By mid-afternoon, the sun had climbed higher, baking the University of Lagos campus in the heat of early afternoon. Vendors' calls mingled with the steady thrum of students hustling between faculty buildings. The distant roar of danfo buses on the roads outside mingled with the occasional honk of a car trying to squeeze through Lagos traffic, while hawkers carrying trays of puff-puff, meat pies, and chilled zobo threaded through the students' paths.
Nora, with her friends in tow, stepped out of the hostel, the familiar campus smell of wet concrete and fried street food clinging to her sneakers. Debbie was practically skipping, still talking a mile a minute about deadlines, internship submissions, and viva preparations.
"I'm telling you, if Prof Arukwe drops another random assignment today, I might just cry on the spot," Debbie moaned, fanning herself with her notebook.
"Prof Arukwe is scary," Ima added, squinting in the sunlight, adjusting her headphones. "But if anyone can make us survive, it's us. Remember how we handled 300-level chaos?"
Omar, arms crossed and walking with that calm confidence she always carried, smirked. "Yes, chaos handled. But stress handled differently. We've grown. We adapt. Finals stress is a different animal."
Princess, ever quiet, trailed behind the group, notebook in hand. Her soft voice barely audible over the chatter. "We just need to stick together. Map out our priorities. Even if chaos comes, we can survive."
Nora felt a small tug beneath her ribs, subtle yet familiar—the hum she had learned to recognize since childhood. Something felt… off, but she brushed it aside. Today, focus was on surviving another evening class, another day closer to graduation.
⸻
By 2:50 pm, they arrived at the Faculty of Science hall, the red-brick building already buzzing with students. The scent of fried suya from a nearby vendor drifted through the air. The walls were plastered with hand-written notices about registration, project deadlines, and lost-and-found warnings. A group of 200-level students argued loudly over a timetable, while a tiny gang of first-years tried desperately to find the hall for Prof Arukwe's class.
"Classic Unilag," Debbie muttered, brushing dust off her skirt. "Chaos, sun, food vendors, and people who can't find a hall."
"Welcome to Lagos university life," Nora replied with a faint smile. "You either adapt, or you complain forever."
Inside the hall, students shuffled into their usual seats. Nora and her friends settled into a familiar corner—they always kept their spots together. The wooden chairs were scratched, some wobbly, but the view of the whiteboard and the lecturer's desk was unobstructed. Nora's eyes wandered briefly over the crowd: familiar faces, friends from other faculties, and the occasional new intern struggling to locate the hall.
At exactly 3 pm, Professor Arukwe strode into the room. With her sharp glasses, tightly knotted bun, and a commanding presence, she had the kind of aura that made even the rowdiest students sit upright. The chatter in the hall died down almost instantly.
"Good afternoon," Prof Arukwe began, her voice steady but firm. "I trust you are ready for today's lecture. And yes, there may be an impromptu assessment, so pay attention."
Debbie groaned under her breath. "I knew it… this woman lives to torment us."
Nora smirked faintly, leaning back, while Ima whispered, "Relax, we've got this. Together."
The lecture began, diving into complex food science and technology topics. Nora scribbled notes meticulously, her pen moving faster than some of her classmates could read. Occasionally, she glanced at her friends, who were following along in their usual fashion: Debbie furiously taking notes and muttering summaries under her breath, Ima whispering questions, Omar observing calmly, and Princess quietly noting key points.
As the lecture progressed, a subtle tension ran beneath Nora's calm exterior. She caught a fleeting glimpse of a shadow moving outside the window—just at the edge of her vision, gone before anyone else could notice. Her pulse throbbed subtly, the hum in her veins quickening ever so slightly. She blinked, shaking her head, forcing her attention back to Prof Arukwe's words.
It was a tiny, almost imperceptible reminder: something was approaching, waiting… something that had begun noticing her long before she ever would know it.
The clock ticked slowly, the lecture hall filled with murmurs, scribbles, and the occasional cough from a student trying to suppress nerves. By the time the class ended at 6 pm, the group stretched and prepared to leave, the evening Lagos sun slanting long shadows across the campus grounds.
"Finally," Debbie sighed, wiping sweat from her brow. "Survived another one. Barely."
"Barely?" Omar raised a brow. "You're exaggerating, as usual."
"Exaggerating? Girl, surviving Prof Arukwe is an Olympic sport," Debbie countered, rolling her eyes dramatically.
Nora glanced toward the window one last time before they left, and once again, her eyes caught a fleeting silhouette disappearing among the students. Nothing else. But the hum beneath her skin flared stronger, a subtle warning that her life was about to intersect with something far larger than Unilag, Lagos, or the ordinary chaos of final-year life.