Jasmine’s POV
“JASMINE! Why haven’t you cleaned up the basement yet? I don’t understand why such simple instructions never seem to stick. Do I always have to repeat myself? Get down here now, you stupid child!” my mother barks, momentarily forgetting she had just sent me to take out the garbage.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve carried the weight of my mother’s rejection. The sharpness of her insults remains an echo in my mind; sometimes I wonder if I was mistakenly chosen to be her daughter. I can still recall my eleventh birthday—a day I wish I could erase, yet it’s etched into my memory, permanent and impossible to ignore. I often try to convince myself that my mother’s disdain stems from losing Dad too early; my face, a mirror of his, serves as a painful reminder of what she lost. It doesn’t quite add up, though. From the stories shared by those who knew him, I gather he was a loving father and husband. Over the years, I’ve conditioned myself to withstand her barbs.
“I’m coming!” I call back, shutting the outside door firmly. This is a summary of my morning routine. On days when she’s in a good mood, I’m met with a scrutinising glare that could intimidate anyone else.
After reorganising the clutter in the basement, I dash to my room to grab my colourful tote bag, feeling the anticipation of the university day ahead. I check to ensure I have everything, then lock the front door just as I hear Arya honk the horn. Whipping my head toward her, I can’t help the goofy smile that breaks across my face as she leans out of her window, her expression a mix of mischief and amusement.
“I made it just in time!” I yell with excitement as I jog toward her bright red Mini Cooper.
“WOW! For the first time, what a miracle,” she exclaims dramatically, gesturing wildly as I settle into the car and buckle up.
I laugh, countering, “Okay, now you’re just overreacting. You’re forgetting that you prefer showing up before the agreed time, so technically, I’m early.”
“True, but why is that? Because madam over here tends to lose track of time like it’s a distant relative she’s not particularly fond of.”
“Alright, alright! You make a fair point.” I huff, crossing my arms playfully and pretending to pout as I gaze out the window at the passing scenery. Laughter fills the car, a sweet distraction from the chaos of my home life.
A lull settles over the car, and I brace myself for the question I know is coming. “Did she start with you again?” The annoyance in Arya’s tone is barely concealed, but I can hear it in the tension of her grip on the steering wheel.
My silence is answer enough. Arya nods, her focus returning to the road as the light turns green.
Arya. My best friend since that fateful day in primary school when I fell off the obstacle course. She wasn’t exactly the nicest child on the playground— offering her hand while trying, and failing terribly, to contain her laughter. Not only that, but, in her own words, she claimed, “Sorry, but the whole thing looked like a movie scene. How did you fall in slow motion?” Little me didn’t know whether she was mocking me or genuinely cared enough to help out. Her face slightly dropped when I hesitated, staring at her outstretched hand before finally meeting her gaze. Then came that warm smile and small nod—and I finally took it. From that moment, we’ve been inseparable. She knows my mother’s cruelty all too well, having witnessed it on several occasions, and often becomes infuriated on my behalf.
We step out of the car and head toward the university entrance, greeted by familiar faces.
I can feel the energy of campus life enveloping us, a contrast to what I’ve left behind. For every smile exchanged, I remind myself that these moments are mine, a reprieve from whatever lingers just beneath the surface.
Suddenly, rough hands cover my eyes, and a specific scent hits me—something warm and inviting. A smile spreads across my face as I recognise that it’s Justin. I hear Arya stifle a laugh, clearly trying to hold back the amusement bubbling up.
“Guess who it is, Princess?” Justin whispers theatrically, attempting a change in his tone but failing miserably.
“Let me guess, SpongeBob?” I respond, feigning seriousness, barely containing my laughter.
“Oh gosh, Jasmine! Are you always going to guess an animated character?” His exasperation is evident as he spins me around to face him, rolling his eyes for effect.
I can’t help but burst into laughter, pulling him into a tight hug. Even though I’m a solid five-foot-seven, being wrapped in Justin’s arms makes me feel impossibly small.
“Hey Justin, how have you been?” I ask as the three of us make our way to our first class of the day, Professional Practice.
“I’ve been great. The break was a whirlwind, and the tournament I was so excited for? Yeah, I missed it,” he says, a hint of regret creeping into his voice.
“Well, I did warn you that time management isn’t your strong suit. You’ll see how much catching up you need to do,” Arya shoots back, giving him a pointed look. “But hey, you never listen, so your loss.”
I smirk, remembering the last terrible choice he made regarding a girl Arya had been adamant about avoiding. I nudge Arya to lighten the mood.
She rolls her eyes but shrugs it off.
“Arya, if you’re after me, just say it. No need for these beating-around-the-bush tactics,” Justin replies with a smirk, wiggling his eyebrows at her to provoke a reaction.
She exhales loudly, crossing her arms and turning her head to hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. Arya’s soft features always betrayed her feelings; even when she tried to act tough, there was a warmth about her that made it nearly impossible to take her seriously. “Oh, you wish! I’ve told you both—I want a committed relationship. Time’s ticking, and I want to marry my godly man.” Her eyes glaze over as she drifts off into her fantasy.
I glance at Justin, catching the fleeting moment of adoration in his eyes before he shakes it off with another eye roll, playfully punching Arya’s arm. “Okay, okay! Time to come back to reality,” he says, ruffling her hair.
“Hey!!”
“Alright, enough with the teasing…” I intervene as we shuffle into the lecture theatre.
We find our seats, and I spot a guy I’ve never seen before, tall enough that his knees barely fit under the desk, absorbed in his phone. The late-afternoon sunlight from the window catches the warm undertones of his dark brown skin, and when he tilts his head, I notice the faintest curl in his close-cropped hair.
