I was getting tired of being cooped up in my dorm room, studying and overthinking everything. Plus, meeting another Nigerian who had actually figured out how to survive in this city seemed like a good idea.
We didn’t know each other beyond the occasional emoji reactions in the group chat, but that was probably better. There were no expectations or judgments about my obvious cluelessness about everything Canadian.
Now I was sitting on my bed, staring at my laptop screen, wondering if there was a way to delete your entire existence from someone’s memory. Because every time I remembered what Ms. Hoffmann had said, “What part of my gender was confusing?” with that annoying smirk, I wanted to crawl under my bed and stay there permanently.
And the craziest thing was that when she touched my arm that day, it felt like someone had turned up the temperature in the entire restroom by about ten degrees.
My skin had actually tingled where her fingers had been, which made absolutely no sense because people touched my arm all the time. My parents, my sister, friends back home, and random strangers trying to get my attention.
But that had been different.
And I couldn’t figure out why.
I had gone back to talking to Funmi afterwards, but my mind wasn’t in the conversation at all. All because I was busy staring at my arm like it had betrayed me somehow.
I mean, the traitor had decided to have its own little party without consulting the rest of my body first.
I kept replaying the moment over and over, trying to understand what had happened. But every time I did, that same strange warmth crept up my neck. It was annoying and confusing. And completely ridiculous.
So why was my traitorous arm still remembering exactly how her touch had felt?
I jumped up from my bed and made my way to where I’d dropped a pack of bottled water. I took one out, then screwed it open and took a big gulp. I was already feeling parched.
The cool water did nothing to calm whatever was happening in my chest. If anything, it made me more aware of how fast my heart was beating just from thinking about a simple touch.
This was insane.
I was losing my mind over a stranger who had been nothing but trouble since the moment I met her.
I grabbed my phone and opened YouTube. Maybe a short movie would help.
Anything to stop dwelling on things I didn’t understand.
“First things first, before the class ends, I have an announcement,” Dr. Chen said, staring at each of us in turn. Her legs were planted wide as she scrutinised the room. Her oversized glasses reflected the fluorescent lights, making her expression impossible to read.
For a second, she reminded me of Edna Mode from The Incredibles.
“I was going to assign individual projects,” she continued, “but there have been some recent developments. The department has decided that collaborative work will better prepare you for real-world research environments.”
She paused, letting that sink in.
“So instead, you’ll be working in pairs for your final project this semester.”
A collective groan rose around the room as I felt my stomach drop. Group projects were bad enough back home, where I actually knew people. But here? Where I had barely spoken to anyone beyond polite hellos?
“I’ve already assigned the pairs based on complementary research interests and academic backgrounds,” Dr. Chen continued, pulling out a sheet of paper. “When I call your names, please sit together and begin discussing your project parameters.”
She started reading off names, and I tried to pay attention, but my mind was already thinking about having to work closely with some stranger for an entire semester.
What if they thought I was too quiet?
What if we didn’t get along?
What if?—
“Kelechi Obi and Marley Hoffmann.”
Hoffmann.
