Location: FOSSA Hall Study Area | 7:30 AM
The study area is still empty when Judy arrived, exactly how she liked it.
She slumps into a corner table where morning light caught the dancing dust. Her blue Strat, three raining seasons of savings waiting in its case against the wall.
Before her lay a mini battlefield: sheet of music covered in arrows, ghost notes from desperate erasing, and margins screaming "NO!" and "TRY AGAIN!" in her hand, sincerely it's looking like a map of frustration more honest than any diary.
Judy hums under her breath, working through the melody again. It still isn't right. The bridge moved exactly where anyone will expect it to, which meant it will be boring, predictable. Everything she disdains.
She is twenty, a final year music student,who is obsessed with creating the perfect piece.
She is not doing it for the campus fame or validation from professors who thinks they knew what real music is. Nope, this is a childhood dream.
The song in her head, the one she heard at three in the morning when sleep wouldn't come, that was what she was chasing, a perfect song that can heal the soul.
If she can just translate it from her mind to paper, if she can just capture that feeling...
Her oversized hoodie was already making her sweat. December in Nsukka have no mercy, even this early. But she tugged it tighter anyway when it rode up, a habit so automatic she barely notices anymore. The head warmer covering most of her hair was equally uncomfortable and equally necessary. Like two sides of a coin.
Being pretty here is exhausting.Men paused mid-sentence when she walked by, the ladies glare at her with looks that can kill, if given the opportunity to, not all off them though, some admire and compliment her, others envy her.
Everyone had opinions about her body like it is a public property. So she hid it, buring herself in clothes that is her two sizes too big, and pretends she didn't notice how people looked disappointed when they couldn't see what they wanted to see.
The pencil scratched against paper as she tries yet another variation. What if the key change came earlier? What if she moves this whole section forward? She question her self with a frown on her face, biting on the far end of her pencil.
"I'm going to die working on these same eight measures," she muttered. "It's still old, bitter, and not there yet." Her shoulder hung lower, something rare for someone like her...the creation of her perfect piece is really taking a toll on her.
The line almost made her smile. Chika would've laughed if he is here, softly, the way he always do when she overthinks everything and will tell her she is being too hard on herself again.
Thinking about him loosened something in her chest.
Chika Offor, a philosophy student, super chronic worrier, the boy who apologized for breathing too loud...
Two years together, and she still couldn't believe someone that genuine was real.
He carries guilt for things that were never his fault, took the world's weight like it is his job.
Somehow, his broken edges fit with her need for control in a way that she herself can't describe.
Soon, footsteps echoed down the hall, and her shoulders tightened before she could stop them.
Too many times, pretty had meant open season for men who saw her as weak.
But the rhythm is kind of familiar,a careful and uneven steps and her body knows who it was before her eyes saw the figure.
..............
He pauses at the doorway like someone waiting to be told it was okay to come in.
His shoulders bending, chin low, trying to make himself smaller.
A sheen of sweat rolled from his forehead down to his neck,he is too nervous to pay attention to that, then that same automatic push of his glasses up his nose, almost tender in its familiarity.
"Uhmm, am so sorry for interrupting...you" he said with a look of worry.
"There it is again, the voice of someone apologizing for taking up space."
She stood up with a small relieved laugh. The pencil dropping from her fingers as her arms opened wide.
"My baby boo," she called, grinning. "Get over here."
Chika's face flushed as he tries desperately to look calm, with a few steps, he scooped Judy into his arms.. greedily inhaling her jasmine scents.
He sit close enough that their shoulders brushed. His scent hit her first,the familiar cheap hostel soap and morning sweat.
She knows it the way her fingers knew the ridges of her guitar strings, worn in and hers.
"You're here early." He leaned over the piano, his eyes narrowing at the sheet music as if it were a puzzle he had no hope of solving. "Still trying to wrestle this thing into shape?"
"And am losing the battle with this thing," she muttered, the corners of her mouth tilting into a small, wry smile.
He stayed quiet, watching her, and somehow that quiet made the morning temperature feel lighter.
"The bridge…I feel like it hates me," she said, fingers tracing an invisible rhythm on the keys. "I'm pretty sure the whole piece has grown a mind of its own, just to spite me."
She glanced at him, and for a beat, the frustration in her eyes softened. The music feels like a living thing, but having him here made the fight feel… less lonely, somehow.
"Music can't hate you."
If anyone else had said it, she might have rolled her eyes. But coming from him… it feels warm, oddly comforting in that soft, steady way only he could pull off.
