crush

Creative Essays, Writers

Mia’s University Crush by Lene Juliana.

/

  Loud bangs jostled Mia from her sleep. A few seconds passed before she figured the thumps were coming from her front door. Hazy from sleep and miffed that her sleep was interrupted, Mia heaved out of bed and flounced to the door. She rolled her eyes when she saw it was Judith, her exasperatingly intrusive neighbor who lived 3 houses from hers. “What is it, Judith?” Mia said. Mia’s unwelcoming tone of voice did not faze Judith. “A hot guy just moved into that house.” Judith pointed to the house after Mia’s. “So?” “You need a man in your life. This is your chance.” As if Judith knew what Mia was thinking, she added, “He’s not married. I did my findings.” “Of course you did,” Mia said. Just then, Mia spotted the new guy coming out of his house and her jaws dropped. “Oh my God!” she said. The new neighbor was Christopher, her university crush. The same Christopher that Mia drooled over as if he was an irresistible exotic delicacy. But he had a girlfriend back then. So Mia had settled for being just friends with him. Mia felt alarmed that Christopher still had this electric effect on her. The intensity of it baffled her. She felt a flurry in her stomach as she drank in Christopher’s god-like handsomeness. Judith cleared her throat, startling Mia out of her daydream. “You are ogling.” “No, I’m not,” Mia said, trying to keep her dignity in place. “Yes, you were.” Mia shrugged. “That’s just Chris. My classmate at University. He’s good-looking but nah he’s not my type. I’ve seen better-looking guys.” Judith was skeptical, “You have seen better guys and you are still single?” she asked. Mia glared at Judith. “Alright, you have overstayed your welcome. You can go now.” Mia said and shut her door. Inside, Mia pressed her back against the door and gulped some air. Her chest was beating so fast she had to tell herself to relax. What were the odds? Who would have thought Christopher would become her next-door neighbor after 12 years? Unmarried, If Judith’s findings were to be trusted. And drop-dead handsome, as ever. Mia found herself peeking out her window to check for signs that Christopher was back. Wheels turned in her head with plans to ask Chris on a date. Not snatching this opportunity would be witless. What if this was fate, playing matchmaker? She couldn’t have him then, but she could now. A few minutes after 4 PM, Mia glimpsed Christopher unlocking his door. She took a quick shower, made herself presentable, and went over by 5:30 PM, but not before rehearsing her line. Mia rang the doorbell and waited. The door flung open a few seconds later to reveal a gorgeous lady. Oh no, but Judith said he had no wife. “Uh hi there,” Mia said. “Hi,” the lady said with a satin-smooth voice. “I am Mia. Chris’s old classmate. Looks like you just moved in. I’ve come to say hi.” “Chris!” the lady called, “Someone is looking for you.” She invited Mia into the house. “I’m Zoe, Chris’s sister,” she said. “Oh,” Mia remarked. That was good news. Mia hoped she concealed her relief and excitement well. “Please have a seat. I’ll go get Chris.” “Thank you,” Mia said and perched on a sofa. Zoe came back a few minutes later. “He’ll be with you soon. Can I get you something?” she said. “Water is fine. Thank you.” Mia took in the apartment while she waited for Christopher to join her. Artworks lined the living room wall and there was a bookshelf on a corner. While she looked through the books, Mia heard someone cough behind her. She turned around and there stood Christopher. “Chris! Oh my God” Mia said. She threw her arms around Christopher and hugged him. But she  sensed that Christopher was disinclined and retreated. She found him staring at her like she was an incongruous piece of furniture he didn’t remember buying. “It’s me, Mia. We were classmates at University. The girl with the afro. We were paired together for Mr Atkinson’s infamous assignment in 400 level,” Mia said, trying to jog his memory. Christopher’s face was blank. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’ve ever met. Maybe you have me confused with someone else.” He said. “Oh,” Mia said, nonplussed. “You don’t remember me? No kidding?” Mia asked. Christopher opened his mouth to say something but remained quiet. “Um okay. I’m just going to take my leave. I’m sorry.” Mia was turning the doorknob when Christopher asked her to wait. “Which University are you referring to?” He asked. Goodness, he wasn’t kidding. He genuinely didn’t remember her. That was weird. Did he get into an accident that took his memory? “Lagos State University, LASU.” Mia replied. “I went to Unilag.” He said. “But my brother went to LASU. My twin brother.” Twins. It never occurred to her that Christopher could be a twin. Because Christopher never mentioned it. “So you aren’t Christopher?” “No, that’s my brother. I’m Christian.” “Goodness! I can swear you are the same person. But Christopher never mentioned he had a twin. Where is he though?” “Christopher is married, so he’s there in Abuja being a family man.” “Married! Wow! Great!” Mia’s voice increased with each word. “Um anyway, welcome to the neighborhood. It’s a lovely place to be. Except for Judith, my nosey neighbor.” “Judith was here so I understand what you mean.” They both stood there, not saying a word. “I’ll take my leave now. Welcome once again.” Mia finally said. “Yea, thanks for dropping by.” Mia started to leave but she paused and turned to face Christian. “I had a huge crush on Christopher when we were at University. I thought I’d gotten over that crush, but when I saw you, thinking it was Chris of course, it came back, stronger.” Mia broke off and looked at Christian. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I said

Creative Essays, Writers

The Moment I Divorced Fear by Ebube Ezeadum.

