The Last Semester Between Us

First Sparks

📖 CHAPTER THREE

First sparks

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Amara arrived at the library thirty minutes early, hoping to get a head start on the project. She carried her laptop in one hand and her folder of research notes in the other, careful not to drop anything as she navigated the crowded hall. She had chosen the farthest table in the corner, the one that faced the window and offered the illusion of solitude.

Of course, solitude was a luxury she wouldn’t get.

“Amara!”

She froze. The voice was smooth, teasing, and infuriatingly familiar.

Daniel.

He sauntered into the library with that same lazy confidence she had learned to despise—and, reluctantly, to notice. His bag hung carelessly off one shoulder, and a notebook peeked out, half-open, as though he didn’t even need it. He spotted her almost immediately and grinned.

“Mind if I join?” he asked, his tone polite, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes.

Amara narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think we have a choice,” she said, forcing a calm that didn’t exist. “Professor Okoye expects us to work together.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, dropping into the chair opposite her. “But I thought we could make it…bearable.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Bearable? Working with him had never been bearable.

“Let’s start with the basics,” Amara said, opening her folder. She placed it between them on the table, a small barrier that felt necessary. “We need to divide the research into sections. I suggest we each take two chapters for drafting, then review each other’s work. Simple, efficient.”

Daniel leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. “Sounds fair. But knowing you, you’ll probably insist on perfection in every sentence.”

“And knowing you,” she shot back, “you’ll probably miss deadlines because you think everything is easy.”

He smirked, tapping his fingers against the table. “Touché.”

For the next few minutes, they argued about methodology, referencing past research papers and debating which sources were credible. Amara tried to maintain a professional tone, but she could feel the old tension resurfacing—the same one from 200 level that had haunted her for two years.

Then, unexpectedly, Daniel leaned over, pointing at one of her notes. “Wait…this part here? You got the statistics wrong. It’s 42%, not 24%.”

Amara blinked, annoyed, but also slightly impressed. “How did you notice that?”

“I read the report last night,” he said, shrugging casually. “Thought I’d help you avoid looking incompetent in front of the lecturer.”

Her chest tightened. His words weren’t just helpful—they were considerate. And suddenly, she realized how long it had been since anyone had offered her that kind of quiet support instead of criticism.

“I…thanks,” she muttered, looking down at her notes.

“You’re welcome,” he said, returning to his notebook with a faint smile.

For the first time, Amara noticed a small detail she had never before—the slight crease above his left eyebrow when he concentrated, the way his pen moved in deliberate, confident strokes, and the occasional flicker of curiosity in his eyes when reading her notes.

And just like that, the old grudge felt heavier. Because it wasn’t just anger she felt anymore—it was something far more complicated. Something that made her pulse quicken whenever he leaned across the table, even for a split second.

They worked in tense silence for the next hour, exchanging occasional comments about the project. Each correction, each suggestion, felt like a small battlefield—they clashed, yet somehow their ideas complemented each other perfectly.

When the library’s clock struck three, Daniel closed his notebook and stretched. “We survived the first session,” he said, smirking. “Not bad for a pair of academic enemies, huh?”

Amara didn’t smile. Not yet. “Barely,” she muttered, though inside she knew it wasn’t quite true.

He packed his things and glanced at her. “Same time tomorrow?”

Amara hesitated. Then nodded reluctantly. “Same time.”

As he walked away, she looked out the window and caught the reflection of her own expression. Conflicted. Angry. Curious. And—most troubling of all—anticipating tomorrow.

She shook her head. “Focus, Amara. Final year. Grades first.”

But deep down, she knew one thing: this semester was going to be far more complicated than any research project. And Daniel Okafor was at the very center of it.