Chapter Four: Present Day
Yeah, for that—it's good to know. I zipped up my bag and glanced around the training hall, the hum of conversation and footsteps filling the space. Everyone seemed to know exactly where they were going, but I still felt that little flutter of nervous anticipation. Signing in again at the front desk, I reminded myself that the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, was no ordinary place. It carried a reputation, and I had worked hard to get here. I was Tuka—Rose Tuka—and I wasn't about to let a few nerves throw me off.
I picked up my ID and stepped inside. The hall was buzzing with students from different departments, and somewhere in the crowd, I spotted him. Lucas.
He leaned casually against a table, flipping through a stack of papers like he owned the place. Not that he needed to; the moment he was around, he already seemed to command attention. Some people laughed at his jokes, others whispered quietly, but I didn't really notice them. My eyes were on him, even though I tried not to let it show.
I walked past, signing in at the nearest desk. He called my name—well, more like a teasing announcement:
"Rose! There you are! Don't tell me you're still hiding behind the paperwork."
I rolled my eyes but smiled faintly. "Lucas. I'm not hiding. Just… checking in."
He grinned that irritating, confident smile. "Checking in, huh? Sounds very… proper. I like it."
I shook my head and moved past him, but he fell into step beside me effortlessly, his presence like a shadow I couldn't ignore. We signed in together and headed toward the training room, the chatter of the other students fading behind us.
Inside, things were calmer than the entrance hall. Desks were neatly arranged, laptops humming, and the supervisors were already discussing the day's tasks. I set my bag down, pulling out my notebook and pen. Lucas, as usual, flopped into the chair next to mine with a casual confidence that made me inwardly groan.
"So, what's the plan today?" I asked, flipping open my notebook.
He leaned back, arms behind his head. "Plan? I'm flexible. You seem like the organized type. Lead the way, Rose."
I blinked at him. "Lead the way? Lucas, this is a group project. You're supposed to contribute too."
He shrugged with a lazy smile. "I contribute in style."
I tried not to smile, but it was hard. Even when he was teasing, there was something almost effortless about him that drew attention. I focused on my notebook, jotting down notes, organizing the tasks, while he leaned over occasionally, suggesting ideas—half serious, half teasing.
It was strange, working with him in the present moment. Unlike some people who were loud, aggressive, or obnoxious, Lucas wasn't trying to dominate. He was playful, confident, and irritatingly charming—but he actually listened. I could see he noticed the details, the small things about the project, about the group. It made me wonder if there was more to him than just the playboy image everyone whispered about.
We spent the next few hours going through tasks, assigning responsibilities, and organizing research. Occasionally, he'd smirk at something I wrote or quietly correct a minor mistake, but always in a teasing, lighthearted way that made me tense and laugh at the same time.
By the end of the session, I felt that familiar mixture of exhaustion and anticipation. Exhaustion from concentrating, from organizing, from trying not to let my reactions to Lucas get the better of me. Anticipation because, somehow, being around him—despite all the teasing and playful annoyance—kept me alert, focused, and even… entertained.
As we packed up to leave, he nudged my shoulder lightly. "See you tomorrow, organized Rose. Don't let me catch you slacking off."
I rolled my eyes but smiled faintly. "Goodbye, Lucas. Try not to get distracted by your own charm."
He laughed—a low, teasing sound that echoed in the quiet hallway. And as I walked back to my room, I realized that even now, in the middle of this industrial training, there was something about working with him that made the days feel… alive.
Not love. Not yet. But something—curiosity, amusement, a spark of tension I didn't quite understand—was already there.
And somehow, I had a feeling Lucas knew it too