“Hey, Nick!” Justin calls out, and the guy looks up, a broad smile breaking across his face as he strides over.
Up close, his features sharpen—high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and hazel eyes like amber held up to the light, striking against his dark skin.
“My man, how you doing?” he greets Justin, pulling him into one of those hearty bro hugs.
Arya’s eyebrow arches in my direction, her curiosity evident, as I mirror her confusion with a shrug.
“Ladies, meet Nick Fernando. Fernando, this is Jasmine, my little sunshine,” he says, giving me another tight hug before turning back to Arya. “And this is my personal pain in the back,” he adds with a saccharine smile.
I chuckle, and Nick’s gaze falls on me, those hazel eyes flickering with curiosity before crinkling into an easy smile. There’s a quiet confidence in the way he holds himself—shoulders relaxed, posture straight, like someone used to occupying space without asking for it.
Caught off guard, I quickly look away, only to find Arya raising her eyebrows at me again. I ignore her inquisitive look.
“Nice to meet you, ladies,” Nick says, extending his hand for a handshake. His fingers are long, calloused in a way that suggests he’s no stranger to hard work, and his grip is warm and firm.
Accepting his gesture, an unexpected tingling sensation courses through me at the contact. I withdraw my hand quickly, unsettled by the feeling, and take my seat.
“Good afternoon, class!”
I can feel the weight of eyes watching me, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch Nick looking my way.
What’s going on with him? Have we perhaps crossed paths before? Or is this just my imagination playing tricks on me?
I shrug, pushing the thoughts aside. I offer him a light smile of acknowledgement, which he returns. Okay… that confirms he was looking—it’s not my imagination.
The lecture shifts to the topic I’ve been struggling with, instantly grabbing my full attention. Swiftly opening my notebook to a new page, I stick the green sticky note on the corner of the page, and write: “Refer to past notes — begin pg. 30.”
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“Good morning, Anne. How are you?”
“Morning, Jasmine! I’m great, just feeling a bit under the weather lately,” she replies, her voice lacking its usual cheer.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, noticing her pale complexion and the dark circles beneath her eyes.
“I’m not too sure. Just some stomach pains…sharper than usual, over the past couple of days. It was manageable yesterday, but today it’s worse; I could hardly get any sleep. I feel bad for Jack, he was up almost all night checking up on me—despite having an early meeting at the office—and he still hasn’t replied to my message. I sincerely hope everything went well.” Her voice wavers as she keeps checking her phone.
“Have you been to the hospital for a checkup? Also, try not to stress, he’s probably been caught up with work and will get back to you as soon as he can.” I reassure her, referring to her husband.
“No, not yet. I wanted to check in on the kids first and make sure there’s someone to cover for me.” She slips her phone into the side pocket of her jeans, giving me her sole attention again. “I think so too, he’s probably occupied at the moment.”
“Well, I’ll be around for a few hours. Why don’t you take off? I can watch them.” I offer, hoping to alleviate her stress.
“Oh gosh, you’re a lifesaver, Jasmine! Thank you!” Anne exclaims, relief washing over her as she pulls me into a quick hug.
“Don’t mention it.”
“Are the kids outside?” I ask from the doorway as Anne finishes packing her things.
She nods with a bright smile while she slips her bag over her shoulder. “Yes, they’re out there and won’t stop asking about you,” she laughs, shaking her head. It’s been a little over two weeks since I last came—balancing classes and tutoring extra students to cover for a colleague. I told myself it was better this way for now.
“Come on, let’s go see them.” I glance towards the yard, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves—I guess I missed them more than I thought.
“Kids, guess who’s here!” Anne calls out, her voice bright and playful.
“Miss Lockheart! You actually showed up!” The yard erupts with the delighted screams of children as they come barrelling toward me. Their little feet pound the ground, and some flail their arms. I choke on a giggle, stumbling slightly as I try to gather them all into a warm embrace. Giving in, I kneel and sweep my arms toward the children who haven’t hugged me yet, letting each one have their turn amid the joyful chaos.
“Yes, I’m back! Heard you lot missed me. And guess what? I’ll be hanging out with you for a couple of hours. So that means…?”
“FUN TIME!” they shout. I take a moment to take in the unfolding scene—a lot was going on at once; kids jumping up and down, clapping their hands. Some faces lit up with wide grins, eyes sparkling, and others spinning in circles, laughter bubbling and spilling into the air. My cheeks ache from a grin that feels like it would split my face in two. A sense of peace settles over me, warm and steady, as I watch them. I’m grateful to be here with them.
“Alright, settle down, kids. Get back to your work. Miss Lockheart will join you in a bit,” Anne says, the hint of mischief in her smile. The leaves rustle gently in the breeze as the kids leap back to the different colourful desks, laid out neatly in two rows in the yard. I stifle a smirk, knowing they probably begged to work outside rather than inside. As Anne tends to say with a grin and exaggerated facepalm, ‘I don’t know what it is about working outside, but they are more prone to not focus.’
“Oh, I almost forgot—a new volunteer is coming by today to start his shift. Since I won’t be around, you guys can help him out if he needs it. But honestly, I doubt he’ll need much assistance; he seems to already have the hang of things.”
“Got it, no problem at all.”
“Thanks a ton, Jasmine. I genuinely appreciate it.”
“As I said, don’t worry about it. Being here is what I love. Now, shoo, go do your thing—let me have some quality time with my kids.” I wave her off, laughter still lingering between us.
“Alright, see you later!” she calls as she makes her way out, closing the glass door behind her.
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© 2026 Emmanuelle Ngoie. All rights reserved. The Crying Girl is an original work. No part of this work may be copied, reproduced, or distributed without permission.
