đź“– CHAPTER ONE
Late Again
.
.
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Amara hated running.
Not because she couldn't run, but because running meant something had already gone wrong.
Her slippers slapped against the concrete walkway as she hurried past the Faculty of Social Sciences building, clutching her project file tightly against her chest like it could somehow slow time down.
Ten minutes late.
Again.
If Professor Okoye closed the attendance register before she entered the lecture hall today, that would be three strikes this week. Three strikes meant trouble. Trouble meant questions. Questions meant attention.
And attention was the last thing she needed in her final year.
She stopped briefly outside Lecture Hall B, bending slightly to catch her breath before pushing the heavy door open.
The room was already full.
Of course it was.
Rows of students turned instinctively as she entered, their quiet murmurs swelling for just a second before settling again. Amara kept her eyes down and moved quickly toward the nearest empty seat she could find.
"Miss Amara."
Her steps froze.
Professor Okoye did not raise his voice when he spoke.
He never needed to.
"Yes, sir."
"You are late."
"Yes, sir."
He watched her for a moment longer than necessary, then made a small note on his attendance sheet before gesturing toward the front row.
"Sit."
Front row?
Amara hesitated.
There was only one empty seat there.
And unfortunately, she already knew who was sitting beside it.
Daniel.
He leaned back comfortably in his chair as if the entire lecture hall belonged to him. His notebook lay open in front of him, untouched. One arm rested lazily across the back of his seat. When their eyes met, the corner of his mouth lifted slightly—not quite a smile, but close enough to be irritating.
Of all the seats in this hall.
Of all the people in this department.
Of all the days in this semester.
It had to be him.
Amara walked forward anyway.
Because she didn't have a choice.
She slid into the empty seat beside him without looking in his direction.
"Still late," he whispered.
She ignored him.
"I thought final year students were supposed to become more responsible."
She turned slowly.
"And I thought student leaders were supposed to attend lectures, not decorate them."
His smile widened.
"So you do still talk."
"I talk when necessary."
"Good," he said quietly. "Because we're going to be talking a lot this semester."
Amara frowned.
"What does that mean?"
Daniel didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he nodded toward the lecturer's table at the front of the hall where Professor Okoye had just picked up a printed sheet of paper.
"Final year research project groups," the lecturer announced.
The room instantly became silent.
Amara felt something inside her stomach tighten.
Professor Okoye adjusted his glasses and began reading names aloud.
"Group One…"
Students shifted in their seats.
"Group Two…"
Someone whispered behind her.
"Group Three…"
Amara stopped breathing when she heard her name.
"…Amara Nwosu."
She sat up slightly.
Then—
"…Daniel Okafor."
The lecture hall seemed to tilt.
No.
No.
No.
She turned toward him slowly.
Daniel was already looking at her.
Still smiling.
"Told you," he said quietly.
"We're going to be talking a lot this semester."
And for the first time since entering the lecture hall, Amara realized something worse than being late had just happened.
She had just been assigned the most important project of her final year…
with the one person she had spent the last two years trying to avoid.