He leaned a little closer, shrugging like it was nothing. "Though I spent three hours yesterday on a paper that was… an absolute nonsense. So I get....I understand how you are feeling."
She let out a short, quiet laugh, the tension in her shoulders loosening by just a fraction. The bridge could still defy her, but with him here, the struggle didn't feel so lonely.
"Your nonsense is better than most people's sense."
She meant it. She'd read his work before, watched the way his mind danced through complicated ideas like it was nothing, and somehow it made her own creative stumbles feel smaller, lighter, like almost manageable.
or to be sincere, useless.
He caught her glance, a small, nervous smile tugging at his lips, like he recognized the weight she'd been carrying and was quietly letting her share it with him.
He ducked his head, a faintest flush creeping up his neck. Praises made him twitch, a little awkwardly, like he'd been caught off-guard.
"Professor Okafor would disagree," he muttered, voice low, half-smile hiding behind a curtain of modesty.
She watched him, finding his reactions amusing, the warmth in her chest spreading. Even his deflection had a rhythm she could understand, a quiet honesty beneath his words.
"Professor Okafor wants you in graduate school. You told me that."
Her hand slid under the table, finding his fingers, weaving them together as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He stiffened for a heartbeat, then relaxed, letting her hold him.
"Stop pretending you're not brilliant," she murmured, her thumb brushing against his knuckles, "just because your brain… likes to torture you."
She glanced down at their entwined hands, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. For a moment, the music, the stubborn bridge, all the nonsense, it didn't matter. Just this, here, now, is enough.
She felt him flinch slightly. His mind will be working overtime now, untangling her words, separating truth from kindness, only to settle somewhere in between them. Our Classic Chika.
"How was your yesterday lecture?" she asked, easing the weight off him, giving a space to retreat. "Did he make you explain philosophy to everyone again?"
"Actually… yes." A real smile flickered,his anxiety letting him go for half a second.
" We treated Post-colonial ethics, Communal versus individualistic frameworks and I didn't completely embarrass myself."
"You never embarrass yourself," she said, her fingers brushing his. "Everyone else just doesn't think as hard as you do."
He laughed, his tone turning low and disbelieving. "That's definitely not true. But thanks… for the loyalty."
His palm was damp against hers, but she didn't care. They were past pretending to be perfect for each other.
"I have to cover a shift at the Medical Center canteen later," she said. "My partner called in sick, and I need the money."
His face shifted instantly, concern flaring. Protective instincts activating at light speed. "What time? I'll walk you."
"You have your lecture. The finals exams are coming, you can't skip it." She squeezed his hand. "I've been navigating this campus for four years, baby boo. I'll survive without a security detail."She added with a charming smile.
"I know. I just… worry."
The confession came like a small vulnerability, awkward and real, as if caring too much was something to hide.
"I know you do." She brushed hair from his face,her fingers soft against his cheek. "It's sweet. But you need to trust me."
He leaned into the touch,closing his eyes for a second before opening them again.His face still showing his doubt, well not about her safety, he still finds it difficult to believe that he is dating such an ebony damsel.
"Tomorrow," Judy said firmly. "you will take me out,on an actual date, this one is not from the stolen minutes before lectures oo. We're going off campus. To have a real food and a quality time, just for the both of us"
"Off campus?" His brain immediately ran through budgets and logistics. "Where?"
"Somewhere that isn't campus vendors. We'll figure it out okay?." delivering her K.O smile that instantly gave Chika a one hit kill. "Say yes, Chika, promise me."
"I promise."
She knows he will be doing some mental calculations right now, maybe calculating if he could make it nice enough.
"It doesn't have to be expensive. Just… us."
"I know. I want that too." He said in his pure sincere voice. One of the things she loved most about him. Chika didn't know how to be anything but genuine, even when it hurts him.
The clock caught her eye. "You need to start going, there is only twenty minutes until your lecture, which means fifteen of those will be spent worrying about being late."
He checked his watch and grimaced. "You know me too well."
"Two years of practice..." She kissed him,her lips were so soft like a cotton candy if Chika have ever had some.
They both smiled when they pulled apart. "Go learn about ethics and not to overthink everything."
"You know it's an....impossible request," he said, standing, gathering his bag. He looked back twice before rounding the corner, each glance carrying affection laced with worry.
Judy watched him leave, her smile lingering. She returned to her sheet music, humming the melody. It didn't sound quite as terrible anymore.
