~ SEVENTY-SEVEN ~

~ SEVENTY-SEVEN ~
One Year Later
New Beginnings

The new year carried a crisp kind of magic with it—one that Kaima could feel right down to her bones as she opened her eyes to the soft, golden sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains of her new apartment.

Christmas had been everything she needed: loud, busy, filled with love. The Ifedi household had been a hive of excitement — Aunties bustling about the kitchen, uncles laughing from the verandah, cousins running across the compound like a scattered flock.
The highlight had been Adaora's marriage introduction to Dare’s family, a vibrant, joyful celebration filled with colorful wrappers, towering gele, delicious meals, and heartfelt prayers.
The house had been crowded with relatives from Lagos, Enugu, Port Harcourt, and even a few from London. Kaima still smiled when she remembered her uncle teasing Dare about "paying double bride price" for stealing their precious Ada. Amidst it all, she had felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude — for family, for healing, and for new beginnings.

But that had been last month.
Now, standing in her airy, sunlit bedroom, Kaima knew it was time to start another kind of journey: the final days of university life.

Over the past year, she'd moved out of the old cramped space she once called home.
Now, she lived in a modest but beautiful two-bedroom apartment on a quieter street near campus.
The living room had warm wooden floors and a cream-colored sofa adorned with soft pastel throw pillows. A low bookshelf stood proudly by the wall, stuffed with novels, old course texts, and a few framed photographs of her family.
Her tiny kitchen, with its blue-tiled backsplash and the scent of lavender soap always lingering in the air, was her haven on bad days.
Her bedroom—her sacred space—was a blend of whites and soft grays, a lush, oversized bed, fairy lights cascading down the wall, and a leafy potted plant sitting by her window.

Everything about the space felt like home.
Like peace.
Like the woman she had become.

Kaima stretched lazily, her bones protesting the sudden movement after the restful holiday. She pulled on a loose white T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans, tying her braids into a messy bun atop her head.
Her morning routine was almost sacred now:
She shuffled into the kitchen, put on the kettle for tea, and leaned against the counter scrolling through the news on her phone.
Once her tea was brewed, she settled by the living room window, sipping and breathing in the stillness.
Affirmations played softly from a speaker in the corner: "You are strong. You are worthy. You are becoming."
She whispered along with them, smiling to herself.

Today wasn’t just another Monday.
It was the start of the very last lap.
Final year. Final semesters. Final months. The final everything.
A bittersweet ache pressed into her chest, but she welcomed it.

Her phone buzzed sharply on the coffee table, breaking the peaceful bubble around her.
She reached for it absentmindedly and laughed under her breath when she saw it was Chelsea.

Chelsea: "Oya o, madam, stop all this your final-year calmness and come downstairs. Unless you want to be late on our first day???"

Another message immediately followed.

Chelsea: "Don’t make me come up there!"
Chelsea: "Swear I’m carrying you on my head o!"
Chelsea: "I’m serious, Kaima!"

Kaima chuckled, feeling a soft kind of happiness bloom in her chest.
Some things never changed. And she was grateful for it.

She tossed her phone onto the bed, grabbed her light denim jacket, and threw it over her shoulder as she slipped into her white sneakers. Grabbing her tote bag, she took one last glance at her apartment—the space she had built with her own hands and dreams—and whispered, "Let’s finish this."

Then, she locked her door behind her and practically skipped down the stairs toward the new beginning that awaited.

\----

Kaima found Chelsea leaning against her car, arms crossed, face twisted into an exaggerated frown.
The moment Kaima appeared, Chelsea straightened and wagged a warning finger at her.

"You were two minutes away from me barging into your apartment with a megaphone," Chelsea said, dramatically flinging open the passenger door for her.

Kaima laughed, sliding in. "Good morning to you too, sunshine."

Chelsea huffed, but a smile cracked through her mock anger as she started the car. "Final year people think they’re celebrities, abi? Keeping people waiting anyhow."

Kaima fastened her seatbelt, feeling the buzz of excitement humming between them, matching the gentle thrum of the car’s engine. She rolled down the window slightly, letting the early January breeze fill the car with a crisp, invigorating freshness. Everything about today felt different — charged, alive, like something monumental was waiting just around the corner.

As they approached campus, Kaima felt the familiar butterflies.
Not fear, no.
It was anticipation.
The kind that gripped your ribs when you knew an ending — and a beginning — were about to collide.

The campus gates loomed ahead, already bustling even this early in the day.
Chelsea expertly maneuvered into a side parking lot, finding a spot just as a blue Corolla pulled out.

"God of parking spaces, we thank you," Chelsea muttered under her breath, making Kaima chuckle again.

The moment they stepped out of the car, it hit them —
Campus life.
The chaotic, comforting noise of it.
Students shouting greetings across courtyards, hawkers setting up small kiosks under giant trees, final year students exchanging banter with juniors trying to navigate new schedules.
There was laughter, the scraping of chairs, the buzz of phones, the shuffle of feet across gravel.

Snippets of conversation floated through the air:

"Babe, are you seeing this timetable? They want to finish us!"
"Abeg, I no get strength for project wahala today."
"Omo, final year vibes only! We move!"
"Lecturer Stanley is back o! God abeg!"

Kaima tucked her phone into her tote bag and glanced sideways at Chelsea, who was already bobbing her head along to some imaginary beat as they made their way across the open field toward the pharmacy department block.

"So," Chelsea said, linking their arms casually, "on a scale of one to ten, how ready are you for all the final-year madness about to drop?"

Kaima smirked. "About a four."

Chelsea barked a laugh. "You? Miss Prepared? Only a four?"

Kaima shrugged, the movement easy. "I'm just... pacing myself. It’s a marathon, not a sprint."

They wove through the throngs of students, dodging small reunion hugs and loud greetings. A group of guys were playing football near the quad, a girl with colorful braids squealed as she nearly got hit by a stray ball, and two juniors struggled under the weight of their textbooks, muttering curses under their breath.

"Look at them," Chelsea gestured with her chin. "Freshers suffering. I almost feel pity."

"Almost," Kaima echoed with a small grin.

They reached the department building where the final-year students were already gathering for the first briefing of the semester.
There was something different about the crowd — a kind of unspoken maturity.
No more frantic, wide-eyed rushing. No more confused wandering.
Everyone knew their place now.
Their faces wore the calm — and the pressure — of people who had come a very, very long way.

Chelsea sighed dramatically, pulling Kaima into a quick side hug.
"Final lap, babe. After this, real world."

Kaima leaned into the embrace for a moment, letting herself feel the full weight — and the wonder — of that truth.

"Let's finish strong," she said quietly.

Chelsea pulled away, grinning. "Finish strong? Babe, we're finishing in style."

They found an empty bench under the huge mango tree just beside the department entrance and settled down, pulling out notebooks and phones, waiting for the orientation to start.
More students poured in around them, creating a sea of colorful life, the buzz growing louder, richer, alive.

Kaima glanced around — at the bustling courtyard, the faint scent of akara from a nearby stand, the laughter ringing across open spaces — and she let herself feel it:

This life.
This fleeting, chaotic, beautiful life they were living for the very last time within these walls.

She pulled out her phone briefly and snapped a quick photo of the scene.
No caption needed.
Some moments didn’t need words.
They only needed memory.

And Kaima knew, without a shadow of doubt, that she would remember this day forever.