/

Aunty Paulina came for a visit. She was my favorite aunt and I made a conscious effort not to disappoint her. I have grown up now; I have entered my early twenties, yet I still reverence her the same way I did when I was only seven. She, unlike me, still fanned the flame of her affection for church activities. She had said the very evening she arrived: “Oya o… Ka anyi je vigil o.” “Ah,” My fingertips crawled across my scalp, “Aunty Pauli, please I don’t have the strength to go for vigil o.” “Strength? Come to church and be strengthened in God’s words,” her mild stare erased whatever I had planned to use to counter her words, “Chukwu ge nye gi ike. God will give you strength, o our son.” “But Aunty, how na? I just said I was tired.” “Have you forgotten how we attended that Ebube Muonso crossover program and your father brought home an oven? Or how you passed your third WAEC only after you choose to get closer to God in that pastor Hilary’s vigil? Do you think that 2018 was a year of random luck? Ichefuola?” I had not forgotten. That was the year my WAEC result was decorated with the ABC grades, unlike previous years when I always had either of the DEF letters — E8 and F9 being my major grades then. Aunty Paulina wasn’t lying; I didn’t just pass just because I was going to Adams Tutorial — I had been there for three years. I didn’t pass because I was repeating the exam questions yearly — I was getting worse grades with time until that wonderful year. Aunty Paulina knew how to hit me. And she did it well. “Okay ma,” anyone could hear the song of defeat in my voice without using earphones, “Let me go and prepare.” She rubbed me of my chance to complete the last few chapters of Obinze and Ifemelu story in Ngozi Adichie’s book, Americanah. I took off my green shirt, held the part that had been in faithful contact with my armpits and sniffed it — terrible! The stench was worse than when I had sweated from playing football. The heat was getting worse. I threw the clothes on the floor and searched my wardrobe for another T-Shirt. I spotted a maroon and white striped jersey and threw it over my head. “Yes, aunty Pauli,” I quickly rushed outside; my siblings, mom and her sister were all outside, “I am coming ooh.” I wanted to lock the door but dad just came back and he was too tired to go with us. I greeted him and helped him carry his load inside while my aunty, mum and siblings left for church. My wristwatch read 18:27. I was twenty-seven minutes late already and I was still at home. The journey to church was about fourteen minutes but I got there in nine minutes with periodic jogging and stopping along the way. But the time I was in the church building, I was a breathing cave. I pointed to a few empty seats which to my surprise, were taken. A woman had placed a scarf on one, a book on a second chair and a Bible bag on another. I knew she was keeping the seats for a couple of people she was rather more familiar with. I didn’t want trouble in a program I never voluntarily wish to attend. And so, I searched for another chair. “One thing killing Christians all over the world is FEAR!” The speaker next to my left ear spat directly into my brain. I then knew why that chair was empty — not many people could bear the proximity of the speaker. “God will only support you when you chose to do that which you feel is impossible. The faith of this generation, my dear brethren, has been replaced by fear. That’s why many are asking God: why are we still struggling in many areas of our lives, even when God—even when our Abba father has given us the tools to achieve what we chose to do.” I thought of how to tell anyone what I really wanted to say without soothing my words. I most especially pictured how I would tell Iya Dolapo to stop asking me to “help” her fetch water every morning.   ***   It was like any other Sunday except the fact that it was the first Sunday of August 2019. I scanned the entire congregation and my eyes spotted a special sight. It was Angela! My God, she was back from school, too! I swam against the resisting current of the crowd. My head up. I didn’t want to lose sight of the dark-haired lady in a brilliant orange gown again; I propelled myself closer. “Angela!” I called. Her face, like a few others, turned towards me. It searched for the lips that made her neck rotate to the rear. I was about to wave until a child below my chin started crying — her black shoe had the footprint of my shoe. By the time I tried pacifying the child and rained her mother with “I’m sorry ma,” Angela had finally drowned in the crowd. I entered the church. My whole mind was on my seeing Angela. Then the words of the pastor from the vigil two days earlier surfaced my skull from its original depth. To get what I want, I had to get rid of the fear I had. My attempt to focus on the service was futile. And I didn’t battle my distraction. It seemed as though each time I looked at my wristwatch, time slowed its pace and so I reduced my constant checking. Offertory reached and I waited behind on the pew for one singular reason — I wanted to trace her as she dances to the alter and back to her seat. At least, I can monitor her location rather than harbor an imaginative

Creative Essays, Writers

My Forever Crush by Roselyn Sho-Olajide.

