Morning sunlight streamed through the classroom windows, casting long shadows across the desks where Baylon and Ijoma sat with their peers.
"But what if there's another side to this story?" Baylon asked, lightly challenging the teacher's account.
The classroom tensed with an unspoken standoff between Baylon and the teacher, the students caught between curiosity and apprehension. “The other side lost,” the teacher said. “Because they were rash.”
As time passed, the stark reality of their educational experience crystallized for Baylon and Ijoma. Instead of fostering open minds, it sought to shape them into echoes of the regime's ideology.
“It would be best to learn from their example,” the teacher said. “Those who forget their place, lose their place.”
Baylon decided maybe Adanmaz was right, so he decided to master subtler forms of resistance. He slipped cryptic notes into textbooks and shared forbidden stories in the schoolyard after dark, encouraging classmates to question the sanctioned narrative. His classroom queries became more nuanced, challenges to the status quo concealed in ambiguity.
#
On a moonlit rooftop, Baylon and Ijoma found solace. Red moonlight draped over them, casting their shadows against the cityscape. Baylon, engrossed in Okamen’s book, The New Way, secretly written and smuggled out of his jail cell, read silently. The book’s words resonating with him.
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He closed the book, locking eyes with Ijoma. "Okamen's words aren’t just words, Ijoma. They're our struggle, our right to dream," he whispered.
Ijoma nodded. “We won, but we are losing. Their grip is strengthening, Baylon. Can we do more?”
Baylon said, "We have to.”
Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by a rustling sound. A patrol appeared. Baylon swiftly hid the book and faced the guards, his heart pounding.
"Good evening, officers," he said, his voice calm.
A scarred guard scrutinized them. "Why are you here at this hour?" he asked.
"Just enjoying the view," Baylon answered, motioning towards the skyline.
Beside him, Ijoma stood composed, the moonlight casting her in relief, her slight trembling hand betraying her nervousness.
The guard examined them intently. The distant city sounds and a mirti’s chirping filled the brief silence.
Eventually, the guard nodded. "Stay out of trouble," he warned before departing with his companion. Baylon and Ijoma exhaled in relief.
Once the patrol departed, Baylon and Ijoma relaxed, their secret secure for the moment.
Baylon withdrew a folded paper, marked by frequent use. "This," he declared with conviction, "is our way forward."
Ijoma leaned closer. She took the paper and read it. "Is this another of Okamen's works?"
Shaking his head, Baylon replied, "No, it's mine.”
Ijoma studied the paper. “You wrote this?”
“When I was supposed to be working on an essay for school.”
As dawn approached, the moon's light gave way to the pink and golden hues of morning.
Baylon and Ijoma, silhouetted against the awakening city, stood as the architects of a new world, their resolve steadfast.
“Things are better,” Baylon said.
“But they can get even better,” Ijoma said.
“Yes.” The city stirred, its sounds mingling with an air of expectancy.