In the Eyes of Fatima

Jennifer didn't breathe. The air between thickened, syrupy with something unspoken and unspeakable. Miss Emily's lips hovered just above her skin, her breath brushing the hollow of Jennifer's neck like a forbidden prayer. For a heartbeat, time bent. There was no chapel, no school, no sin-only warmth, only want.

Then-

Knock. Knock.

The sound cracked through the room like thunder. Jennifer jerked slightly. Miss Emily froze, her face inches away from exposed skin.

"Miss?" came a voice from behind the door. Soft. Unsure. Maria.

The door creaked open without waiting for an answer.

Maria stepped in, her eyes catching the scene in one painful sweep-Jennifer on the edge of the desk, Miss Emily far too close, the heat not quite faded.

Her mouth opened, but no words came.

Jennifer's heartbeat slammed in her ears.

Miss Emily straightened slowly, her expression composed but her cheeks flushed. She stepped back, returning to her East End accent like slipping on a mask. "Yes, Maria? You needed something?"

Maria's eyes lingered on Jennifer for a second too long before she answered. "Sister Margret's looking for you... Miss."

"I see," Miss Emily said smoothly, brushing imaginary dust off her skirt. "I'll be right there."

Silence.

Then Maria nodded, backing out of the room. But not before casting Jennifer a look. Not judgmental-no. Worse. Curious. Knowing. 

The door shut again.

But the air hadn't cleared.

Jennifer slid off the desk, suddenly aware of her heartbeat, her breathing, her skin. Miss Emily didn't look at her. Not this time.

Her voice came low , adulterated-not quite stern, not quite gentle. Still tasting of what almost was.

"Return to your class, Jennifer."

She didn't shout. Didn't need to. The weight of her voice carried something deeper- command wrapped in velvet.

Jennifer swallowed.

She didn't speak.

Didn't blink.

Just stepped away from the desk, her shoes clicking softly against the floor. No shame. No guilt. Just heat humming beneath her skin like an echo.

She walked pass Miss Emily, so close their shoulders nearly touched.

And in that passing moment, Miss Emily's perfume-soft, dark, adult-clung to her memory like a sin she didn't want to confess.

Jennifer didn't look back.

She didn't have to.

She knew Miss Emily was still standing there. Still watching. Still pretending nothing had happened.

By four O'clock, the sun had softened into gold, and the corridors echoed with girl-chatter and scattered footsteps.

Jennifer sat at her desk, half-pretending to read. The heaviness of the afternoon had not left her. But then-

The door swung open.

Cynthia stepped in, holding a clipboard, her earrings catching the light like small stars.

Cynthia clicked her tongue and waved the clipboard above her head like a flag of power. "Okay, Fatima Girls, eyes forward!"

The room rustled as heads turned, some still giggling, others stretching after long hours in class.

She stepped closer to the front, her voice firm but buzzling with urgency. "As you all know, tomorrow we'll be welcoming St. Andrew School-but word just came in, St. Peter's be joining them. That's two boys' schools. Two sets of eyes. Double the expectations."

Groans, cheers, and gasps mixed together like one messy harmony.

"It means we need our strongest girls out front-on duty, in charge, and looking like something out of a poster."

A few girls whispered to each other behind cupped palms.

Cynthia raised her pen. "So. Let's go down the list."

She scanned the paper dramatically, drawing out the moment like a performance.

"Welcome team-Joy, Lorna, and Kate. You'll be the first faces they see. Smile like nuns are watching."

Laughter.

"School guides- Esther, Ivy, Sharon. You know the buildings better than the rats. Don't lose any boys in the chapel."

The room giggled.

"Dining hall hosts- Lydia, Sandra, Fiona. No overfeeding. And remember- " Would you like more rice?" is not flirting."

More laughter.

"Program MCs- Akinyi and Bella. Please keep it formal. This isn't your TikTok account."

Cynthia paused then.

Her tone lowered. The page folded in half.

"And finally..."

Her eyes lifted.

"The one position left-Lady of Fatima."

The class grew still.

Someone whispered, "It has to be Maria."

Another answered, "No-Jennifer had it last time. She earned it."

"Please," came a sigh from the corner. "That crown was stolen. Everyone knows."

Cynthia sighed, raised her palm.

