Suddenly out of the blue and into the empty classroom came the dashing damsel herself, as ever with her flowing brown hair and those eyes, sure fire proof that a God must exist.
And if God existed, what she did next seemed to constitute sure fire proof that He despised me, when she ambled around the room briefly before deciding on sitting at the exact desk I was sat down. She began to walk over, almost in slow motion and I could feel my innards welling up, just about to spill over in glorious vomit.
Why had she done this? I asked myself, a furious sweat beginning to drip down my neck with every breath she took.
In an instant, my nervousness grew immeasurably, with the realisation that I had obsessed over this stranger, from a distance for one entire year- a total of 365 days, and some change, and yet I couldn’t dare to look at her now we were sat just mere inches apart. And She could tell.
‘Hello there’, she said to me, almost seeming to revel in my discomfort.
‘Hi’, I responded, tiny waves of sweat now cresting on my upper lip.
‘I hate to do this but could you increase the fan?, I am melting over here’, she said, her beauty only rivalled by her hyperbole.
‘Darling, I would move the sun out of the way for you if I could’.
It would have been really cool of me to say this in real life, I wish I did.
It would’ve certainly played better than the incoherent whimper of agreement I sounded out in reply before walking over and doing what she asked.
I trudged back to my seat like Quasimodo and sat just a bit farther than before, she said nothing, not even a thank you.
I decided I deserved to at least get her name for all my troubles.
I summoned up the courage and made to tap her and ask, before quickly retracting it. All for nothing as she had already noticed and turned to look me in the eye,
‘Let me guess, you want to know my name’, she purred while fanning herself with her fingertips, ‘I’ll give you a hint, it starts with an M’
I thought it was really nice of her to play this stupid little game and ease my nerves, although I could never stand games.
“Mabel? Mary? Mazekin?”
“No, she replied, laughing hysterically, ‘and you’re not even close, I’ll give you two more hints but that’s all’
I of course wimpishly nodded in agreement
‘The next letters are I and R.’
‘Miriam! Mikayla! Mirabel!’
‘Ooh, you’re getting much warmer’, she teased.
‘Your name is Miracle!’, I shouted, so loud that people outside began to stare at me.
‘Wrong again’, she laughed, while apologising to the passers-by, ‘you’re really so close though.
‘I give up, please tell me your name’
As she was about to spill the beans, I heard a brutish voice almost yell from the window behind me. It belonged to a guy, a rather handsome one.
‘Her name is Mirage, like a magic trick’ he said.
I watched in stark bewilderment as he walked inside the class and picked her up off the ground, before kissing her rather violently and walking outside the room. I could only hang my head in shame.

Author’s Bio:Tolu Fowowe is a 20-year-old writer and poet born and bred in Lagos, Nigeria. Writing from a young age, his inclination towards storytelling and rhythm has gone on to define the gross majority of his work and his approach to it. Tolu has been published in many literary magazines and won multiple poetry competitions and his hope is to be the shot in the arm that African Contemporary Literature desperately needs today.

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Pencilmarks and Scribbles Magazine was founded in 2017 by Clara Jack to be a home for African writers, asking them to come as they are and giving them room for growth. The publication aims to give back to the Nigerian Literary scene for the things it has given us.