~ SIXTY-EIGHT ~

The adrenaline had finally worn off.

The echo of applause from their presentation, the rush of standing before the class with a firm voice and clear words—it all felt like a distant hum now. Kaima lay on her bed, lights dimmed, curtains pulled slightly to let the breeze in, a soft hum of life from outside barely breaking the silence of her room.

The project was over. The weight of it had lifted, but in its place, something heavier returned—something she had managed to silence all week with busyness, deadlines, team calls, and group chats.

Obinna.

Not that he had been absent. No, he had been everywhere—in her messages, in her thoughts, in the gentle way his voice echoed in her head when she was almost too exhausted to keep going.

"*Proud of you already."*

*"You’ve got this, Kaima. I believe in you."*

*"Drink water. Breathe. Rest when you can."*

His words had come like a steady stream throughout the week—soft, patient, never overwhelming. Always just enough to remind her that he was thinking of her, watching her from the sidelines with the same quiet pride he always carried when it came to her.

And now, with her world finally slowed down, she had time. Too much of it, in fact.

The thoughts came unfiltered. The images vivid.

Last weekend at his place.

She could still feel the warmth of his arms wrapped around her from behind as she’d tried to push him away with laughter, and how he had stubbornly fed her the last bite of plantain and egg, grinning like a boy who’d won something big.

“*Kaima, just eat it. Or are you suddenly shy because you’re sitting on me?”*

*“I am not! You’re just doing too much.”*

*“Too much for who? You? Never. Sit still, babe.”*

She had. Despite herself, she had stilled, let him bring the fork to her lips. Let herself melt into him just a little. It was dangerous, how safe he made her feel. How natural everything felt when he held her or looked at her like she was something soft and breakable but worth everything.

She closed her eyes now, on her bed, the memory tightening something deep in her chest. Not from pain. From longing.

She hadn’t run. Not really. But she’d needed space.

After the weekend, something had shifted in her. She’d felt it in the way her heart lurched when he smiled at her. In how her fingers lingered too long on his chest that morning when she thought he was asleep. In how her thoughts carried him into moments where he didn’t even belong.

She was falling.

And fast.

And that terrified her more than she wanted to admit.

So the project had been her lifeline. A convenient distraction that kept her from facing just how deep she was in. And she was thankful. Thankful for every late night call about data and charts, for every group argument that derailed into laughter. It bought her time.

But now, lying in the stillness of her room, his name echoing in her head like a prayer, she couldn’t ignore it anymore.

She reached for her phone. There were unread messages. He had checked in that morning.

Obinna: “*Good luck, baby. You’ve got this. Call me when you’re done, I want all the gist.”*

Obinna: *“And don’t think I didn’t notice how you’ve been dodging me all week. It’s cute sha.”*

Obinna: “*Seriously. I miss you.”*

She swallowed hard, the words pressing like weights on her chest.

“I miss you too,” she whispered, typing the words out slowly.

Then deleting them.

She wanted to say it. But it felt like saying it would break something. Or fix something. She didn’t know which scared her more.

Still, her fingers moved to call.

“Hey stranger,” came his voice, warm and teasing. He answered before the first full ring.

Kaima smiled without realizing. “Hi.”

“You’re finally alive.”

“Barely,” she said, shifting under her duvet. “I think I’m running on fumes.”

“But you did it,” he said softly. “I’m proud of you. I really am.”

Silence stretched. Comfortable, but thick.

“Obi…”

“Hmm?”

She hesitated, then sighed. “This week gave me space I didn’t know I needed. It made me realize how much of my mind you take up.”

He chuckled, but it was a little sad. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” she said, quickly. “It’s just… confusing. Scary, even. I’ve never felt like this before.”

There it was. Truth, raw and unclothed.

“You’re scared of me?”

“No,” she said again, slower. “I’m scared of what this means. How real it’s starting to feel. How I can’t even breathe without thinking of you.”

On the other end, he was quiet for a beat.

“I get it,” he said finally. “But I’m not going anywhere, Kaima. I know I come off easy and chill about everything, but I know what I want. And I want you. All of you. Even if it takes time.”

She felt her throat tighten.

“I’m not used to this.”

“Me neither,” he confessed. “But we’re not in a race, okay? You can breathe. I’m not in a hurry. I just need you to stop running. I just want to walk with you.”

Something broke then. Not painfully. Gently. Like a soft opening in her heart. Her eyes stung, but she smiled.