"I'm not here to start a riot. I'm writing both names -Maria and Jennifer. And the final decision will be made by Miss Emily."

All eyes shifted toward Jennifer.

Then to Maria.

But neither of them said a word.

The compound stood in a crisp order that morning-rows of girls in their polished navy uniforms, sleeves rolled with quiet pride. Form Ones and Twos shifted restlessly, adjusting their socks and trying not to yawn. Form Threes held their lines better. But it was the form Fours-South and North-who stood stillest.

After the hymn to Saint Cecilia and the Lord's Prayer, Sister Margaret took the mic.

"Forms One to Three-you may now return to your lessons."

Shoes scratched the gravel, skirts swayed, chatter began to rise as the younger students filed out, turning toward the classroom blocks.

A hush settled again.

Cynthia stepped forward, clipboard in hand, flanked by Lynette, the prefect from 4 North. Their shoes tapped lightly as they moved to the front.

Cynthia began, her voice bright and commanding.

"Welcome team- Joy, Lorna, Kate."

"Tour guides-Esther, Ivy, Sharon."

"Dining hosts- Lydia, Sandra, Fiona."

"Program MCs- Akinyi and Bella."

Each name was followed by a girl stepping forward slightly ,some stealing glances at one another, some brushing invisible dust from their skirts.

Then Lynette took the next role.

Her voice sharpened, drawing out the words. "And now, the final tittle-the one to represent our school before all guests... Lady of Fatima."

A pause.

A voice burst from the right side- "Maria!"

Another from the center-"Jennifer!"

Then from somewhere behind- "Christine!"

There was a quick scatter of laughter before the crowd fell still again.

Then the sound of quite, careful footsteps.

Miss Emily emerged slowly from the edge of the veranda, hands clasped behind her back, expression unreadable. Her gaze swept calmly over the girls before her.

She spoke softly, but the air seemed to bend around her words.

"Come forward...Jennifer Mwikali."

For one full breath, no one moved.

The Jennifer felt her body act on instinct. She stepped forward, the morning sun suddenly much brighter than it had been seconds before.

Behind her, she could feel it-The weight of Maria's stare.

But she didn't turn. 

The bell rang sharp and quick, dismissing the parade.

Form 4 south and North broke ranks, shoes brushing against gravel, skirts swaying in rhythm. Girls spoke in lowered tones-some congratulating their friends, others whispering over who was chosen...and who wasn't.

Jennifer walked back toward the dorm in silence.

She could feel the glances. Not hateful. Not kind either. Just... watching.

Cynthia caught up beside her, nudging her lightly with an elbow.

"You walk like you're heading to the guillotine," she whispered.

Jennifer gave a weak smile but didn't answer.

Behind her, someone muttered, "Let's see if she still smiles after tomorrow."

Inside the Form 4 dorm, the mood had shifted.

Some girls immediately folded up their blankets, others began sweeping corners, picking up socks from under beds. The community cleanup had begun.

On the end, Lydia and Ivy opened the window shutters, letting sunlight pour in. On the other side, Mercy stood beside Maria's bed, arms crossed, whispering something.

Maria didn't speak.

She just sat there-back straight, chin slightly lifted, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

Jennifer reached her bed, laid her clipboard down, and untied her scarf slowly.

Then Mercy spoke, just loud enough to float through the room:

It's fine. Let them choose who they want.

The real shine doesn't come from titles."

A few girls turned their heads.

Maria didn't say anything .

But her eyes-They flicked once in Jennifer's direction. Cold. Sharp.

Like the edge of something waiting to cut.

Jennifer sat down quietly, trying to keep her hands from trembling as she reached for her cleaning rag.

From across the room, a voice rang out-

"Jennifer!" It was Jane, standing near the window with a broom slung over her shoulder. Her voice was bright, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Don't forget-you're representing us in the fashion show! Better walk like it's the Queen herself coming."

A few girls laughed. Not mean laughter. Just ...knowing.

Jennifer forced a smile, nodded once, but her throat felt tight.

Jane added with a grin, "Make sure your skirt doesn't trip you up this time."

More laughter-soft, scattered.

Someone whispered, She won't. Not with Miss Emily watching."

From her corner, Maria didn't laugh.

She didn't speak.

She just stood up-smooth, slow-and walked out of the dorm without a word.