The first rays of dawn spilled across the University of Lagos campus, painting the walkways golden and casting long shadows that stretched toward the low-rise hostels. Students were already stirring—some dragging themselves toward the common room, some laughing loudly, arms full of books or snacks, their voices rising above the distant hum of city traffic. For Nora Amadi, it was just another day, though she carried herself as though the world moved at her pace, not the other way around.
Inside the hostel, the small room smelled faintly of fried akara and body spray, mixed with the lingering dust of yesterday. Nora rose from her bed, her long, slim-thick body stretching with effortless grace, curves subtle yet impossible to ignore. Her skin gleamed softly, flawless, bronzed by the morning light filtering through the narrow window. Her hair, thick and wavy, tumbled over her shoulders, slightly messy but perfect in a way that needed no effort. Her almond-shaped eyes opened, scanning her surroundings with careful attention.
Her side of the room was neat: a small desk stacked with notebooks, a half-opened wardrobe where her clothes hung in order, a fan whirring quietly in the corner, and a tiny potted plant she had rescued from a street vendor outside campus. This was her sanctuary, her calm in a world that had never been gentle.
Across the room sprawled Peace, her roommate from Enugu, a whirlwind of energy and chaos, sprawled across her bed with a phone in her hand, scrolling aggressively. The glow reflected off her eyes, sharp and mischievous.
"Finally awake?" Peace drawled, tossing the phone onto the bed. "Or are you going to sleep your life away again?"
Nora hummed softly, tying her hair back in a loose ponytail. "Morning," she said evenly, her voice calm, measured. "I'm getting ready. Try to calm yourself."
Peace smirked. "Calm myself? Please. I'm surrounded by perfection, you know. You walk around like life owes you everything. It irritates me."
Nora smiled faintly, setting her backpack on the desk. She was used to Peace's daily barbs—they were predictable, like storm clouds she had learned to navigate. Calm was her armor, patience her shield. She unpacked the small breakfast she had grabbed from the vendor outside, letting the aroma of fried bean cakes mingle with the faint morning air.
Peace's gaze lingered on her for a moment, almost predatory, before she muttered, "You're too… untouchable. Too calm. It irritates me."
"I'll try not to irritate you," Nora said evenly, taking a small bite.
⸻
By mid-morning, the hostel common room had begun to stir. Debbie, Omar, Ima, and Princess were already clustered around a table, laptops open, notebooks strewn, water bottles balanced on stacks of papers. These were Nora's friends since 100-level—a little family that had survived laughter, heartbreaks, late-night projects, and minor campus disasters together.
Debbie bounced excitedly. "I swear, this final year second semester is trying to kill me! Projects, internships, viva, assignments… I don't even know how to breathe!"
Nora chuckled softly. "Focus, Debbie. Stress won't submit your projects."
Ima flopped dramatically onto the sofa. "Focus? Girl, I can barely focus on breathing! Graduation is supposed to be exciting, but all I feel is… panic."
Omar leaned back, arms folded, exuding her usual composed confidence. "Panic doesn't help. Organization does. Pressure separates the winners from the rest. If we survive this semester without losing our minds, nothing can break us after."
Princess, quiet and meticulous, adjusted her glasses and wrote in her notebook, her soft voice cutting through the chaos. "We just need organization, responsibility, and to check in on each other. That's how we survive this final stretch."
Nora nodded, sipping her water. "Exactly. Panic is useless. We divide tasks, monitor progress, and support each other. Stress is inevitable, but letting it rule us… that's optional."
Debbie groaned dramatically. "Optional? Girl, I'm optional if my stress levels hit critical mass!"
Ima laughed. "Debbie, stop exaggerating. Organization is literally our only weapon."
Omar smirked. "Exactly. Focus, work together, and nothing will stop us."
Princess glanced at Nora, her gaze lingering in a way that suggested she noticed something invisible beneath Nora's calm. A subtle pulse in her veins, steady, insistent, unlike anything ordinary, that had been present since childhood but only now seemed to hum louder, as if warning her of what was to come.
⸻
The group fell into chatter and planning—dividing internship applications, marking project deadlines, setting up weekly check-ins. Laughter rose and fell like music, a buffer against the overwhelming pressure of their final semester. But Nora felt it again, the slight tug in her blood, a hum that wasn't her own heartbeat. She glanced toward the window.
Across the courtyard, nearly hidden among students heading toward their own hostels, a figure had paused, motionless, as though waiting. For a moment, Nora thought she imagined it. The pulse beneath her skin flared, insistent. Her senses prickled with unease, the first whisper of something beyond comprehension brushing the edges of her reality.
Debbie leaned over, unaware of Nora's gaze. "Nora, you're staring again. Stop scaring me!"
"Probably nothing," Nora said lightly, but her lips pressed into a thin line. She knew better. The hum was patient, steady, and growing stronger. Something had noticed her. Something patient and precise.
Ima yawned. "Guys, finals stress is getting to you. Stop imagining shadows."
But Nora's eyes did not leave the courtyard. And somewhere, far beyond oceans, a presence stirred—ancient, patient, drawn by a thread only her blood could provide.
She shook her head slightly, focusing back on the chatter of friends. Laughter rose again, planning continued, assignments were mapped out—but the pulse in her veins thrummed with certainty. Her life was about to change, whether she wanted it to or not.
The figure remained just beyond sight for a moment longer, watching, waiting, then vanished as the wind shifted. But the hum inside Nora surged, a subtle reminder that destiny had begun its careful weaving.