The Last Semester Between Us

The Past They Never Discussed

📖 CHAPTER TWO

The Past They Never Discussed

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Amara returned to her seat after the lecture, her hands still trembling from the awkward proximity to Daniel. She tried to focus on the notes Professor Okoye scribbled on the board, but her mind kept drifting back to the group assignment.

It wasn’t just that she had to work with Daniel. It was why she had to work with him.

Two years ago, in 200 level, a group project had gone horribly wrong. Daniel had disagreed with her suggestions during a seminar, and a miscommunication had turned their classmates against her. By the end of that semester, Amara had learned the hard way: Daniel Okafor didn’t just make enemies—he made them in a way that left you isolated.

And yet here they were again, both of them sitting in the same group, with nothing but an academic requirement forcing cooperation.

The lecture ended. Students shuffled out, chatting about the next assignment. Amara waited until the hall cleared, then quietly approached Daniel, who was gathering his notebooks.

“Do you…remember 200 level?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Daniel looked up, raising one eyebrow. A slow, ironic smile curved his lips. “How could I forget?”

Her stomach tightened. His tone wasn’t apologetic, nor was it mocking—just…confident, like he already knew he had the upper hand.

“You humiliated me in front of everyone,” she said softly, almost a whisper. “It’s not something I’m willing to forget.”

Daniel tilted his head. “Humiliated? Really?” He tapped his notebook. “I remember giving my opinion. You…didn’t like it. That’s all.”

“You called me reckless,” Amara said, her voice rising slightly, though she hated that it trembled. “And then you got the whole group on your side. I had to spend weeks fixing the project because of your stubbornness!”

Daniel leaned back against the edge of the desk. “Stubbornness? Or competence? Maybe I just didn’t want to let a group fail.”

Amara crossed her arms, heat rising in her chest. “Don’t try to justify it. I don’t…want to work with you this semester.”

“Lucky for us,” he said lightly, “Professor Okoye didn’t ask for our feelings. He asked for results.”

She swallowed hard. He was infuriatingly calm. And infuriatingly attractive in the kind of way that made it impossible to stay angry for too long. She shook her head. “This is going to be…difficult.”

“Difficult,” he agreed, closing his notebook and slinging it over his shoulder. “But if we survive this project together…maybe we’ll even come out of it alive.”

Amara didn’t respond. She simply turned and walked toward the campus gate, telling herself she had survived worse. Yet, deep down, she knew something in her chest had shifted.

The semester had only just begun, and already it was going to be a test—not just of grades, but of patience, pride, and…maybe something more.