Before The world Knew Us

Olivia

By the end of the semester, I’d reached a very specific level of exhaustion where doing absolutely nothing felt completely justified. I had an assignment due. A pile of laundry I’d been ignoring for a week. At least three unread messages. And a laptop open on my desk with a blank document titled Business Management Assignment.

I had typed the title. That counted as progress. Right?

I closed the laptop before I could feel guilty about it and went to the kitchen instead. There was leftover stew in the fridge, so I made spaghetti. Technically, I was supposed to be studying. Instead, I stood over a pot, wondering if I had enough stew left to make the effort worth it.

“Perfect.”

I scooped the spaghetti onto a plate, poured the last of the stew over it, and headed back to my room. I’d barely taken my first bite when the door opened.

“You’re still here?”

I looked up. Amira stood in the doorway, staring at me like she’d expected to find me halfway across the country.

“Where exactly am I supposed to be?”

“I don’t know. Studying?”

I laughed. “That’s funny.”

She dropped her bag onto the chair and glanced at my laptop. “Don’t tell me you haven’t started that assignment.”

“I started.”

“When?”

“Today.”

She looked at the screen. “The document is still blank.”

“I started mentally.”

She just stared at me.

I smiled. “That’s still starting.”

She shook her head, laughing as she pulled out the chair. “You’re impossible.”

“Yet you continue to live with me.”

“That’s because I’ve developed emotional attachment.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

She laughed. And that was Amira. My roommate. My best friend. My favorite person to annoy.

We’d met freshman year. I’d been searching for an off campus place when I came across a family moving boxes into one of the rooms. Amira stood beside her parents, looking just as lost as I felt, while her dad said something about how she shouldn’t stay by herself.

I don’t know what made me speak up. Maybe I was tired of searching. Maybe I just liked her face. Either way, I walked over.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m Olivia.”

She smiled. “Hi. I’m Amira.”

A pause.

Then, “I’d love to be your roommate. What department are you in?”

And just like that, I had a roommate. And a best friend.

We were opposites in almost every way. Amira was average height and curvy, while I was tall and slender, five eleven on a good day and somehow even more intimidating in heels. She was spontaneous where I was cautious. She made friends everywhere; I kept a smaller circle. Maybe that’s exactly why we worked.

After years of living together, she’d become one of the few people who could read my thoughts just by looking at my face, which was probably why I shouldn’t have been surprised when she suddenly asked:

“So. Are you going to the Fola Vybe concert?”

My fork stopped halfway to my mouth. “Who?”

She gave me a look. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you don’t know who Fola Vybe is.”

Of course I knew. Everyone knew Fola Vybe. His songs were everywhere. His face was everywhere. Even people who didn’t listen to his music knew his name. But hearing it from Amira made something shift in my chest.

Fola Vybe.

For a second, I wasn’t thinking about the celebrity. I was thinking about a boy.

Folarin.

I’d known him as a kid, just one holiday, really. Our families had stayed next door to each other during the holiday, and somehow Folarin and I ended up spending most of that time together: playing outside, talking about nothing, arguing over things that didn’t matter. The kind of friendship children make easily and lose just as fast.

Except I hadn’t wanted to lose it.

Then my dad got a new job. We moved. No dramatic goodbye, no promise to stay in touch. He was simply gone.

Years passed.

I forgot most of the details.

Or at least, I thought I had.

Until I ran into his mother at an event back in our old city. We caught up on everything that had happened since. Then she smiled and said something I hadn’t thought about in years.

“Do you know your friend Folarin is now Fola Vybe?”

I laughed, thinking she was joking. She wasn’t.

“He probably doesn’t remember you anymore,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

For some reason, that part stuck. Maybe because I wasn’t sure I remembered him either. I could recall pieces, his voice, his laugh, the way he always had to win whatever game we were playing. But his face? That was harder. Fifteen years is a long time. Children become adults. And apparently, the boy I’d once known had become one of the biggest names in music.

“Olivia?”

I blinked. Amira was watching me.

“Yeah?”

“I asked if you’re coming to the concert.”

“Oh.”

She leaned forward. “Jamal got us tickets.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Of course he did.”

“And not just regular tickets.”

That got my attention. “What kind?”

“VIP.” She grinned. “With backstage access.”

I put my fork down. “Why?”

“Because apparently Jamal knows somebody on the protocol team.”

“Of course he does.”

“Exactly. So we’re going.”

I didn’t answer.

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re thinking about it.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m literally not.”

“You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“Where you pretend you don’t care because you actually care too much.”

I looked away.

She knew me too well.

Because suddenly I wasn’t thinking about a concert. I was thinking about Folarin. The boy I’d known before he became Fola Vybe. The boy whose face I couldn’t fully picture. The boy who probably couldn’t picture mine either.

Maybe I shouldn’t go. Maybe seeing him again would only prove that whatever we’d had as kids meant more to me than it ever meant to him.

Or maybe he’d remember.

I pushed the thought away. Ridiculous. People don’t remember childhood friends after fifteen years, especially not when one of them becomes a celebrity.

“Fine,” I said.

Amira’s face lit up. “Really?”

“Yes.”

She jumped up. “I knew it!”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“I’m absolutely making a big deal out of it.”

I laughed, picking my fork back up, but my appetite was already gone. Because for the first time in years, I couldn’t stop thinking about a name.

Folarin. Not Fola Vybe. Not the celebrity. Just Folarin. The boy next door. The boy I thought I’d forgotten.

And now, somehow, I was going to see him again.

After almost fifteen years.

I had no idea what would happen when we finally stood in the same room.

I didn’t know if he’d recognize me. I didn’t know if I’d recognize him.

But I had a feeling that night was going to be anything but ordinary.

I just didn’t know yet that seeing him again would change everything.