"If your first test in university doesn't humble you, then your second one will bury you. Choose wisely."
—Zayne Adedayo
7:05 AM — Thursday Morning
Ugo was brushing his teeth with gospel music blasting from his phone speakers. The hostel room smelled like cheap soap, sweaty boxers, and the faint stress of unpaid school fees.
"Guy, you ready for the test?" he asked with a mouth full of foam.
I blinked. "Which test?"
He paused.
"The CST101 General Programming test. Today. By 9 a.m."
My soul left my body and returned.
"What?! No one told me anything!"
Ugo spat dramatically into the hostel sink. "Omo, they told everyone. You've been too busy chasing that fine Amaka babe."
"I'm not—"
"Denial is the first sign."
8:32 AM — Lecture Hall Chaos
LT3 looked like a tech convention inside a prison riot.
Students were revising frantically. Some were crying. Others were using ChatGPT PDFs like holy scriptures.
I ran into the hall with my rough notes in hand. Ugo caught up behind me.
"See as you're shaking. Calm down. It's just 10 marks."
"That's 10 marks that can determine whether I have rice or garri in final year."
We found our seat.
Then she walked in.
Amaka.
Simple blouse, jeans, glasses.
Calm.
Focused.
Beautiful.
She sat in the front row, already holding a pen, not even sweating.
I, meanwhile, looked like I was in an underground quiz show with a taser pointed at my leg.
9:00 AM — Time's Up
The lecturer dropped the papers.
One page.
Ten multiple-choice questions.
Easy, right?
Wrong.
Everything was from the one week I didn't revise.
What's a compiler?
Which of these is not a high-level language?
What's the binary equivalent of 19?
I blinked three times.
Sweat rolled down my spine like betrayal.
"Lord," I whispered, "if you save me from this, I'll stop skipping class. For one week."
9:33 AM — Test Over
We submitted.
Ugo leaned toward me. "I nailed it."
"You guessed B for number 5."
"And B was correct."
"I hate you."
Amaka walked past us. Her paper was barely wrinkled. She smiled—smiled—like she'd just written a love letter to the gods of GPA.
She paused beside me.
"How was it?"
I laughed bitterly. "If I score more than 4/10, I'll dance in public."
"Then start practicing."
She left.
I nearly wept.
11:40 AM — Computer Lab Drama
Later that day, we had a practical class in the CST lab.
It was packed.
Dim fluorescent lights. 40 computers. 60 students. Half the systems refused to turn on. One monitor had a full crack across it and still proudly showed the Windows XP loading screen.
The lab assistant, Mr. Martins, looked like he hated us and life.
"Open Visual Basic," he grunted.
Someone asked, "What's that?"
He ignored them.
We were told to write a basic calculator program.
I stared at the screen.
Blank.
Cursor blinking.
Sweat returning.
Ugo was typing furiously beside me.
"How are you so fast?" I whispered.
"I copied from an old tutorial video on TikTok."
"You're insane."
"Efficient."
1:12 PM — The Error Heard Across Campus
Suddenly, a system sparked.
Then someone screamed.
"Yeeeeh! Fire o!"
It wasn't fire—it was Ugo's system.
He'd plugged his phone, spilled water, and somehow short-circuited his CPU.
Smoke was rising. The lab was in chaos.
Mr. Martins looked ready to murder someone.
"Who did this?!"
Ugo raised his hand slowly. "It was me, sir."
"Why are you like this?"
"No idea, sir."
The rest of us were dismissed. Early. With trauma.
2:15 PM — The Garden Again
I found myself under the campus mango tree again.
Same spot. Same notebook.
And once again, she found me.
Amaka.
She sat beside me without asking.
"You look like someone just told you your name isn't on the matric list."
"I failed that test," I admitted.
She looked at me.
"Yeah. You probably did."
"…Wow."
"But that's fine."
I turned. "Fine?"
"You're a fresher. Failure is free here. What matters is what you do after."
I chuckled. "You're surprisingly encouraging."
"I'm surprisingly everything."
She smiled—genuine this time.
And handed me a folded sheet.
"What's this?"
"A real study guide. One I made."
"…Why?"
She shrugged. "Because I like challenges. And people who don't quit."
4:00 PM — The Results
Our CST lecturer, Dr. Bakare, was evil.
He released the results within 4 hours.
He posted the marks on the classroom door.
With names.
Publicly.
The crowd was intense.
People scanned frantically. Some screamed.
I walked slowly, heart pounding.
"Ugochukwu Obinna — 4/10"
Ugo: "At least I'm not alone."
"Zayne Adedayo — 1/10"
Silence.
I had been humbled.
Properly.
Then I saw:
Amaka Eze — 10/10
Of course.
6:30 PM — The Call
That evening, I got a call from an unknown number.
"Hello?"
"Zayne?"
"Yes…"
"It's Mr. Durojaiye. Heard you flopped CST101."
"…Yes sir."
"I also heard you impressed at the debate."
"Trying my best."
"Keep doing that. And come see me next Monday. There's an opportunity I think you'll like."
Call ended.
I blinked.
An opportunity?
Maybe this week wasn't a total loss after all.