The girl who didn't look up

I wasn't listening to a word Bashir was saying.

The garden outside the Faculty of Social and Management Sciences was busy, as it always was after lectures. Students drifted in and out beneath the neem trees, some revising notes before heading home, others laughing loudly enough to turn heads from the next department. The afternoon breeze carried the smell of roasted corn from somewhere beyond the fence, mixing with the familiar hum of conversations that never really stopped on campus.

Bashir, Sadiq and I had agreed to meet there after classes before heading back to our apartment. Yusuf had joined us halfway through, and the four of us had been sitting there long enough for two cups of tea to grow cold. Bashir was in the middle of another pointless argument with Sadiq-this time over whether a lecturer had deliberately failed half the class or whether students simply enjoyed blaming lecturers for their own laziness.

Normally, I would've joined them.

Normally.

Instead, my eyes wandered absentmindedly toward the path leading from the library.

Then I saw her.

Everything else seemed to disappear.

It had been weeks since that afternoon in Nafisa's apartment, yet I remembered it as though it had happened yesterday. She had stepped inside looking for turaren wuta, greeted everyone politely without really looking at any of us, collected what she came for and left before I could properly register what had just happened. It had lasted barely two minutes.

Two minutes.

Funny how two minutes could refuse to leave a man's mind.

Now she was walking toward the university gate with Maryam beside her, laughing about something only the two of them understood.

For the first time, I saw her without walls, without a doorway, without people blocking my view.

The afternoon sunlight rested softly against her light chocolate skin, giving it a warmth that made it almost glow. Her hijab was wrapped neatly, simple and effortless, framing a face that somehow managed to be both gentle and expressive at the same time. She wasn't slim, and for reasons I couldn't explain, I was glad she wasn't. There was a softness to her figure that made her look wonderfully real, the kind of beauty that didn't feel manufactured or fragile. She walked without trying to be noticed, yet she was the only person I could see.

Then she laughed.

don't know what Maryam had said, but whatever it was reached her eyes before it reached her lips. They brightened first, and then came the smile-small, genuine, completely unguarded.

Something shifted quietly inside me.

"You've gone quiet." Bashir's voice pulled me back. I looked at him. He wasn't looking at me.

He was looking in the exact same direction I had been. A slow grin spread across his face.

"So..." I already knew what was coming. "...that's her." I sighed. Sadiq followed both our gazes before letting out a laugh.

"Kai." He looked back at me with the kind of smile friends wore whenever they caught you hiding something.

Bashir folded his arms. "The way you're looking at her is enough." I looked away immediately.

"I wasn't looking." The three of them laughed.

"You weren't looking?" Bashir repeated.

"Wallahi, if I ask you what colour her hijab is, you'll answer before I finish the question."

I rubbed the back of my neck. "I just..."

"You just what?" I didn't know.

That was the problem. I had spoken to Amira almost every day for weeks.

Through a screen. Behind typed words and voice notes. There, conversations came easily.

In person...

I wasn't nearly as brave.Bashir leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Go and greet her."

I looked toward the path again. She and Maryam were getting closer. "I'll do it another time."

He laughed. "Another time?"

"They're almost at the gate." Sadiq shook his head, amused. "You've been waiting to see this girl in person since Nafisa gave you her Snapchat."

"I know."

"And now Allah has literally brought her to you."

"I know."

"So what are you waiting for?" Honestly... I didn't know. I wasn't brave. Not when it came to her. Not when she was close enough for me to hear her laugh instead of reading it through messages.

Bashir nudged my shoulder lightly. "Go." I looked up once more. She was only a short distance away now. My heartbeat had already started betraying me. I told myself to stand.

My legs refused. I told myself again. This time they listened.

I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the satisfied smiles spreading across my friends' faces. Every step toward her felt strangely heavier than it should have, as though my own body had suddenly forgotten how walking worked. I had imagined this moment more times than I cared to admit. In every version, I greeted her properly. I asked how her day had been. Maybe I joked about the library. Maybe I finally saw the smile I'd only imagined while reading her messages late at night.

