Fatima, …
The heavy traffic that occupied your mind eased slowly as the stars began their pilgrimage to heaven beyond, paving way for dawn. You had tired from all the mental stress and fell into an unchecked sleep. Your roommates made futile attempts to wake you, and they eventually threw in the towel.
You did not wake until one of them crashed into the room – the lecturer for her ten-to-twelve lecture declared he would not show up only after they had waited more than thirty minutes for him. The amount of sunlight in the room alarmed you, bringing you to your feet.
“What is the time?” you asked, wishing she would disprove your suspicion.
“After-eleven,” came her grumpy reply.
“We tried to wake you, but you no gree wake,” she added quickly, upon suspecting you were going to ask, ‘why una no wake me?’.
“I had an early morning appointment,” you whimper and drop onto your bed.
Your phone slipped into your grip as you lay supine. You flicked the power button, and the first notification that came up was ’36 missed calls’. Sliding your index finger onto the fingerprint scanner, the details of the calls you missed popped up. A sheepish smile crawled up your face as you saw the topmost notification, ’18 missed calls from Bae Bee’. It was Thursday, and he promised to come over before his lectures. You swiped down to check the time ’11:11 AM’.
“Shit!” you gnashed.
Bolaji must have left. He had lectures from 11:00 to evening every Thursday – you knew each other’s timetable by heart, so you knew how much free time he had every day. You tutted and loosened your grip on the phone, letting it land on your mattress silently. Barely had it touched down when Ed Sheeran’s ‘Perfect’ ran its tympanic sticks against your eardrums – the ring-tone was for only Bolaji’s calls.
“No way!” you exclaimed.
Your phone was too new to be misbehaving – it was barely a month old, and Bolaji never missed classes or kept his phone on during lectures. To confirm how much of a fool you were for buying the smartphone he recommended, you snatched it off the bed, and lo! It really was him, Bolaji, on the line, while his CEC 413 class was probably ongoing at the University Main-Campus. Shocked to the marrow, you swiped to the green end, and his voice barged in impatiently.
“Oh! How worried I was! How are you?”
“Are you not supposed to be in a class right now?” you ignored his concern.
“What the‽” he had started to grunt in disbelief, and his voice trailed off abruptly.
“What happened? Why weren’t you picking up your calls?” he asked.
“I was sleeping. Are you still around?” you put in indignantly.
“Yeah,” he muttered, unable to fathom your bland responses.
“The usual spot?”
“Alright. I’ll freshen up. See you in thirty.”
You hung up with a sinister grin – your game-on face.
It is time!
to be continued…
What do you think is going on in Bolaji’s mind?
What game do you think Fatima has in her sleeves?
What else do you think?
The comment box is all yours. Let us read all of your thoughts!
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P.S: This work is purely fictional. Any semblance to real persons (living or dead), places, or events are merely figments of the writer’s attempt at keeping in touch with reality.

✌🏾 Sayonara!

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