“I don’t want to run anymore,” she whispered.

“Then let’s stay here,” he said. “Right here. Together.”

They stayed on the phone for hours. Talking. Laughing. Remembering. Sharing fears. He told her about a rough week at work. She told him about Zahra’s funny attempt to mimic Dr. Ogene. He listened. She did too.

And by the time they hung up—just before midnight—Kaima felt something she hadn’t felt in days.

Peace.

She wasn’t sure what tomorrow would look like. Or what their next moment would bring. But she knew this much:

She wanted to keep choosing him.

Slowly. Carefully. Truly.

And maybe, just maybe, he was worth all the fear she had.

\----

The lock clicked and the door creaked open with a familiar sound Mandy hadn’t realized she’d missed. The cool air of the hallway followed her in as she stepped inside, her keys jingling in her hand, exhaustion clinging to her like perfume.

She barely had time to push the door fully open before arms wrapped around her in a tight, overwhelming bear hug that nearly knocked the breath out of her.

“Aaron?” Her voice was muffled by his shoulder, laughter bubbling up even as her bag slipped off her shoulder and thudded to the floor.

“Hi, love,” he murmured into her neck, holding her tighter, as if letting go was never an option.

She blinked, dazed for a moment, then wrapped her arms around him, melting into his warmth. His scent hit her first—clean, fresh, the faint hint of cologne she always associated with him. He smelled like comfort. Like home.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, pulling back just enough to see his face, her fingers resting against his jaw. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“I know.” His voice was low, rough from emotion or exhaustion—she wasn’t sure. “I didn’t want to overthink it. I just needed to see you. I missed you.”

She stared at him, searching his face—the tiredness in his eyes, the slight darkness under them, the way his shoulders had lost some of their usual ease.

She reached up and cupped his cheek. “You’ve been working too hard.”

“So have you.” He leaned into her touch. “But tonight, no school talk. No stress. I just want to be here. With you.”

She nodded softly and stepped aside so he could walk in fully. He kicked the door shut behind him and leaned down to pick up her bag. “You’re not carrying this around the house. Go sit.”

She chuckled, touched by the simple gesture. “Yes, boss.”

The evening unfolded slowly, like a well-loved song they both knew the rhythm to. Mandy changed into her comfortable shorts and oversized tee while Aaron went to the kitchen to warm up the jollof rice she had made two nights ago and frozen in anticipation of long nights like this.

They sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, sharing a plate, teasing each other over who got the bigger chunk of beef.

“You came all the way here for my food?” she asked, playfully narrowing her eyes.

“I came for you. The food’s just a bonus,” he said, brushing his fingers against her cheek before stealing the last spoonful.

They laughed, then curled into the couch, his arm wrapped around her, her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. There was no need for music or shows or background noise—just them, and the comforting hum of something real.

They talked about little things—his project with Obinna, how intense the training had gotten. How she’d aced her last quiz. How they hadn’t had time to just be in what felt like forever.

Then silence returned. Not awkward, not forced. Just soft. Familiar.

At some point, Mandy shifted, her legs curled up beside her, and Aaron’s hand moved gently over her back. Her breathing slowed, the steady rhythm lulling her toward sleep.

He looked down at her, the faintest smile on his lips.

She was asleep.

Her mouth was slightly parted, one hand resting near his collarbone. Her lashes fluttered gently, catching the soft glow of the table lamp. Her hair spilled over his arm, wild and beautiful.

Aaron didn’t move.

He couldn’t. Didn’t want to.

Something in his chest clenched, not in pain—but in something deep and overwhelming. Admiration. Love. That scary, beautiful kind that didn’t need grand declarations or perfect timing. Just presence.

He studied her, his fingers brushing her knuckles gently. This girl. His girl.

She had held him through one of the hardest semesters of his life, stood by him when school felt like a mountain he couldn’t climb, laughed with him, cried with him, scolded him when he forgot to eat, sent random memes just to cheer him up.

And now, she lay asleep in his arms, like she trusted him to hold the weight of her peace.

Aaron leaned down slowly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Then another on her cheek. And one on her hand.

“Thank you,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “For being everything.”

He stayed like that for a long time, unmoving, watching her sleep as if afraid the moment would slip away.

The night stretched on, quiet and endless.

Outside, the world carried on—cars, voices, laughter in the distance—but inside Mandy’s apartment, time paused.

Aaron closed his eyes and held her tighter.

This was all he needed.