Instead, as the distance between us disappeared, every sentence I'd rehearsed quietly abandoned me. Only silence remained. And the sound of my own heartbeat.

She still hadn't noticed me. Maryam was saying something that made her laugh again, and I found myself watching her smile the way a thirsty man watched rain. It wasn't loud or dramatic. She smiled the way some people breathed-without thinking about it. Naturally. Effortlessly. The corners of her eyes softened before her lips did, and for one ridiculous moment I forgot where I was supposed to be going.

We were only a few steps apart now. Close enough for me to notice the tiny silver pin beneath her hijab. Close enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume as the breeze carried it toward me. Close enough for me to realise that every brave version of myself I'd imagined had completely disappeared.

I opened my mouth. Nothing. Ohhh i'm finished.

Every sentence I'd spent weeks preparing dissolved before it reached my tongue. Only two words survived.

"Assalamu alaikum."

Both of them answered automatically. "Wa alaikumus salam." Neither of them stopped.

Neither of them looked at me. They simply continued walking, their conversation picking up exactly where it had paused, and within seconds they had already passed me.

I stood there for half a heartbeat before turning to watch them disappear into the crowd of students heading toward the university gate. For reasons I couldn't explain, I smiled anyway.

At least I'd greeted her. It wasn't much.

By the time I returned to the garden, Bashir had both hands over his face, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Sadiq wasn't any better, shaking his head while Yusuf leaned back on the bench wearing the kind of smile people reserved for someone who had just embarrassed himself in spectacular fashion.

Bashir looked at me the moment I sat down.

"So..." already knew.

"What happened to all those fine speeches you were planning?" I laughed, rubbing a hand across my face. "I forgot them." "You forgot all of them?"

I nodded. "Wallahi." Sadiq burst into another round of laughter. "So after all these weeks of chatting..." 

"...all you managed was Assalamu alaikum?"

I couldn't even defend myself.

"Baba..." I said, laughing along with them. "Na kasa." That only made them laugh harder.

"I got close..." I admitted between smiles. "Then I got nervous." Bashir slapped my shoulder.

"Nervous?"

"You?" "ASH!! You dey nervous for woman"

I shook my head.

Standing before one girl apparently did make me nervous and a laughing stock.

The laughter eventually settled into the comfortable silence that always followed whenever one of us became the joke of the day. Bashir wiped the corner of his eye dramatically before reaching for his phone, still chuckling to himself.

"I hope she appreciates the courage that greeting required."

I smiled to myself.

She probably hadn't even realised it was me.

The thought should have disappointed me.

Instead... It made me laugh quietly.

Without thinking, I unlocked my phone and opened our chat. My fingers hovered above the keyboard for a moment. Then I typed.

I saw you on campus today. I read the message once. Twice. Before pressing send. Nothing. No reply. I slipped the phone back into my pocket.

"She's ignored you already?" Bashir asked, somehow noticing everything. "I just sent it."

"So now we wait."

This guyz are soo involved in my life 😩 .

I smiled. "So now we wait."

The afternoon slowly gave way to evening. One after another, students left the garden until only a handful remained beneath the trees. Bashir stretched lazily before standing, Sadiq followed a moment later, and Yusuf announced that if they didn't leave immediately, every decent food vendor outside the university would be sold out before they arrived.

"Let's go," Bashir said, dusting his trousers. "I'm starving."

"I've been starving since noon," Sadiq replied.

"You've been starving since birth."

Their argument started all over again before we'd even left the garden.

I wasn't listening.

By the time we left campus, the late afternoon sun had softened into the warm golden light that always made Kano look calmer than it really was. Students spilled out through the university gate, bargaining with keke drivers, greeting friends, making last-minute plans before everyone disappeared into different parts of the city.

Our apartment wasn't far. Close enough that we usually walked whenever the weather wasn't unbearable. Bashir spent most of the journey complaining about food. Sadiq insisted he was exaggerating. Yusuf said they argued like an old married couple. I barely heard any of it.