She didn't know this was their last normal conversation, nor did she know a normal tomorrow will never come, that the date she'd wrung from him would remain forever unscheduled. She only knew Chika Offor saw her first as a person, not a body, and that was rare enough to be precious.
The composition still resisted resolution. But there'd be time later to fix it. Time to find the right progression, the surprise, the emotional catharsis that justified every struggle.
Or so she thought.
.....
Location: University Medical Center | 11:00 AM - 11:15 AM
The Medical Center scented like every traditional hospital.
Chimdi noticed it the moment she stepped through the doors. Antiseptic struggling to mask illness. Ceiling fans groaning like they might collapse at any second.
This is Nigerian healthcare in a nutshell: underfunded, understaffed, everyone bending over backward with nothing to work with, doing their best while the system buckled around them. She let out a quiet, bitter sigh and kept moving,keeping her guard.
Her father would have hated this place. He would have known exactly what to do, how to make it work. Chief Eze had a mind for systems, for order, for fixing what is broken.
But he'd been gone for fifteen years, taken under circumstances that still made her blood boil if she let herself think about them too long. Which is why she didn't, think about it,at least not here or now.
Men promised protection then they vanish when you need them the most.
That is the lesson. The only lesson that mattered.
She spotted Precious in the waiting area. She recognized her from church small group meetings, where they have exchanged polite greetings but never gone any deeper.
She is also Paul's wife, the quiet, stoic one who always stuck close to Abuchi, known for never fully letting anyone in.
"Wait," is that Abuchi's friend? Yes, definitely. Paul, he is the serious one, the kind of man who looked like he could break someone in half, but moved with careful restraint, always aware of his own strength.
Precious is sitting with baby Hope in her arms, and even from across the room, Chimdi could hear the little one's breathing. Each inhale sounded like a raspy and uneven struggle, too loud for such a tiny chest.
Every protective instinct Chimdi possessed activated immediately. Babies and vulnerable women cut through her carefully constructed armor like it was paper. She crossed the waiting area before she'd even found out she is on the move.
"How is she doing?"
Precious looked up, exhaustion and a flicker of relief in her eyes. Nineteen years old with a three-week-old baby and medical worries have been very difficult on her. Her British accent made her sound calmer than she clearly feel.
"Respiratory infection. We've been waiting since nine. The appointment was supposed to be at nine, but…" She gestured helplessly at the crowded waiting area, at the system that prioritized emergencies over appointments, at the reality of Nigerian healthcare where waiting was just part of the experience.
"Let me see if I can help."
Chimdi didn't ask for permission. She moved with quiet purpose, scanning the room until she found her nurse friend, then leaned on their relationship with the practiced ease of someone who understood that institutions often ran on informal power more than official rules.
Five minutes later, Precious was being escorted to an examination room, jumping the queue. Chimdi stayed behind for a second, letting the chaos of the waiting area wash over her, chest tightening with something she didn't bother naming.
Problem solved. Not all problems yielded to direct action, but this one had. She let herself linger on that small victory, the satisfaction in her chest.
"Look go in this new outfit, Angel..see em bunnies..they wan burst out."
A male doctor passed through the waiting area, making some comment to a nurse about how well her uniform fit.
The leer in his tone left no room for misinterpretation. The nurse laughed, well that's all she can do, after all she is already becoming used to it.
Chimdi's glare can melt steel, if there is any present.
The doctor caught her expression and actually looked away, his smirk fading. She had catalogued him, judged him, and delivered her verdict without a word.
And from her looks, he knows exactly what she thought of him.
Afterward, the nurse friend whispered, "You looked like you wanted to set him on fire."
"Don't tempt me," Chimdi said, the words looking more serious than humor. Her temper were not just for words. She had spent two years learning to channel will and anger into tangible flame, and some days the urge to burn things will be stronger than other days.
Around 11:15, passing the Medical Center canteen on her way out, she spotted someone vaguely familiar behind the counter. Recognition clicked after a moment. Judy. The girl who is dating Chika, Paul's friend, the one who hung around Abuchi.
Music student, obviously. The blue guitar case gave it away even from the hallway.
"Hey"
"Hi"
They exchanged polite greetings, the bare minimum between two lives connected only by the men around them. Judy's warmth met Chimdi's reserved acknowledgment. Neither pushing beyond what the situation allowed.
The guitar case told its own story, music student, probably talented and confident enough to carry her craft everywhere. The interaction planted a seed, subtle and unobtrusive, leaving room for whatever might come next.
