Almost Forever by Athansede Senami Oyinkansola

First Interaction

The lecturer finally shuffled in—middle-aged, tie hanging loose as if it had fought him on the way to campus. He tapped the microphone twice, sending a squeal through the theatre.

“Good morning, students,” he began, voice cracking slightly. “Welcome to the Joint Universities Preliminary Examinations Board Programme—”

The rest of his introduction dissolved into background noise for Ayo. He already knew everything: the structure, the timetable, the grading. He had read the JUPEB handbook cover to cover. Twice.

Still, he tried to write neatly in his notebook.

That was when he felt eyes on him.

From the corner of his vision, he caught Sewa leaning back slightly in her chair, her head tilted toward him. For a heartbeat, he thought he was imagining it. Then her voice came, soft but clear over the lecturer’s droning.

“Excuse me,” she whispered, turning half around.

Ayo’s biro slipped and left a crooked line across his page. He blinked, meeting her eyes directly for the first time.

She gestured lightly at his notes.

“Please… what did he just say about registration? I didn’t hear well.”

Her voice had that lilt—half English, half Yoruba warmth.

For a moment, Ayo forgot how to speak. His throat went dry. He forced a small cough, adjusted his glasses, and lowered his voice.

“He… he said we should submit two passport photographs at the departmental office before Friday. With the form.”

Sewa’s lips parted into a smile, soft and quick.

“Ah, thank you.”

Before Ayo could recover, Kemi leaned closer with a smirk.

“Ehn-ehn! Professor, you’re already writing minutes for us abi?”

Dupe giggled, clutching her notebook to her chest.

“See how he explained it neatly. I told you—serious type. He’ll save us in exams.”

Funke didn’t laugh. She just studied Ayo for a moment, her eyes sharp but unreadable, then returned to her page.

Ayo’s ears burned hotter with every word. He nodded stiffly, muttering, “It’s nothing,” before gluing his eyes back to his notebook as if the biro itself could swallow him whole.

But Sewa lingered for a moment, still half-turned in her seat. Her smile hadn’t faded yet.

“Thanks again,” she repeated, softer this time, before facing forward.

The lecturer’s voice droned on, but Ayo barely heard a word. He could still hear her thank you echoing in his ears, like someone had etched it into the page he was pretending to read.

Ayo's mind raced, replaying the brief exchange with Sewa. Her simple "thank you" resonated within him, a small spark igniting a flicker of hope. He couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't just a casual request for information, that there was something more beneath the surface, a subtle invitation to connect.

He glanced at Sewa's back, her braids swaying gently as she listened to the lecturer, or at least pretended to. He wondered if she was aware of the effect she had on him, if she had deliberately chosen him as the target of her inquiry. He also wondered if Kemi and Dupe were right, and he was being used.

He chided himself for overthinking, for reading too much into a simple act of kindness. He was Ayomide, the serious student, not some romantic lead in a Nollywood film. He needed to focus on the orientation, on the upcoming exams, on the future that his father had so carefully mapped out for him.

But the image of Sewa's smile kept intruding, a persistent reminder of the possibility of something more, something beyond textbooks and exams. He felt a pull, a magnetic force drawing him towards her, a force that threatened to disrupt his carefully constructed world.