Standing outside the playroom in case his boss needed anything, Jackson couldn't count the number of times he had cursed under his breath.
"Mmm… ah… please… yes.."
The moans and grunts coming from the room were becoming unbearable.
Could he just leave and come back later?!
He glanced down and noticed his own body reacting. Great! But what was he supposed to do about it? He moved a little farther away from the door, but he could still hear everything.
Then he remembered the earbuds in his pocket.
He searched for them frantically.
Nothing.
"Oh no, not now. Please, come out, earbuds."
He searched again, patting every pocket, but they were nowhere to be found. Had he lost them? Or had he given them to one of his friends?
Jackson wiped his sweaty forehead and decided to endure it for a few more minutes. He was sure the woman would eventually start crying. The enjoyment phase would soon be over.
Nearly fifty minutes later, Jackson noticed that the sounds coming from the room had changed.
The moans no longer sounded carefree. They sounded exhausted, strained, and uncomfortable.
Pleading and begging.
Yet his boss was still going.
The women rarely lasted this long. Some lasted forty minutes, others thirty, and some even less. Sometimes, his boss would tie them up, and later they would come out with marks around their wrists, crying and walking awkwardly.
Perhaps the money the woman had been paid was enough to make her endure it.
Or maybe she was simply tougher than the others.
Still lost in his thoughts, Jackson heard her pleading again.
The begging game had finally begun.
"Please… ah.. it's enough. I can't. I can't take it anymore. I… I…"
Her voice broke between gasps and desperate pleas.
"This girl is something else," Jackson muttered.
How could she say it hurt and still sound like she was enjoying herself?
He checked the time.
More than two hours?
His own frustration had been so distracting that he hadn't even noticed how much time had passed.
Well, she was definitely something.
He had to give her the credit.
Jackson was about to sit on the floor and accept his fate when he heard her crying and plea intensified.
"Please… I'm not doing this again. Please. No more…"
Her voice gradually faded until there was silence.
It sounded like his boss had finally stopped?
No, he had stuffed a cloth in her mouth. her muffled voice could still be heard.
Jackson exhaled heavily.
"Don't worry. You'll get your money, let my boss vent all his anger and frustrations." he muttered sympathetically. "But you might not be able to walk properly for a few days."
He finally sat down on the floor.
His eyes dropped toward his own obvious problem, and his expression fell.
What was he supposed to do about this now?
He couldn't exactly walk out looking like that, right?!
*****
AAC University. The next day.
The classroom was unusually quiet that morning — at least for the first fifteen minutes.
Rihannat sat upright in her usual seat, pen moving steadily across her notebook.
"Sir, please can you explain that last point again?"
The lecturer adjusted his glasses and nodded. "Good question."
She listened attentively, jotting down the clarifications. For Rihannat, lectures were not just attendance — they were investments. Every point mattered. Every mark counted. First class was not a wish; it was her goal.
After almost two hours, the lecturer closed his file with a firm snap.
"Submit your projects tomorrow," he announced, scanning the class. "You've had enough time. Failure to submit tomorrow means automatic penalty. I will not repeat myself."
A few uneasy murmurs filled the room.
"You all should submit to the class president," he continued. "The assistant should assist him this time. I don't want stories about not seeing the president or whatever excuse you people like to manufacture.
"Rihannat. Basit."
Both of them straightened slightly.
"You two will bring everything to me by tomorrow afternoon. I won't be in school in the evening."
"Yes, sir," they responded.
The professor walked out.
And within seconds, the classroom exploded.
"Oh my God, I'm not done!"
"Please, let me see yours! I'm halfway!"
"No way! I haven't completed mine too!"
"You're not a good friend!"
Arguments sparked. Voices overlapped. Chairs scraped noisily across the floor. Some students frantically opened laptops. Others began pleading with those who looked calm enough to have finished.
Panic had officially entered the building.
Basit barely had time to stand before he was surrounded.
"President, abeg help us now."
"Just tell sir we submitted."
"I can transfer something small to your account…"
A few girls leaned closer than necessary.
"Basit, you know you can help us."
Rihannat sighed. They all know the man is strict, more stricter than the other lecturers, Why wait till the last minute?
She lifted her head and caught sight of Basit skillfully weaving through the crowd toward the door. As he passed her row, he gave a subtle signal — a slight tilt of his head.
Let's leave.
Rihannat understood immediately.
She picked up her bag, placed her phone to her ear as if on a call, and walked out gracefully.
Behind them, the class descended into full helter-skelter. Some students were still unserious, laughing despite the threat. Others looked like they might cry.
Everyone knew the professor was strict.
His deadlines were law.
The next day, Rihannat and Basit sat together in an empty lecture hall as agreed. A pile of projects rested between them.
Students trickled in one by one.
Some submitted neatly bound, complete works.
Some dropped half-done projects with guilty smiles.
Some didn't show up at all.
And some attempted what they thought was strategy.
"Please, just tell sir I was sick."
"I'll complete it tonight, I promise."
"You know he listens to you people…"
Rihannat exchanged a look with Basit for the umpteenth time and sighed softly.
Integrity wasn't something you switched on and off.
When the last student left, she turned to him again.
"Say your mind, beauty," Basit teased lightly. "Stop looking at me like you're in love with my beautiful face."
Rihannat blinked.
Then she laughed — genuinely.
"Stop giving yourself honey mixed with sugar."
He grinned.
"I was just wondering," she continued, folding her arms, "why you keep refusing their stretched olive branches. The ladies, I mean."
"Why should I accept?" he asked calmly.
She studied him. He knew exactly why she had been observing him. He just wanted to see if she would admit it.
"Aren't you impressed? I mean… a lot of girls are trying to get your attention."
Basit leaned back slightly.
"Why should I look twice at people who are ready to throw themselves at anything that shines?" he said evenly. "Most of them are not serious about their studies. Always searching for shortcuts. Do I look like someone who wants that?"
Rihannat held his gaze.
Clear eyes. No arrogance.
"But you're always gentle with them," she said. "You don't embarrass them."
"I can't be harsh," he replied. "I'm not their parent. We don't have business. They chose their lifestyle. Why should I fight them? And I definitely don't want boyfriends showing up to accuse me of nonsense. My peaceful life is important, beautiful."
"Stop calling me that."
"Why? Are you not?"
"No. I. Am. Not." she emphasized, looking away.
"But. You. Are." he imitated her, stretching the words with a mischievous grin.
She shook her head and turned away. "Suit yourself."
He smiled and checked the time.
"It's over an hour. Let's go."
They gathered the projects and headed to the professor's office. On their way, two breathless students ran after them.
"Wait! Please take this!"
Basit collected the papers without comment.
By 3:30 p.m., they were done at the professor's office.
Instead of rushing off, they both headed toward the school masjid. After observing Asr prayer quietly, they stepped outside into the soft afternoon light.
"Do you have any lectures left?" Basit asked.
"No. You?"
"No."
"So you're heading home?" he continued.
"Yes. My friends left earlier. They had assignments to complete. I've done mine already," she added with a playful shrug. "I can't ask them to wait for me again, can I?"
"No, you can't," he said, smiling. "Let me walk you to the gate."
"No. Your admirers will start a meeting."
"No admirers," he dismissed. "And don't you have your own? See who dey talk. If you know how many people dey eye you for this campus, you go beg me make I no follow you."
She burst into laughter.
"You exaggerate."
"Do I?"
They walked side by side, maintaining respectful distance. Their conversation stayed within safe territory — academics, internships, exams and future goals.
No inappropriate words. Just two academics students normal chat.
******