The door was locked.
The students gathered outside the lecture hall, waiting for Mr. Ajayi to arrive. Mr. Ajayi, a disciplinarian to the core, was the one with the keys. He preferred it that way, said it made him feel in control. Now the students were worried: What could have held him?
But in this crowd of students was a troubled boy. Not troubled by Mr. Ajayi’s absence, but by her absence. He scanned the crowd but she was nowhere. The boy hoped Mr. Ajayi wouldn’t make it. Of what good would his presence be, if she wasn’t here? He…and then, he saw her.
The girl saw the boy quickly look away. Was he glad to see her? Because she was glad to see him.
The boy felt his heart begin to pound. She is here! She is here! Maybe he should go and say hi to her. Em…no, that wouldn’t do. Oh, maybe he should ask her if she understood the lecture Mr. Ajayi gave in his previous class. Yes, that’s it! But the saliva dried in his mouth as quickly as the thought crossed his mind. He swallowed hard. He knew he would only make a fool of himself.
The girl stood, clutching her handbag; watching him. She wondered what was going on in his mind; whether he, too, felt the pleasant thud that resonated in her heart. Or whether he was just…indifferent?
Go! No, I can’t. Why? Well…because...because… Words failed him. They always did.
The girl thought of going over to the boy to say hi. She thought of starting with something like I like your shirt, I like your haircut; but that feeling held her back, the feeling that had always forced itself to the fore of her heart: Did he like her as much as she did him? Did he even like her at all?
Finally, the boy summoned up courage and began to play in his mind the conversation he and the girl would have:
Him: Hello.
Her: Hi.
Him: How’re you doing?
Her: I’m fine.
Him: Well…
The boy could see himself stuttering, searching for the right words; which would never come.
He gave up.
And then to his dismay, he saw another boy—cool and suave, a ladies’ man—walks up to the girl and strike up a conversation with her. The boy looked on. The conversation seemed to drag on for too long. He felt something gnaw at his heart. Something that made him want to hurl a big stone at ladies’ man’s head.
The girl was conscious of the boy’s ever-lingering gaze. She couldn’t wait for the guy to go on his way. Perhaps buoyed by the progress he thought he was making, the guy tried to wrap his hand round her waist, but she drew back, shaking her head. He got the message. He soon left her and went away—but not before he whipped out his phone. She shook her head again, while his thumb hovered above the screen.
The boy’s heart glowed. Now was his time. He began taking tentative steps towards the girl.
“Hey guy, where you dey go?” Tunji, his friend, grabbed his arm.
“Nowhere”
Tunji eyed him. “Nowhere?”
“Yes. Leave—” Just then, Mr. Ajayi appeared; sweat-faced. He mumbled an apology, something about traffic. But the students didn’t take things lightly: they chanted a noisy protest, about how he had locked them out in the sun, about what they could do to him—beat him up, knock his teeth out.
Mr. Ajayi ignored them, fumbling with the bunch of keys. He soon found the right one and a great mass of jostling bodies pushed towards the door once he unlocked it.
The boy sighed.
The girl too, sighed.
Tomorrow, the boy said to himself. Tomorrow. With one last glance at each other, they joined the crowd, their hearts heavy.
Written by Uzoma Ihejirika - Nigeria
The students gathered outside the lecture hall, waiting for Mr. Ajayi to arrive. Mr. Ajayi, a disciplinarian to the core, was the one with the keys. He preferred it that way, said it made him feel in control. Now the students were worried: What could have held him?
But in this crowd of students was a troubled boy. Not troubled by Mr. Ajayi’s absence, but by her absence. He scanned the crowd but she was nowhere. The boy hoped Mr. Ajayi wouldn’t make it. Of what good would his presence be, if she wasn’t here? He…and then, he saw her.
The girl saw the boy quickly look away. Was he glad to see her? Because she was glad to see him.
The boy felt his heart begin to pound. She is here! She is here! Maybe he should go and say hi to her. Em…no, that wouldn’t do. Oh, maybe he should ask her if she understood the lecture Mr. Ajayi gave in his previous class. Yes, that’s it! But the saliva dried in his mouth as quickly as the thought crossed his mind. He swallowed hard. He knew he would only make a fool of himself.
The girl stood, clutching her handbag; watching him. She wondered what was going on in his mind; whether he, too, felt the pleasant thud that resonated in her heart. Or whether he was just…indifferent?
Go! No, I can’t. Why? Well…because...because… Words failed him. They always did.
The girl thought of going over to the boy to say hi. She thought of starting with something like I like your shirt, I like your haircut; but that feeling held her back, the feeling that had always forced itself to the fore of her heart: Did he like her as much as she did him? Did he even like her at all?
Finally, the boy summoned up courage and began to play in his mind the conversation he and the girl would have:
Him: Hello.
Her: Hi.
Him: How’re you doing?
Her: I’m fine.
Him: Well…
The boy could see himself stuttering, searching for the right words; which would never come.
He gave up.
And then to his dismay, he saw another boy—cool and suave, a ladies’ man—walks up to the girl and strike up a conversation with her. The boy looked on. The conversation seemed to drag on for too long. He felt something gnaw at his heart. Something that made him want to hurl a big stone at ladies’ man’s head.
The girl was conscious of the boy’s ever-lingering gaze. She couldn’t wait for the guy to go on his way. Perhaps buoyed by the progress he thought he was making, the guy tried to wrap his hand round her waist, but she drew back, shaking her head. He got the message. He soon left her and went away—but not before he whipped out his phone. She shook her head again, while his thumb hovered above the screen.
The boy’s heart glowed. Now was his time. He began taking tentative steps towards the girl.
“Hey guy, where you dey go?” Tunji, his friend, grabbed his arm.
“Nowhere”
Tunji eyed him. “Nowhere?”
“Yes. Leave—” Just then, Mr. Ajayi appeared; sweat-faced. He mumbled an apology, something about traffic. But the students didn’t take things lightly: they chanted a noisy protest, about how he had locked them out in the sun, about what they could do to him—beat him up, knock his teeth out.
Mr. Ajayi ignored them, fumbling with the bunch of keys. He soon found the right one and a great mass of jostling bodies pushed towards the door once he unlocked it.
The boy sighed.
The girl too, sighed.
Tomorrow, the boy said to himself. Tomorrow. With one last glance at each other, they joined the crowd, their hearts heavy.
Written by Uzoma Ihejirika - Nigeria
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