Somewhere along the way, my phone found its way into my hand.

Still nothing. Now I'm panicking.

I slipped it back into my pocket before anyone noticed.

Our apartment sat inside a quiet compound about fifteen minutes from the university. It wasn't luxurious by any stretch of the imagination, but it was comfortable enough for three students trying to survive university without bankrupting their parents.

Three bedrooms.

A small sitting room that somehow always looked untidy no matter how often we cleaned it.

A kitchen Bashir insisted belonged to him despite rarely cooking.

And a narrow balcony where Sadiq disappeared whenever he needed to study in peace.

The moment we stepped inside, Bashir dropped onto the sofa dramatically.

"I refuse to cook."

"You've never accepted in the first place," Sadiq replied, tossing his backpack onto the armchair.

"I'm ordering food."

"With whose money?"

"Our money."

"There is no our money."

"There is today." I smiled to myself as their argument continued. Nothing new. If they weren't arguing, one of them was probably asleep.

"I'm ordering masa and pepper soup," Bashir announced, already scrolling through his phone.

"I'm not contributing."

"You'll still eat."

"I know."

"And you'll pretend you didn't."

"I know." Their voices followed me down the short hallway as I pushed open my bedroom door. The familiar quiet settled around me almost immediately.

I closed the door behind me, dropped my backpack beside the wardrobe and lay flat on the bed without bothering to change my clothes.

The ceiling fan turned lazily above me.

Outside my room, I could still hear Bashir negotiating food prices over the phone like his life depended on saving two hundred naira.

I smiled.

Then... Without meaning to... My mind wandered back.

The first time I'd seen her... She hadn't even noticed me. I remembered every second of it more clearly than I wanted to admit. Nafisa had been making tea while the rest of us argued over football. Bashir had somehow managed to convince himself Arsenal would win the league that season, and Sadiq had spent almost ten minutes explaining why that was impossible.

Then there'd been a knock. Nafisa had looked toward the door. "Shigo." The door had opened.

And she'd walked in. She hadn't looked nervous.

She hadn't looked curious. She'd simply greeted everyone politely before turning her attention to Nafisa.

"I came for your turaren wuta." That was it. No unnecessary conversation. No lingering.

She'd collected what she came for, thanked Nafisa, smiled politely and left again.

Barely two minutes. Yet somehow...

The room had felt different after she left.

I remembered asking the question before I could stop myself.

"Who's she?"

Nafisa had smiled in that knowing way younger sisters seemed to master. "My friend."

"What's her name?"

"Amira."

The name had stayed with me long after the conversation ended. Long after we'd left Nafisa's apartment. Long after I'd gone to bed that night.

Amira. It suited her. Quiet. Gentle. Easy to remember. I wasn't sure when curiosity became habit. Or when habit became the first thing I looked forward to every morning. At first, our conversations had been simple.

A greeting. A question. A joke. Nothing extraordinary. But somehow they became part of my routine without asking for permission.

If something funny happened during the day, I caught myself thinking, I should tell Amira.

If I came across an interesting quote while reading, I wondered whether she'd like it.

Some mornings I'd unlock my phone before I'd even gotten out of bed, not because I was expecting anything important...

...but because somewhere in the back of my mind, I hoped there'd be a message from her.

It was strange. We weren't anything.

Not friends in the way Bashir and I were friends.

Certainly not anything more. Yet somehow...

Her name had quietly found a place in my ordinary days. A sharp knock interrupted my thoughts.

"Ash!"

Bashir's voice came through the door.

"The food will be here in twenty minutes."

"I heard you."

"You've been suspiciously quiet."

"I'm just tired."

"Hmm."

His footsteps faded. I smiled to myself. If only he knew. Just then, my phone vibrated against the mattress. I reached for it almost immediately. A new message. From Amira.

I opened it.

-Why didn't you say anything?

