Page 65 of Two’s Better

As we’d predicted, Bonnie and Harper had indeed informed us we’d be presenting our work after lunch. They were going clockwise from the way we’d sat around the long table in the studio space, which meant Ofure was going to go before me.

“You’ll be fine,” I whispered, boldly reaching out to give her hand a squeeze. The connection sent my traitorous heart fluttering.

Ofure was shitting bricks. Usually, when she was really panicking, she tended to retreat into herself. To anyone else, she might look unbothered and calm, maybe even confident, but I knew her stoic silence was born from her mentally, frantically bracing herself.

She didn’t look at me as she twisted her hand around so our fingers were tangled. And there my lovesick heart went, pounding unsteadily beneath my ribcage.

“I will be sick; that’s what I’ll be,” she deadpanned, her voice equally low.

I snorted helplessly and she snorted back. Her hand twitched in mine, so I squeezed it instinctively. She squeezed back. Fuck, I didn’t know what to do with all these feelings. I felt terrifyingly overwhelmed with love every time I so much as glanced in her direction. I wanted to be closer to her, have as many parts of our bodies touching as possible. Maybe my head on her shoulder, our arms tangled, ankles hooked underneath the table. Those three words kept rising, and I had to keep swallowing them back down, not wanting to say it at an inopportune moment.

When I next said those words, I wanted to do it properly. I wanted there to be absolutely no room for misunderstandings about what I meant—that I was utterly and completely in love with her.

“Oh God.” She practically whimpered when Olu, who was sitting in front of her, stood up to go next, her grip tightening almost painfully around mine.

I would have told her to try looking into my eyes while she presented, but we’d tried that before and it hadn’t worked. She hadn’t been able to explain the psychology behind it back then, simply stating that looking into my eyes while she was sweating and stuttering and I was trying to offer her silent encouragement was somehow worse than simply staring into space.

Despite this, when it was eventually her turn, I didn’t take my eyes off her. I never did, but this time was different for obvious feelings-related reasons.

“You got this,” I said again, as she got her USB and other materials.

She managed a tight nod, and I watched her make her way to the front of the studio. Bonnie and Harper had their seats positioned to the left of the long table, their backs to the class while they faced the presenter and projection screen.

I watched Ofure intently, wishing I could somehow beam a part of my confidence—or heck, all of it—into her being with my stare alone.

And I was glad I did so, because, after she’d finished setting up and had the first page of her slides on the large screen, her eyes immediately found mine.

And I did the first dorky thing that came to my mind, giving her two exaggerated thumbs ups while nodding so aggressively my head threatened to fall right off my neck.

Her lips twitched. Then, as she usually did, she looked around the room as she began, but I knew she wasn’t really meeting anyone’s eyes; she’d told me once that she looked at the top of our heads, only pretending to make eye contact.

And as usual, she started off semi-strong, began to lag halfway through, absolutely rushed through the end, and then it was over.

I had to stand up and head up when she came back to her seat, but I managed to squeeze her wrist and whisper, “You did great,” before I made my way past her and to the front. She wasn’t going to believe me—she never did—but complimenting her presentations always made her feel less shitty, whether she believed me or not.

When I started my own presentation, as usual, I got lost in the work. As I spoke about my project, outlining my plans and designs, I couldn’t help the way my voice pitched with excitement, the way I could imagine the project coming to life vividly, even though it was just a thing for class and would never be realised. Despite that, I still watched Bonnie’s and Harper’s expressions almost avidly, my chest puffing up at even the slightest hints of approval.

Whenever my gaze locked with Ofure’s, she was beaming encouragingly, giving me two thumbs ups with equal exaggeration to what I’d given her. I tried not to laugh, my happiness only adding to that feeling of … rightness. Of sureness.

Oh.

Then I was done, sliding back into my seat beside her. Our eyes met for a brief moment, and—just like the moment we’d first kissed—it felt like something between us ... shifted. We looked away at the same time, my cheeks burning, my heartbeat stuttering.

When we exited the building once class was over, I took her hand in mine. She met my eyes for a brief electrifying moment, her hand squeezing softly.

My blood surged with heat, nerves making me feel queasy.

We didn’t speak. The silence wasn’t awkward or tense, though it did hold a new, sweet tension that made my heart go back to thudding arrhythmically underneath my ribs. By silent mutual agreement, we once again decided to walk instead of taking the bus.

“I think I actually want to do this,” I said when we were just branching off the main road into our neighbourhood.

“Hm?” She glanced questioningly at me.

“It hit me during my presentation,” I said, my heart racing not in spite of it, but because of my certainty. “That I actually want to do this. Become an architect, I mean.”

She brightened. “Yeah?”

I grinned helplessly. “Yeah. I know it isn’t something I chose for myself, and maybe it wouldn’t have been if I’d had other options, but right now, I think I like where I’m at—where I’m headed.” Unlike Ofure, I could picture myself doing this for the rest of my life, easily.