US

BUILDING CONNECTIONS

The lecture ended, and the hall emptied slowly, students chatting in clusters as they gathered their things. Temilade’s hand ached from writing notes, and her mind buzzed with a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration. Every term, every diagram, every explanation from Professor Okonkwo seemed heavy with weight important, necessary, intimidating.

“Come, let’s eat,” Blessing said, tugging gently at Temilade’s arm. “You need energy. Medicine is no joke, and Port Harcourt is hungry work.”

Temilade followed, clutching her bag, still shy but comforted by Blessing’s warmth. They walked through the bustling campus streets toward the cafeteria. Students filled the paths, some rushing to other lectures, some carrying trays of food, some simply lounging and chatting. The air smelled of roasted plantain, spicy stews, and the faint tang of fuel from the main road.

The cafeteria was loud, crowded, and chaotic in the best possible way. The clatter of plates mixed with laughter and chatter. The long lines moved slowly, but the variety of food was dizzying. Fried plantain, jollof rice, moi-moi, soups, stews all displayed under the protective glare of fluorescent lights.

“This place is madness,” Temilade murmured, glancing around.

“Welcome to Uniport,” Blessing said with a grin. “The cafeteria is a battlefield. Pick your food, find a table fast.”

Temilade grabbed a tray, hesitated, and finally chose a small portion of jollof rice with fried plantain. Blessing grabbed some stew and moi-moi. They moved toward a long table where a few students were sitting together, laughing.

“Mind if we join?” Blessing asked.

The students looked up. Two of them smiled and nodded. “Of course,” one said. “You’re the new girl, right? Fresher?”

Temilade nodded shyly. “Yes.”

“I’m Chidi,” the boy said, extending a hand. “This is Ife.”

Ife smiled warmly. “Don’t worry, you’ll survive the first week. Or at least fake it until you do.”

Temilade laughed softly, feeling her tension ease.

“Sit, sit,” Chidi said, patting the empty space beside him. Temilade slid into the seat, her tray balanced carefully. She noticed how natural the group was, how comfortable they seemed in each other’s presence.

“So, where you come from?” Ife asked.

“Ilorin,” Temilade replied.

“Wow, that’s far,” Chidi said. “And you’re studying medicine? That’s… intense.”

Temilade shrugged. “I didn’t have much choice. My parents—” She caught herself, smiled faintly, and said, “It’s what I’m here for now.”

“Good answer,” Ife said, nodding. “Better to focus on the now than fight the past.”

They ate together, exchanging stories about how they found their classes, what lecturers were like, and how lost they felt navigating campus for the first time. Temilade laughed more freely than she had in days. For the first time, she felt like a student, not just someone trying to survive her parents’ expectations.

After a while, Chidi leaned forward. “Hey, we should exchange numbers. You never know when you’ll need someone to tell you which classroom is actually open.”

Temilade hesitated, then smiled. “Sure.”

They swapped phones quickly, entering names and numbers. Blessing laughed softly. “See? Already making friends. This is important survival tip number two.”

“I feel like I’m in a completely different world,” Temilade said softly. “It’s… exciting.”

“It is,” Ife agreed. “But also a little overwhelming. Don’t worry, you’ll find your pace.”

Temilade nodded softly munching quietly on her meal

As Temilade settled in, her eyes drifted around the room, absorbing the scene. Then she noticed her.

She sat alone at a table a few meters away.

Not isolated just… comfortable.

She wore a fitted body-con top and jeans that hugged her curves effortlessly, the fabric clinging like it had been tailored for her alone. Nothing flashy. No loud colors. Just confidence in simplicity. Her hair fell neatly around her shoulders, and she leaned back slightly in her chair, scrolling through her phone, completely unbothered by the noise around her.

Temilade blinked.

She hadn’t expected that.

For some reason she wasn’t sure why she’d imagined Muslim girls dressing differently. Covered. Reserved. This girl looked anything but restrained. She wasn’t trying to draw attention, yet attention seemed to orbit her anyway.

Chidi followed her line of sight and paused mid-sentence.

“Oh,” he said suddenly, squinting. “Is that Zainab?”

One of the boys looked up. “Zainab? She resumed already?”

Chidi pushed his chair back slightly. “Hold on, guys. I’ll be back.”

He stood and walked toward her table.

Temilade watched without meaning to.

Zainab looked up as Chidi approached, recognition flickering across her face. A smile appeared small but genuine.

They exchanged a brief hug, the kind that spoke of familiarity rather than intimacy. She gestured for him to sit, but he remained standing, leaning slightly against the table as they spoke.

Temilade couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she noticed the ease between them. No awkwardness. No effort.

“She’s pretty confident,” Temilade murmured before she could stop herself.

Ife glanced in the same direction and smirked. “That’s Zainab.”

Temilade looked at her. “Who is she?”

“Second year. Arts. Muslim,” Ife said casually. “She and Chidi go way back, high school friends.”

Temilade nodded slowly, eyes still drawn back to the table. “I love her style, she doesn’t dress as expected.. you know, Muslim and all"

Ife chuckled. “Yeah, don’t let the religion box fool you. Zainab does what she wants. Always has.”

From across the room, Zainab laughed at something Chidi said, shaking her head slightly. The movement was fluid, unguarded. She reached for her drink, long fingers wrapping around the cup, posture relaxed.

“She minds her business,” Ife continued. “But she’s selective. If she doesn’t like you, you’ll feel it.”

Temilade hummed thoughtfully. “She looks like someone who knows exactly who she is.”

Ife glanced at her, amused. “You’re very observant for a fresher.”

Temilade finally looked away, focusing on her food. “I just notice things.”

Across the room, Chidi straightened up, waving briefly before returning to the table.

“Confirmed,” he announced, sitting back down. “She resumed early.”

Temilade didn’t ask anything else.

But even as the conversation shifted, her mind lingered not on Zainab herself, but on the quiet contradiction she represented. Muslim, but unapologetically herself. Alone, but not lonely. Confident without being loud.

It was just an observation.

Still, as Temilade lifted her spoon, she had the strange sense that this wouldn’t be the last time she noticed Zainab not because she was extraordinary, but because some people had a way of entering your awareness long before they entered your life.

That evening, back in their room, Temilade unpacked some new books from the campus bookstore. Simi flopped onto her bed.

“You’re quiet,” Simi observed. “Everything okay?”

Temilade paused. “I’ve been… observing people,” she said carefully.

“Observing people?” Simi repeated.

“Yeah,” Temilade said. “How they act, how they carry themselves. Some people… they’re just really confident without trying. It’s interesting to notice.”

Tolu tilted her head. “Anyone in particular?”

Temilade shook her head. “No one specific. Just… patterns. Habits. Presence.”

Simi laughed. “Ah, the detective approach. I see.”

Temilade lifted her lip in a smirk and continued what she was doing..

” and temi "tolu called from her bunk

”Yh?”

“Don’t try to make too much friends ok" tolu advised ”and avoid level 400 boys "

”Tolu let the girl live" " simi joked

”ok" Temilade said casually not really paying attention and lost in her own thoughts