A quiet laugh escaped me. I looked down at the screen. Then typed.

-I did.

Almost immediately...

-No, you didn't.

I shook my head, smiling wider than before.

-I greeted you.

I waited. Seconds later, the typing indicator appeared... ...then disappeared. Appeared again.

Finally-

How have we been talking for weeks and I still don't know what you look like, while you know exactly what I look like? That isn't fair.

I read the message twice. Then a third time.

Without realising it, I leaned back against the headboard, smiling to myself. She had a point.

And somehow...

That thought made me happier than it should have.

Without thinking too much about it, I rested my head against the wall behind my bed and typed slowly.

-Is that your way of asking to see me?

I stared at the screen after sending it.Maybe I shouldn't have written that. Maybe it sounded too forward. I was already considering deleting the message when the little "Delivered" beneath it reminded me it was far too late. I sighed quietly.

"Bashir!" Sadiq shouted from the sitting room. "If this soup is cold, I'm blaming you." "It won't be cold." "It'll be cold."

"It won't." Their voices drifted through the apartment, followed by another round of pointless arguing. I smiled to myself. Those two could argue over anything. My phone remained silent. I set it beside me on the bed and ran a hand through my hair. Maybe I'd made things awkward. Maybe she'd think I was assuming too much. Maybe- The phone vibrated. I picked it up almost immediately.

-Don't flatter yourself. 😂

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

Not because she'd rejected the idea. Because I could almost hear her saying it. The same playful tone she'd used in our conversations. I shook my head, still smiling. "No wonder."

"What?" I looked up.

Bashir stood by my half-open door carrying a bottle of soft drink, watching me with narrowed eyes. "When did you get there?"

"A while ago." I frowned. "You've been smiling at your phone like somebody that just won the lottery." "I wasn't smiling."

"You still are." I quickly straightened my face.

"I'm not." Bashir walked into the room anyway, leaning casually against the wardrobe with his arms folded. "Let me guess." I said nothing.

"She finally replied." I looked away.He laughed.

"Allah ya isa."

"What?"

"I've never seen you this invested in anybody."

"I said we're just talking."

"I know."

"And?"

"And people don't smile like that because they're discussing the weather." I couldn't help laughing.

"You're reading too much into it."

"Am I?"

"Yes." He nodded slowly, pretending to believe me. "If you say so."

He turned toward the door before stopping. "Oh..."

I looked at him. "Next time..."

"...try saying more than Assalamu alaikum."

He disappeared before I could throw the pillow at him. His laughter echoed all the way back to the sitting room.

I shook my head. "Annoying human being."

Outside, Sadiq asked what was funny. Bashir's answer came immediately. "Our Ahmad is gone." "I'm not gone!" I called back.

Three voices answered with laughter.

I smiled despite myself. When the apartment finally grew quieter later that night, I found myself scrolling back through our conversation without any real reason. There wasn't anything extraordinary about it. No grand confessions. No dramatic promises. Just two university students learning each other one message at a time.

Strange.

I'd spent years believing life changed through big moments. Graduation. A new job.

Marriage. Loss. Yet here I was... Watching ordinary days become memorable because one girl had quietly found her way into them. I wasn't foolish enough to call it love.

Love belonged to people who truly knew one another. We were still strangers in so many ways. But I knew this much.

Every morning, I found myself hoping to see her name. Every evening, I wondered if she'd reply before I slept.

And today... After weeks of wondering what she'd look like in person...

I'd finally greeted her. It hadn't gone the way I'd imagined. I'd forgotten every sentence I'd prepared. I'd made a complete fool of myself.

And somehow... I didn't regret a single second of it. I placed my phone on the bedside table and switched off the lamp.

The room slipped into darkness. A small smile lingered on my face. One day, I thought as I closed my eyes, I'll say more than two words to her.

Not through a phone. Not while walking past.

Not because Bashir forced me. One day...

I'd stand in front of her and actually have a conversation. I just hoped that, when that day came...

...I wouldn't forget my own name.