Chimdi left thinking about her Film Practicals that afternoon, wondering if Abuchi would finally summon the courage to actually speak to her instead of just gazing at with those nervous eyes.
Three months of obvious interest, zero execution. It should have annoyed her more than it did.
Maybe it was because he reminded her of her father, the version her mother liked to tell stories about.
The man who had fumbled through courtship with genuine nervousness instead of false bravado, more human than looking scary.
The December sun hit her like a physical wall as she stepped outside. Already brutal, and it wasn't even noon.
She checked her watch. 11:17 AM. Hours until Film Practicals. Time for lunch and revision.
She didn't know that Film Practicals would never happen. Didn't know that in twenty-eight minutes, all her careful plans would be obliterated. She only knew the world continued in its ordinary patterns of heat, bureaucracy, and sweet boys who couldn't find their courage.
As she is about to take a step forward, she puased, looking confused. She had a feeling she forgot something and she is always right when things like this happens.
With a decisive nod,she did a 360 heading back into the hospital waiting area.
.....
Location: Multiple Campus Locations | 11:40 AM - 11:45 AM.
The last minutes passed in ordinary patterns, footsteps on cracked pavement, laughter bouncing off walls, the hum of campus life, that will later become unbearably precious.
Chika walked with Paul and Abuchi, his hand finding his wallet unconsciously. His fingers traced Mrs. Okonkwo's note through the leather, each curve of the paper etching into his memory.
Professor Okafor's words about moral courage echoed relentlessly. Eighteen months of guilt that refused to fade, no matter how deeply he buried it.
He tries to focus on Abuchi's joke about eating Mama Ngozi's entire kitchen, but his thoughts kept slipping away. To Judy at the Medical Center. To Emeka's voice in the darkness. To the question that clawed at him relentlessly: When it matters, who will you be?
Paul checked his phone one last time. Seeing a message from
Precious: everything is fine, darling they prescribed antibiotics,I will be heading home soon my love.
He tries to breathe, at least to let himself relax and believe that his family is safe, to be present with his brothers instead of running mental calculations of travel times or imagining every worst-case scenario.
Abuchi kept his smile bright, his energy high, even as his mind raced ahead, rehearsing every possible line he might say to Chimdi later. Film Practicals meant seeing her again.
Maybe finally working up the courage to speak in full sentences instead of nervous glances. His hands stayed steady only through sheer force of will, heart hammering, memories of that fuel station threatening to claw back into consciousness.
At the Medical Center, Judy hummed her melody as she organizes supplies. The lunch rush will begin soon, leaving her a rare, quiet time like calm after the storm.
She adjusted the bridge section of her composition in her head, wondering if a subtle shift in progression might finally give it the resolution she had been chasing.
Tomorrow's date with Chika drifted into her thoughts, bringing a small, genuine smile to her face.
Precious emerged from the examination room, Hope cradled against her chest, prescription in hand. Relief unfurled through her like untying the rock on her legs.
The four-kilometer walk home suddenly seemed manageable. She thought of calling Paul, knowing he will be trying to hide his relief but will fail completely, just as he always did.
Chimdi reached the entrance to the waiting unit, shoulders tightening as she let her mind shift toward the afternoon.
Film Practicals loomed, a chance to see if Abuchi would finally speak in actual words instead of half-formed nervous glances. She felt a flicker of hope for it, which surprised her. Men usually are disappointing jerks.
But there is something about his obvious jokes, his genuine interest, that made her willing to give him a chance.
Time ticked forward, precise and indifferent:
11:44:55. Chika's watch counted the seconds as he walked, each tick reminding him about the time his adding to the already existing 18 months of trauma.
11:44:56. Paul's phone updated with the latest what'sapp message, his thumb hovering over it as he forced himself to stay calm.
11:44:57. Abuchi's eyes flicked toward Film Studies in the distance, his mind rehearsing lines he hadn't yet spoken.
11:44:58. Judy's canteen radio played something forgettable, the mundane hum of normal life carrying on around her.
11:44:59. Precious adjusted Hope in her arms, preparing to start the walk home, relief radiating from every careful movement.
11:45:00. Chimdi checked her watch, calculating the minutes until class, unaware of how quickly ordinary moments would shatter, unaware that the threads of all their lives were about to be forced together.
And at exactly 11:45 and zero seconds, everything went dark.
Not gradually, it is without warning....