Read between the lines part 1

Kiana flipped the page of the thin poetry handout, her eyebrows slightly scrunched. Vultures, by Chinua Achebe. 

She read the words again, slower this time—dark, heavy words that crawled into her mind like shadows looking for a home. Across the table, Kevin leaned back slightly in his chair. The low hum of the Rondebosch Library buzzed around them, but his attention remained fixed on her. She wasn’t reading like most teenagers did. 

Her eyes weren’t skimming. She was trying, letting the poem settle into her like a stone in her chest. There was something about the way she sat—upright, composed—but still a little too tense for someone her age. Beautiful, yes. 

But not in a showy way. There was a quietness to her. A stillness that reminded him too much of the part of himself that had to grow up too fast. A kind of innocence... still intact. But fraying.

Kiana looked up, pen lightly tapping her bottom lip. “This poem is kinda... gruesome,” she said finally. “I mean, eating eyes? 

That’s just—” She gave a small, dramatic shudder.

 “Gross.” 

Kevin chuckled, a low sound. “Yeah. Achebe didn’t really hold back.” 

“But why write something so brutal?” she asked. “What’s the point of putting that in a poem? It’s not even pretty.

” Kevin tilted his head, intrigued. “That’s a good question. But let me ask you—do you think he wrote it that way on purpose?” She blinked. “Obviously?” 

“Not obviously,” he said with a half-smile. “A lot of people stop at ‘this is ugly’ or ‘this is beautiful.’ But literature’s not always about beauty. Sometimes it’s about truth. And truth can be ugly.”

 Kiana hesitated. “So... he wanted people to feel uncomfortable?”

 Kevin nodded. “Exactly. The imagery—the vultures, the Commandant, the contrast between love and cruelty—it’s all intentional. Achebe’s not just describing something. He’s asking you to think about what it means.”

 Kiana frowned, looking back down at the page. “So I can’t just say I don’t like it?” “You can,” he said with a grin. “But I’ll make you defend it.” 

She snorted. “Great. Debate class, but with dead birds.” 

Kevin smirked at her retort as he leaned forward, elbows on the table. “That discomfort you’re feeling? That’s the good stuff. That’s what literature’s for—to push you. To make you sit in things you don’t want to sit in.”

Kiana glanced up at him, and for a moment, she really looked. His hoodie was plain. There was a subtle tiredness to his features, like someone who hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in a while. But his voice was steady, calm. His eyes lit up when he spoke. There was something about the way he explained things—he meant every word. It wasn’t just a job to him. She found herself thinking: He’s actually kind of— She shook the thought off quickly. Focus.

 “Okay,” she said, tapping the paper. “Then tell me what you see.”

 Kevin gave a small smirk. “Trying to take the shortcut?”

 “I call it guided learning.” 

He chuckled again, shaking his head. “Alright then. Let’s read it together. Line by line.”

“…and that’s your homework,” Kevin said as he capped his pen. “One original poem. Doesn’t have to rhyme. Doesn’t have to be long. But it has to mean something. Your words. Not Google’s.”

 Kiana groaned. “Why do I feel like you just gave me a punishment instead of a task?”

 Kevin smirked. “Because you're lazy.”

 She rolled her eyes and slid the handout back into her file. 

“Says the guy who uses Shakespeare as an icebreaker.”

 He stood and gathered his things, not offering a comeback. As they exited the study room, the soft clink of the library door shutting behind them folded them into a quieter world. 

The library manager, a woman in her mid-thirties with librarian glasses that weren’t really necessary, perked up at the sight of Kevin. 

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and stood up just a little straighter. “Leaving already?” she asked, her tone light but unmistakably layered.

 Kevin gave her a small, polite nod. “Done for the day. Thanks again for the space, hey.”

 “Anytime,” she said, too quickly. “You know, if you ever want to run a reading group or something more permanent—” she hesitated, smiling, “—we could arrange a corner. Just let me know.”

 He gave a small, unreadable smile. “I’ll think about it.” Kiana watched the exchange with one brow raised. Subtle. But not that subtle. 

As they stepped out into the late afternoon light, the summer air was thick with dust and echoes of city life—vendors closing shop, minibus drivers yelling out destinations, and the scent of something deep-fried floating from a corner stand. 

They stood in silence near the curb, watching taxis roll past in both directions. Neither spoke. Kevin didn’t feel the need to. He never rushed to fill silences; he seemed to trust that they served a purpose too.

Kiana broke it.

“You know the librarian’s into you, right?” Kevin didn’t even look at her. 

“I know.” That took her off guard. 

“Wait, what?” He shrugged, eyes scanning the road. 

“She’s been like that since the second week I started tutoring here.” 

“And you just… act like you don’t see it?”

 “Because I need the venue,” he said simply. 

“Free Wi-Fi. Quiet space. Aircon when it works.” 

He paused, then gave her a sidelong glance. “Flirting back doesn’t pay the rent.”

 A taxi honked. Kevin stepped forward, raised a hand, and climbed in without ceremony. Kiana blinked as the taxi pulled away, a grin forming on her lips. “Huh,” she said to herself, the breeze tugging gently at her braids. “This guy’s something else.”