CHAPTER FOUR
1033 Words
The alarm buzzed at 4:45 a.m., a thin, persistent sound in the quiet of the hostel room.
Maria opened her eyes to the shadowy outlines of furniture, the faint hum of the ceiling fan, and the stillness that only came before sunrise. She lay still for a moment, letting the reality of the day sink in — forty-eight hours away from campus, hours on a bus, hotel rooms, a seminar… and Rueben.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for her overnight bag. The motion was slow, deliberate. She wasn’t going to admit — not even to herself — that the knot in her stomach wasn’t entirely from nerves.
Mary’s voice came muffled from under a blanket across the room. “You’re up early." Nervous about sitting next to your favorite person for six hours?”
Maria rolled her eyes, unzipping the bag. “It’s a compulsory trip. I’m not exactly spoiled for choice.”
Mary’s head emerged from the blanket, hair a wild halo. “Mm-hmm. Sure. Just remember — buses are small spaces. Eye contact is dangerous.”
“Goodnight, Mary.”
“It’s morning.”
---
By the time she stepped outside, the air was still cool, damp with the residue of last night’s rain. The campus parking lot glowed faintly under streetlamps, the long-distance coach idling with a low rumble.
A few students milled around, shoving bags into the luggage compartment or clutching takeaway coffee cups. She spotted Peter leaning against the bus door, chatting with Vanessa — both already dressed like the trip was an i********: shoot.
Maria climbed aboard, scanning for an empty seat. Her pulse skipped when she saw him.
Rueben was halfway down, in the aisle seat, head bowed over his phone. The seat beside him was empty, conspicuously so, as if it had been saved.
She considered walking past. The only other free space was wedged between Peter and an unfamiliar boy in a cap — a social nightmare in its own right.
“Morning,” she said, sliding in beside him before she could change her mind.
He looked up, eyes catching hers just briefly before his mouth tilted into that maddening smile. “Morning, partner. Ready for forty-eight hours of quality time?”
She fastened her seat belt. “Let’s survive the next six first.”
---
The first hour passed in silence except for the hum of the road. The sky shifted from charcoal to pale gold, shadows stretching across the highway. Students dozed or scrolled through phones; the faint beat of music leaked from someone’s earbuds two rows ahead.
Rueben eventually reached into a paper bag and unwrapped a foil parcel. The smell of puff-puff floated between them.
“You didn’t eat,” he said simply, offering it to her.
She hesitated, then took one. “Thanks.”
They ate without speaking, but she caught the faint curve of his smile when she wiped sugar from her fingers.
Three rows back, Vanessa’s voice rose in laughter. Asha didn’t look, but she could feel it — the slight angle of Vanessa’s body toward them, cataloging details for later.
---
By the third hour, the bus pulled into a roadside canteen. The air was thick with frying oil and ripe plantains, the place noisy with the clatter of cutlery. Students gathered at tables in loose clusters.
Asha found herself with Mary, James, and — of course — Rueben.
James’ smile was warm. “You holding up?”
“Long road,” she said.
“Gets better after Lokoja,” he replied.
Rueben returned balancing two steaming mugs of tea, setting one in front of her before sitting across from James. The conversation that followed was friendly, but every time James made her laugh, she could feel Rueben’s gaze sharpen almost imperceptibly.
When they got back on the bus, the air between them carried a static charge.
---
By late afternoon, Abuja’s skyline appeared — glass towers rising from a sprawl of low buildings, softened by heat haze.
The hotel was neat and functional, all beige walls and patterned carpets. At the check-in desk, the clerk handed them each a key card.
“Rooms are side by side,” she said. “Two beds in each.”
Rueben shot her a quick grin. “Don’t look so relieved,” she muttered.
He leaned closer, his voice low. “Two beds can still be close enough for trouble.”
She stepped away before he could see her blush.
---
The evening seminar hall buzzed with voices, the air scented with grilled meat and rice from buffet tables at the back. Students mingled, exchanging business-like handshakes and guarded smiles.
Maria chatted with a pair from another university, but her eyes drifted — unbidden — to Rueben at the drinks table. Vanessa stood beside him, hair catching the light, hand brushing his sleeve as she laughed.
When he glanced up and met her gaze, the moment was a stretch of wordless charge — not quite a challenge, not quite a question.
Mary appeared beside her, murmuring, “He’s watching you as much as you’re watching him.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” Mary said with a grin. “Just don’t let Vanessa write your story for you.”
---
Later, Maria stood on her balcony, Abuja’s night spread out in lights and murmured traffic. The air was warm against her skin.
A knock came.
Rueben stood at her door, hands in pockets. “Thought you’d want to run through tomorrow’s agenda.”
They sat at the small desk, papers spread between them. At first, they stayed on topic. Then the power flickered, the air conditioner died, and the quiet thickened.
She became aware of the nearness of him — the faint scent of his cologne, the shadow along his jaw, the weight of his gaze.
Neither moved. Neither spoke.
From the hallway came Vanessa’s laugh — too close, too loud.
Maria turned back to her notes. “We should sleep. Big day tomorrow.”
Rueben didn’t argue. But as he left, his glance lingered — a silent something that followed her long after the door clicked shut.
- Writer
