I always watched her walk – or run, whichever the case may be – to class. I was sure; this was the girl of my dreams. If only I could gather my boldness to go talk to her. But I was waiting for the right time. Next semester, she was pregnant. A part of my world crashed!
The six months strike had its positive effects on me. Basically, the effect was on my Facebook profile. I received various friend requests, sent several others and so forth. When I saw her name – not the first her this time though, a new her – I loved it immediately. I checked our mutual friends, about sixteen in common. Request sent, I awaited her acceptance.
Two days passed, I logged in to see several notifications and few messages. I get that quite a lot these days. I scrolled through the notifications, ignoring the irrelevant ones and commenting on the important ones. And then, there it was, clearly written in Facebook letters: “So and so accepted your Facebook request”.
I clicked on her wall, wanting to welcome her to my world in the usual fashion of mine. Her profile picture caught my eye and instead, I clicked that. The smile that met my eye was stupefying. My jaws dropped. I shook it off; most of these pictures were disguises. My network vanished, you know na, MTN and their usual wahala. And so, I press the red button, to continue on a more MTN friendly day.
Next morning, I opened Facebook – call me an addict, a strict adherent, warefa, Ah don kier! – and answer to the messages left off yesterday and to reply to the wonderful comments on my infantile status updates and so forth. I click on one of the “so and so, so and so and three others commented on your status” notifications and the thing loads a poem I had posted the previous day on a political brouhaha that was ravaging social media and there, among the comments, her name, masterfully done, standing above a comment that read thus: “Wow! Such wonderful talent. Kudos Nonso”. I mean, this comment came from her, typed by her own very tender fingers; that same beauty that accepted my friend request yesterday. Haaaa!
I must confess here now, that my head swirled in ecstasy. Firstly, I find it difficult to impress ladies, not to mention beautiful ladies. I felt like a Nobel Laureate. Maybe Wole Soyinka would understand what I mean. I wanted to run to the kitchen, scream at the top of my voice at my mother that a beautiful gehl found my writing beautiful too. I was so happy, plus, I was gradually falling in love with her.
We soon started chatting and I found out from her that she was in my department in school. Whoop! I was looking forward to resumption. I didn’t want to tell her that I had a thing for her on social network, no. I was going to make it formal, at the right time. So, I counted the days, watched the news, listened to the news, read the news and even dreamt the news; all in anticipation of the call off of the strike.
Six months smoked away and ASUU finally saw reason right after Prof. Iyayi paid the debt with his blood (Oh! CWW). We soon resumed and I flew to school before anybody could say “Ah-Suu”. I slept in a room designed for two, allocated to eight and occupied by twelve alone for four nights, counting the seconds to dawn in my sleep, jerking up every time a hungry rat scurried across the floor in chase of a cockroach. Two weeks, I had not seen her. I visited every of her class in search of this girl and I could not find her in any.
I was devastated. So na so my love wan take perish? Chai! I soon gave up. I have that gift of giving up easily in such pursuits you know. Then, it happened. One day, as I stood by A1 with a friend, debating the essence of the ASUU strike, she walked past. Now, she might not have noticed me, I cannot tell. But I sure remembered her face. How can I not? That beauty was even more accentuated in real life. She had a smallish frame, a young innocent face and the sexiest smile of all time. I wanted to call her name, but something within me was holding me back, endearing me to wait till the right time.
The first day we spoke, my palms were both sweaty, my voice was cracked and I stuttered a lot, like I was dumb. Well, that was then. We soon became closer and I still am yet to tell her of that crush, that feeling of love I have for her. I’m scared of losing her; of losing that soft smile. If only she could tear through the terraces of my heart and see the evidences, glaring enough, then things would be easier. For now, I have to wait for the right time.
P.S: This is a literary non-fiction; i.e. it is a real life story that has been improved upon to effect a certain satisfaction in the mind of the reader. Gracias!