And somehow, despite every instinct telling me everyone would be staring at my awkward and pathetic dance moves, I had placed my hand in hers.
She’d led me into the small crowd of dancers, her fingers warm in mine. The music had been soft, and when she’d pulled me close, I’d felt that familiar electricity spark between us.
“Just follow my lead,” she’d whispered, her breath warm against my ear.
Her hand had settled on my waist, and I had placed mine tentatively on her shoulder. We’d started moving, nothing over the top, just swaying together to the rhythm. But then the music picked up, and she’d spun me around, laughing when I’d stumbled slightly.
I still remember the way she murmured it against my ear, her arms pulling me back into her. “Relax, baby. Just take a deep breath and feel the music.”
And suddenly I had been relaxing. Her hand had moved higher up my waist, thumb tracing small circles through the fabric of my dress, and instead of feeling shy or self-conscious, I’d felt this incredible sense of freedom. Like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
We had danced through three songs, and by the end, I was breathless and grinning widely, my cheeks flushed with excitement.
“See?” she’d said, brushing a loc of hair from my face. “Not so scary after all.”
But it was scary. Not the dancing itself, but how right it had felt. How natural. How being with her made me feel like I was discovering parts of myself I’d never known existed.
Now, sitting in my dorm room weeks later, I could still feel the phantom touch of her hand on my waist, could still hear the way she’d laughed when I had finally let go and started moving with confidence. Every moment we’d spent together since had been like that, this gradual peeling away of layers I’d spent years building up.
She’d taken me to that outdoor screening she’d mentioned, and because of the snow, we huddled beneath layers of blankets, and she’d held my hand through the entire film. We’d gone for long walks around campus, talking about everything and nothing, and she had listened to my stories about Nigeria with genuine interest, asking questions that showed she actually cared about understanding where I came from.
But it was the small moments that were undoing me. The way she’d bring me coffee before our morning classes, remembering exactly how I liked it. How she’d text me random thoughts throughout the day, like she couldn’t stop thinking about me. The way she’d look at me during our lectures, that small smile playing at her lips in a teasing but endearing way.
I was falling for her hard and fast and completely out of control. And that terrified me more than anything I’d ever experienced.
Because what happened when all this ended? When she got bored of being my teacher in all things fun and spontaneous? When she would be exhausted with teaching the sheltered girl how to live?
What would happen then, when I had to return to Nigeria, to my parents, to my supposed fiancé, to the life that was still waiting for me?
The fear sat heavy in my chest, even as my heart raced every time my phone buzzed with a text or call from her. Even as I caught myself counting the hours until I’d see her again.
I was playing with fire, just like I’d thought. But God help me, I couldn’t bring myself to step away from the flames.
“I can’t believe we got this insane number of replies,” I told Marley as I stared at the phone she had thrust into my hand only moments ago. I was looking at the questionnaires, more like surveys we had carried out, and which she had posted on different queer spaces, plus relationship forums. When I glanced up at her, I found her grinning from ear to ear.
“Why are you smiling like that?”
“Well, because I’m happy, princess. Everything is working out, becoming easy at least,” she replied as she stood up from the couch and began pacing the living room. That was what I had come to discover about her. She paced from one corner to the other when she was excited about something, and it was quite endearing to see her like that. Like her feathers were ruffled, and it made me want to smile.
I stifled a laugh and caught my lower lip between my teeth as I focused on the phone in my hand.
“It truly is,” I agreed, meeting her eyes again. “This means we’re going to have to work on compiling them all into our project. This just made our work so much easier.”
“Yes, baby,” she responded, and my cheeks burned instantly.
She said things so casually, like they didn’t just knock the air out of my lungs.
It was Friday in November, and we had just finished classes. She had asked me to follow her home, which I did without any hesitation. We didn’t have any classes until Wednesday of the next week, which was looking to be one of the final weeks of our last classes of the year. We would be going on a three-week holiday break in mid-December due to the Christmas holidays, which also meant we would be submitting our projects next semester.
“By the way,” she said, dropping onto the couch beside me, “you’re staying the weekend.”
“Um, is that a request or a command?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Actually, it’s a statement. I want you to stay over this whole weekend. In fact, until Wednesday. Then, when we go to classes together, I can drop you off at the dorm afterward,” she declared in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Oh, so you’ve already decided for me?” I teased, setting the phone down on the coffee table.
“Maybe,” she admitted with a smirk. “Do you have any objections, Miss?”
