10. Kelechi
Chapter Ten
Kelechi
“….you should stop being scared and start being curious instead.” What Marley said last Saturday hadn’t left my mind since then. It had forever etched itself in a permanent place in my head that no matter how many times I tried to shut it off, it never budged.
It followed me around like a shadow, not able to detach itself from my thoughts.
Curious.
Dr. Jacques was explaining something about metaphysics at the front of the lecture hall, his voice a steady tone that should have been holding my attention. Instead, I found myself hyperaware of the presence behind me. Marley was sitting in her usual spot two rows back.
I could feel her there without even turning around. It was strange, this awareness. Like my body had developed some sort of radar specifically tuned only to her presence.
“The nature of reality,” Dr. Jacques was saying, “often exists beyond what we can immediately perceive or understand.”
I shifted slightly in my seat, angling myself just enough to steal a glance over my shoulder. She was taking notes, her dark hair falling across her face.
My thoughts drifted to her jacket. The one still hanging in my closet, the one I’d been too nervous to return. The one that still smelled like her and made my stomach do strange, fluttery things every time I looked at it.
Why haven’t I given it back yet? I wondered, though deep down I knew the answer. I wasn’t ready to let go of that connection, that tangible reminder of Saturday night.
As if sensing me staring, she looked up, and our eyes met. She winked at me and I felt heat flood my cheeks as I turned back around immediately.
What was wrong with me? I thought, pressing my hands to my warm cheeks. Why does just looking at her make me feel so strange?
Dr. Jacques continued his lecture. “Sometimes our most profound truths lie hidden beneath layers of societal conditioning.”
I tried to focus on his words, but my mind kept drifting back to that night. To the way she had looked at me so tenderly, to how her fingers had felt against my skin, to the way my whole body had leaned towards her without permission.
I almost kissed her.
No, worse, I wanted to.
The thought still made my heart race, and that left me petrified.
But what did that even mean? I’d never wanted to kiss anyone before. Not even Chukwuma, my fiancé back home. When I thought about Chukwuma’s kisses, pecks actually, they felt dutiful. They felt like what I was supposed to want rather than something I actually craved.
But with Marley, the wanting had been so intense it scared me. Every nerve in my body was reaching toward her, as if I might dissolve if she didn’t touch me.
Was this normal? I wondered. Did friends feel this way about each other?
But even as I asked myself the question, I knew this wasn’t friendship. Friends didn’t make your skin feel electric with just a simple touch. Friends didn’t make you lie awake at night replaying every word they’d said, every look they’d given you.
I risked another glance back and found her watching me again.
This time, instead of looking away, she winked. Actually winked.
And I had to grip the edge of my desk to steady myself.
What was she doing to me?
“The question,” Dr. Jacques said, “is whether we have the courage to examine these hidden aspects of ourselves.”
Hidden aspects, like the part of me that had felt more alive in that club with her than I ever had at home. The part that didn’t feel relieved when my mother’s call ruined everything.
I thought about everything I’d been taught growing up. About what was proper, what was expected, what my future should look like. Marriage, children. A quiet, respectable life that made my parents proud.
But none of those thoughts made me feel the way I’d felt when Marley had almost kissed me. None of them made my heart race or my skin tingle or made me feel like I was about to discover something wonderful and scary about myself.
Maybe, I thought hesitantly, maybe there are things about me I don’t understand yet.
And maybe that’s okay.
Curious.
The word rang in my head again.
Maybe she was right. Maybe instead of being afraid of these new feelings, I could try to understand them. Maybe I could be brave enough to explore whatever this was between us, even if I didn’t have words for it yet.
I could feel Marley’s presence like warmth at my back, and for the first time since Saturday night, I allowed myself to wonder:
What would have happened if my mother hadn’t called?
What would it have felt like to kiss her?
The thought sent a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the cold.
And why, I wondered, my heart beating faster, do I want to find out so badly?
“That will be all for today, class. Have a lovely day,” Dr. Jacques said, jolting me out of wherever I’d kept my head.
The hall started emptying, people moving around and chatting as I packed up my things. I literally had nothing much to do today; we only had one class on Mondays anyway.
