Chapter 03

Chapter 03

First Race

The race didn’t announce itself.

It never did.

It started as a rumour—passed in low voices between hostel rooms, whispered in hallways, typed and deleted in group chats. By late afternoon, the campus felt different. Restless. Like something electric was about to snap.

Kofi felt it before he heard it.

Engines.

Low, controlled revs echoing somewhere beyond the academic blocks.

He was walking back from the library when a group of students rushed past him, laughing and shoving each other. One of them shouted, “Chale, it’s happening tonight—engineering side!”

Kofi turned instinctively and followed.

The campus road behind the engineering complex had transformed. Headlights cut through the dusk. Students gathered in clusters, phones raised, energy crackling in the air. Someone had dragged speakers outside—Afrobeats bleeding into drill, then rap. The smell of petrol mixed with perfume and street food.

This wasn’t just a race.

It was a ritual.

Kofi stood at the edge at first, hands in his hoodie pockets, heart pounding like it wanted out. Two cars rolled forward—a matte black sedan with a growl that promised violence, and a silver coupe sitting low, polished like it had something to prove.

People screamed. Bets were made. Girls climbed onto curbs and car roofs, cheering.

And then he saw her.

She stood near the front—confident, relaxed, completely at home in the chaos.

Anita Ametepe.

He didn’t know her name yet, but he knew the feeling. She wore jeans, a simple top, and sneakers—no effort wasted, no attention begged for. Her eyes followed the cars, not the crowd. She understood what she was watching.

The flag dropped.

The cars exploded forward.

Tires screamed. Bodies surged. Time slowed for Kofi as the vehicles shot past, engines tearing the night open. He felt it in his chest, his bones, his blood. This—this—was what his father lived for.

When it was over, the crowd roared.

Kofi realized he’d been holding his breath.

Someone bumped into him.

“First time?” a voice asked.

He turned.

It was her.

Up close, Anita’s smile was softer, sharper—dangerous in a quiet way.

“Is it that obvious?” Kofi asked.

She laughed. “You watched like you were inside the engine.”

He smiled, surprised at himself. “I know engines.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “Really?”

“Yeah. And that silver coupe—supercharged. Poor launch though. Driver panicked.”

She studied him for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right. I’m Anita.”

“Kofi. Kofi T.”

They shook hands, and something clicked.

Around them, the crowd thinned as people moved toward the next excitement. Anita leaned against a car, unfazed.

“You race?” she asked.

“Not yet,” he said. “But I will.”

She didn’t laugh.

“I like that answer,” she said.

As they talked, Kofi learned she was a second-year, deeply involved with the Cars and Racing Club. She knew names, specs, rivalries. She knew who was serious and who just wanted noise.

“You should come around more,” she said. “Campus racing isn’t about speed alone. It’s about control.”

The word hit him hard.

Control.

Before he could reply, another engine revved aggressively nearby, drawing cheers. Anita glanced over her shoulder, then back at him.

“Careful, Kofi T,” she said lightly. “This place can swallow people.”

He watched the cars line up again, eyes burning with hunger.

As the engines screamed back to life, one thought echoed in his mind:

This was his first race.

And it wouldn’t be his last.