RUNNIN' NO MORE by G.T. DÍPÈ

1: Decisions

--Follow Your Fire by Kodaline

Monday, 19th September 2022

Ade Adeowo tilts his head, letting the biting Middlesbrough air flirt with his cheeks. The chill cuts deep, but not as deep as the truths he keeps hidden—buried in the dim corners of his soul, where pride smothers vulnerability, and shame persists like an opponent he can never outrun. He shakes his shoulder, straightens the sleeves of his green sweater, and swings open the passenger door of his bZ4X with the flourish of a seasoned valet.

Jola climbs out, the very picture of triumph—the sister whose tireless campaign (some might label it nagging) has finally worn him down, bringing him to Teesside University today. From the back seat, their friends—Ay and MT—tumble out in tow, huddled in trench coats and mittens. Ade thinks they look ridiculous.

"Doctor Adeowo, the newest assistant lecturer in town," Ade says with a half-bow, presenting Jola with a bouquet of red roses. "Courtesy of the elder Doctor Adeowo."

Jola inhales the delicate fragrance with all the grace of a queen receiving her due, the lines on her black suit sharp enough to slice bread. "Temmy does know how to spoil me. What an extraordinary brother."

Ade clears his throat, his voice drenched in mock indignation. "And I get no recognition what-soever?"

"Maybe if you become a medical doctor like Temmy, you'll finally get some appreciation," Ay quips from the side.

"You sound just like a Nigerian parent," MT chimes in, shaking her head as they step into the Faculty of Science building. "Honestly, this doesn't feel too different from most Nigerian private universities."

Ade's steps falter as a sudden sharp ache wraps around his heart like a vice-his body betraying what he's trying to forget. Nigeria floods the edges of his mind, bright and relentless. The office he couldn't work in, the dream job that had dangled just within reach. Five gruelling interviews aced.

He'd all but tasted it. And then, like a spineless fool, he gave it up. He could've stayed-should've stayed—to live the life he dared imagine. Bold. Unapolo-getic. Instead, he fled. Not gracefully, but like a thief sneaking out the back door, hoping no one would notice.

They make their way to the elevators, and Ade takes measured strides as if walking too quickly might shake something loose within him. His reflection in a nearby mirror is the same as ever: unruffled, collected, and almost artfully detached. Years of practice birthed this: his subtle, sly way of keeping the world at arm's length and himself blissfully and precariously afloat. He conceals himself in a veneer of calm while suppressing the unacknow-ledged darkness looming, waiting to be seen, waiting to be named. Ade is unaware-or perhaps unwilling to admit-that it is in the acknowledgement of one's deepest fears that the seeds of healing are sown and in the embrace of hidden sorrows that true strength is found.

He sighs inwardly and presses the button for the sixth floor, where "Environmental Science" is dis-played; the lift hums and starts its ascent. When the doors slide open, Jola leads them down a long cor-ridor, her footsteps confident. She makes a sharp right turn before stopping at the tenth door. Three names are boldly engraved on the door: Jolade Grace Adeowo, PhD • Kurt Noah Sherwood, PhD • Chad Justin Morgan, PhD.

"Pose in front of it, Jughead," he instructs,

bringing out his phone.

Jola, ever the good sport, strikes a pose, her face a study in carefully managed pride and underlying tension. Ade watches her closely as the shutters click, silently observing the abstruse struggle between her confident exterior and what seems to be a swirling tempest of half-forgotten dreams beneath.

Yet here she is, forging ahead with that stubborn determination that has always defined her. He silently hopes she allows herself room to breathe, feel, and simply be.

"Hand over your bag," he says, fully embracing his chief photographer role. Jola hands it over, rolling her eyes but going along with every pose they demand of her.

"Point to your name," he suggests, trying not to grin.

"That's childish," Jola protests, but her hand re-

luctantly lifts to gesture at the door.

Once the impromptu photo shoot wraps up, Jola tries unlocking the door with her key but finds it un-locked. Before knocking, she pauses, and Ade gives her arm a gentle pat—a reassurance he knows she needs. Inside the office, two men are seated at two of the three desks. Both rise as the group enters.

Jola walks over to the first man. "Jolade Adeowo," she says, extending her hand.

"Chad Morgan," he replies with a clean American accent. He is of average height, his black hair pulled back into a neat ponytail that just brushes the collar of his shirt.

The second man steps forward with a broad smile. "Kurt Sherwood here," he says, his British accent rolling smoothly. "Pleased to meet you." He's tall, with chestnut hair cropped short and humour in his grey eyes.

"These are my friends," Jola introduces, gesturing to Ay and MT. "And brother," she adds, nodding towards Ade.

Kurt's gaze lands on Ade, a flicker of curiosity there. "Are you all staff here?" The ladies quickly clarify that they're new graduate students while Jola explains Ade is visiting to decide if he should accept his offer of admission for graduate school here.

Kurt's smile widens. "Fantastic," he says. "I've got a mate in Computing and Cyber Security. I can check if he's free to give you a tour of your department."

"That sounds perfect," MT chimes in. "I'm already enrolled in MSc Applied Data Science. Mind if I tag along?"

"Not at all," Kurt replies. "Shouldn't be a problem."

Ade glances at Jola, who slightly nods, understanding his unspoken question. "It'll be more help-ful, I think," she says, settling into her desk chair.

"They should be able to answer any questions you have."

With that, Kurt excuses himself to make a call, wandering over to the bookshelf as he dials. With only two guest chairs in front of Jola's desk, which Ade and MT have already claimed, Chad offers Ay one of his, and they settle into polite conversation.

A few seconds later, Kurt returns, his smile still firmly in place. "I've spoken to him. He's free for the next hour and can show you both around. You can find him in the Faculty of Engineering building on the third floor, the fifth office on the left. His name is Daniel Groza. Do you know where that is?"

"I have the campus map," MT answers. "And I was at the building last week for pre-registration."

"Brilliant," Ade says, shaking Kurt's hand.

"Thank you very much."

"Anytime," Kurt responds, returning the handshake with a firm grip, then offering the same to MT before heading back to his desk.

"We'd better get moving," Ade says as he and MT head out of the office.

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