He saw her. She hadn’t noticed him. That was the way he liked it. Kweku sat beside the wall and leaned lazily on his chair, books opened before him, pen tip in mouth, eyes fixed on her. She was buried in something and nearly oblivious to what was going on around.
He sat at one corner of the hall, and she at the opposite end, diagonal from his preferred spot. As it turned out, that too was her preferred spot, where the windows opened to the lawn and quadrangle, and the worker’s gossip downstairs filtered upwards to break the silence of the room.
The distraction helped her focus. And it helped him focus on her too. His thoughts were consumed in his little fantasy. I like her! His mind was elated at the thought.
Library hours closed late, and the squeaking of chairs turned the studious silence upside down. It was the uproar of tired seniors making the most of a short night before the tests. All he had studied that night was Abena. Thermodynamics can take care of itself.
With the chorus of mutters and the sea of people walking through the door, and out into the cold night, Kweku steered his every step in her direction, finally brushing against her as they crossed the threshold. She was in Africa Hall, so the road took her to the right, by the Queen’s road and down to the left of Repu, where the lightless footpath found its way to Africa. From the library, he would have taken the left route across Independence Hall, down to Unity roundabout, then West End. He took the longer path.
The conversation stalled with her reply. She didn’t look up from her phone. They walked about fifteen steps.
“Christ in you”
“The hope of glory” she replied with a smile. That was the best way he could start a conversation with her, or with anyone in particular. Going by the church route made it simpler. Naturally, he chipped in something trite about the school. He got a practiced reply. His next shot was the day. He hoped his red shirt will be a talking point, but the dim lit road made it useless. Besides, she was till busy pecking on her phone screen.
He sort of mumbled something about preferring to call it Chocolate day, and he chipped in something judgmental about such vanities, which amused him. She laughed because he did.
“But you’re not in the mood kraa, ei! Some serious Chrif levels” he said. She had a long black skirt with a yellow top on, and a black scarf about her neck to keep out the cold, February night.
“O Apostle, you too!” she said, touching him a bit on his arm, not in any amoral way. They both giggled it off. He turned when they got to Republic hall, giving her a half-hug and she wishing him the best in his test and project.
Marcus blew his horn sharply, as he sped in front of Indece Hall, nearly running his Vectra saloon into the absent minded Kweku. A couple of students stopped to look at the scene. There was a quick exchange of insults not fit to type, before he drove on towards Queen’s and the down, turning right to Africa hall.
As she heard his car stop at the drive way, She revealed enough skin already if she sat. Not too much to get the boys hungrier. Her thighs arrested a few eyes that went up the stairs as she descended. God knows what they saw under that skirt.
Akwurasi fuor, she muttered under her breath and cleared her throat a bit. Too much perfume, but that’s what Marcus liked.
She skipped across the road to his car, adjusting her blouse, trying not to show her pierced navel.