I packed my things, still lost in thought.
“Hey.”
I caught her scent before she even uttered that word. I turned my head and saw her settling into the seat beside me, the one that had been vacated moments before.
“Well, good afternoon, Marley,” I said automatically.
She laughed softly. “Have I ever told you that you’re so formal?” Amusement dancing in her eyes.
“It’s muscle memory,” I said. “Back home, you’re formal with everyone. Elders, teachers, strangers… even friends sometimes.”
“In Germany, we’re the opposite,” she said. “We are very direct, less ceremony.” She said with a grin, then tilted her head. “Though I kind of love the way you say, ‘good afternoon.’ It feels like you’re addressing me as royalty.”
I laughed before I could stop myself. “And there’s something relaxing about how you just say exactly what you’re thinking.”
“Cultural differences,” she grinned, then leaned back, studying me. “Speaking of which, what are your grand plans for the rest of this lovely Monday?”
“Nothing too exciting,” I admitted. “Just heading back to my dorm to sleep a bit, then brainstorm the remaining interview questions for our project.”
Her face lit up.
“Perfect,” she said instantly. “Why don’t you come to my place instead? We can work together, make proper notes, and I’ll cook us some Sauerbraten. It’s way better than whatever mystery meat they’re serving in the dining hall today.”
“Sauerbraten?” I repeated, trying, and probably failing to pronounce it correctly.
She chuckled. “German pot roast. It’s marinated for days in vinegar and spices, then slow-cooked until it falls apart. My grandmother’s recipe. It’s basically a warm hug in food form.”
“That sounds incredible,” I said, my stomach already growling embarrassingly loud. “And much better than the instant noodles I was planning to have for dinner.”
“Instant noodles?” Marley looked genuinely horrified. “Absolutely not. I’m rescuing you from that tragic fate immediately.”
Rescuing me. It sounded ridiculous.
But it also sounded nice.
Too nice.
We both stood up, gathering our bags, and made our way toward the exit. The hall was nearly empty now, just a few stragglers chatting with Dr. Jacques near the front.
“Hey, guys!” called out a tall dude I recognised as James, one of our coursemates, standing with a small group near the door. “How’s the project coming along?”
“Making good progress,” Marley replied easily, while I just smiled and nodded.
We said our goodbyes and headed out to the parking lot. When we reached her car, she walked ahead and opened the passenger door for me.
“Thank you,” I said, sliding into the seat.
“No problem,” she replied, closing the door gently before walking around to the driver’s side.
Once she was settled and starting the engine, she glanced over at me.
“We’ll need to make a stop at the market first to grab some groceries and ingredients. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure,” I said, buckling my seatbelt. “I don’t mind at all.”
The drive to the supermarket was comfortable and filled with easy conversation about our different childhoods, her stories of strict German punctuality versus my tales of Nigerian family gatherings that could last for days.
She made me laugh when she described her grandmother’s horror at learning that some people didn’t plan their meals a week in advance.
At the supermarket, I watched in fascination as she moved through the aisles, selecting ingredients I had never heard of while explaining what each one would contribute to the dish. She was in her element, and there was something incredibly attractive about her confidence and knowledge.
“You really know what you’re doing,” I observed as she examined different cuts of meat with the focus of a scientist.
“My grandmother would disown me if I couldn’t make a proper Sauerbraten,” she grinned. “German grandmothers don’t mess around when it comes to family recipes.”
After loading up with everything we needed, we made our way to her place. I was expecting a typical student apartment, so when we pulled up in front of a sleek ten-storey apartment, I couldn’t hide my surprise.
“This is where you live?” I asked, craning my neck to look up.
“Benefits of having a trust fund,” she said with air quotes, though there was fondness in her voice, not arrogance.
We took the elevator up to the seventh floor, and I found myself making nervous jokes about the fancy button panel while Marley watched me with amusement.
When the elevator doors opened, she led me down a well-lit hallway to her door, pulling out a sleek key card instead of traditional keys.
“Very high-tech,” I commented.
She laughed, swiping the card and pushing open the door.
“After you, princess.”
I stepped inside and immediately gasped.