

The café from yesterday crossed her mind. The memory of his laugh. That moment—before names and titles and rules.

She made it back to her dorm by mid-afternoon, dropped her bag by the desk, and collapsed onto her bed like she'd been carrying the weight of a legal system on her back.

Her phone buzzed. A message from her homie: "How was your first lecture? 

Zuri let out short, breathless sound. Almost, she typed back But she didn't know what exactly.

Then she stared at the ceiling. She should be reading. Highlighting. But her eyelids betrayed her. The swirl of nerves, caffeine, and adrenaline finally dulled, and her body gave in.

She napped.

When she woke, the sun had dipped lower. Orange streaks slid across her walls like quiet flame.

Her phone was buzzing softly beside her pillow.

New number.

Her breath caught. Her thumb hovered over the screen.

Then—she answered.

"…Hello?"

There was a beat of silence. Then:

"Zuri."

The voice slipped through the phone like warm smoke. Unmistakable. Calm. Intimate in a way that made her toes curl under the blanket.

She sat up slowly. "Mr. Maloba?"

It came out cracked—half-whisper, half-hope, like the name might vanish if she said it wrong.

A low chuckle. Then—

"Careful."

A pause.

"It's just me."

The words wrapped around her like a blanket fresh from sunlight.

"I think… you called me Maloba in the café."

She exhaled slowly, her pulse still racing but the sharp edge softened.

"That was before I knew you were my lecturer."

He chuckled softly, voice warm and steady. "And that was before I knew you were my student. If I had known…"

A pause, gentle, as if weighing the moment.

"I probably would've still talked to you," he added with a quiet smile she could almost hear. "Just maybe a little more carefully from the beginning."

The quiet between them swelled.

Zuri looked out the window, heart thudding. "Why are you calling?"

Another pause. Then—

"Because today felt surreal. And I needed to know it wasn't just me."

She swallowed.

"I walked into that class," he said, "and forgot everything I'd prepared to say. Then you dropped your pen, and I thought—this is the universe being cruel."

Zuri laughed—breathless, nervous. "You used my quote."

"I did."

A smile curled in his voice. "You said it with so much conviction, I couldn't get it out of my head. It felt right."

She sank back onto her pillows. "It felt like a message. Like you were telling me—'I see you.'"

"I was." A beat. "I do."

That silenced her. Something in her chest twisted, too tender to name.

"I know we're on opposite sides of a line now," he said quietly. "And I'll respect that. But I didn't want the memory of that café to just… vanish."

She whispered, "It hasn't."

"I meant it when I said I enjoyed talking to you."

Zuri closed her eyes. "Me too."

Another silence, softer this time. Closer.

"I should let you go," he said. "But I wanted you to hear this—not as your lecturer, not as some voice behind a podium. Just… as the man who still remembers how you stirred your coffee and smiled like you were writing your own war story."

Zuri pressed the phone tighter to her ear, holding the moment like a breath.

"If it's okay," he said, voice low now, "maybe… sometime, we talk again. No quotes. No rules. Just you and me."

She didn't trust her voice. So she nodded—then realized he couldn't see.

"Yes," she said.

A soft exhale on the other end.

"Goodnight, Zuri."

"Goodnight… Maloba."

He lingered just a second longer. Then the line went dead.