/

It was a Saturday, with the sweltering sun mercilessly unleashing its fury. The unbearable heat made me sit on the balcony of our duplex to savour the pages of Kristin Hannah’s Nightingale while I sip a bottle of cold Coke. Our house, like many others in my neigbourhood, was a beautiful duplex shaded by a fence and two white gates flanked by tiles walls. The worth of our gates and fence would comfortably build an apartment in the slums of Jos. The floor of the compound was covered with interlocks and a small part beside the house had rose and hibiscus flowers. My elevated position on the balcony gave me a view of what was going on outside our gate and even passersby — which were usually few. As if prodded by a phantom finger, I raised my head from the book I was engrossed in time to see a lone figure walked past our gate. I paused for a few seconds to really drink in the sight of what I just saw. It stunned me in the happiest of ways that after several years, I had just set my eyes on him. No, it couldn’t be him. Of course, the face looked familiar. Not just the face, but his slow gait, too. I would have spotted him even in the dark. Why wouldn’t I? Not when I had crushed on him until he graduated from school. It took me several months after he left before I finally got over him. Let me start from the beginning so that you will have a clearer picture of it all… We were staying in Abuja before my father decided to move his business to Jos. I was transferred from the secondary school I was attending back then in Abuja to another school in Jos — a boarding. On my first day in school, during the assembly, the head prefect came up to pass announcement, and that was it. I discovered within the split second it took to lift my little finger that I was smitten. It was not about his looks. He wouldn’t be called handsome by all standards. What struck me was his diction, the fact that he had an amazing command of the English Language that sent my mind reeling in all directions. Just a sentence from him and I knew he was intelligent and his words sounded like music to my ears. You can call it crush, if you like, but right from that day, I saw Datong in my dreams and on the pages of the books I read. I would deliberately position myself where he will take notice of me. I guess he had seen me several times. One day, I sighted him coming several steps from where I was standing and deliberately plotted it in a way that the books I was holding fell right in his front. He proved to be not only intelligent, but chivalrous. He stooped to help me pick every book, even though he was the head prefect, while I was merely a Senior Secondary (SS) 1 student. “Oh, dear! I’m sorry,” he said as he helped me pick my books that were strewn on the ground. “Thank you, senior,” I said smiling and secretly enjoying the moment of having him that close. So close that I caught a whiff of the chocolate-like fragrance of the cologne he had on him. “Are you a new student?” he inquired. “Yes. I resumed last Monday,” I replied. Oh…That was a week ago. From which school? “Madonna Secondary School, Abuja.” “That’s good. You should be with the other students having breakfast and not to be seen loitering.” “I am not hungry,” I lied smoothly. The truth was, I was hungry, but I knew he would be around there and needed just to have an encounter with him. I was hoping it would make him come close to me and in my childish mind, imagined he would ask me out and we will live happily ever. Don’t blame me; it was too much romance novels at work. “What’s your name? “Tata,” I replied.” “Funny name. Tata, a week is long enough for you to know that it’s against the school rule for you to be anywhere, but the dining hall at this time of the day even when you are not hungry,” he admonished in a matter-of-fact tone. What he didn’t know was that I had taken the bull by the horn and delayed going for breakfast just so this scene will play out the way it was playing at that moment. “I’m sorry, senior,” I said as I hugged my books and made my way to the dining hall to eat my breakfast of tea, bread, and boiled egg. A few days after that first encounter, I tried to get him to notice me again. It was a labour day — a day when general cleaning was done in the school — and my class was assigned to weed the school garden. We were busy at work when I noticed senior Datong chatting heartily with two other prefects not too far from where we were working. I decided to play a fast one. My acting skills came to the fore, and I feigned fainting. I laid still while my classmates, Datong, and the other perfect rushed to where I laid on the lawn. They immediately took me to the school clinic to be administered first aid. It was apparently my lucky day — Datong followed me to the clinic! At least I had him close for some minutes before I “was revived” and was later discharged from the school clinic. As the days flew by, l saw little Datong. He was preparing for his final exams — West African Examination Council (WAEC) — and was knee-deep in his studies. Barely a month after I resumed, WAEC was over and he had left. I was heartbroken when he handed over to an acting senior prefect and had graduated. I couldn’t believe that I have just seen Datong in my

Join our essay competition.

This will close in 13 seconds

Solverwp- WordPress Theme and Plugin

Scroll to Top