Language of lessons

The Zoom window glowed on Cassandra’s laptop, casting a faint light across her cluttered hostel room as Mr. Majekodunmi droned on about Yoruba syntax. The 18-year-old linguistics student, perched on her bed, had just unmuted herself to answer a question about vowel harmony, earning a curt nod from the professor. She leaned back, satisfied, when her door creaked open. Oge slipped in, her grin wide and mischievous.

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“Cassie, you won’t believe what I just saw in the cafeteria”, Oge whispered, flopping beside her.
“Shh, I’m in class”, Cassandra hissed, but her eyes flicked to Oge, curiosity piqued.
Oge peeked at the screen. “That’s your professor? Those tribal marks make him look like he’s about to growl. ”
Cassandra smirked. In Igbo, she muttered, “He’s worse than he looks. Fails students for breathing wrong. I heard he once docked marks for a sneeze”.
Oge giggled, replying in Igbo, “What a terror. No wonder everyone hates him.”
“Yeah,” Cassandra continued in the same tongue, “and there’s this rumor he picks favorites... gives them high grades for nothing. Total tyrant.”
Suddenly, a voice roared from the speakers: “CASSANDRA NWOKEI!”

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Both girls jolted, Oge nearly tumbling off the bed. Mr. Majekodunmi’s face filled the screen, crimson with rage. “What did you say about me?!” he bellowed, then, to their horror, switched to fluent Igbo: “ na-ekwu banyere m? You think I don’t understand?”
Cassandra’s stomach dropped. The green microphone icon glared back at her. She’d forgotten to mute it. “I... I didn’t—” she stammered.
“Mocking me in my own class?” he snarled. “I’ll make your four years here hell, just like those rumors you spread.” The call went silent, the other students’ faces frozen in shock.

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For three months, Cassandra’s life unraveled. Mr. Majekodunmi turned every class into a battlefield. “Cassandra, explain tonal morphology”, he’d demand, smirking as she fumbled. Her assignments came back with red Ds and comments like “Sloppy. Redo it”. Once, she found an F on a project she’d slaved over, the note reading, “Lacks depth”. Her grades plummeted, and her confidence followed.
Beyond class, misfortune piled up. Her laptop froze mid-exam, erasing half her answers. A sudden fever made her miss a deadline. Even her hostel room seemed cursed: a leaky pipe soaked her notes. She barely slept, haunted by the professor’s threat.
One night, after another failing grade, she broke down. “I can’t do this”, she sobbed into her phone, calling her parents. “He’s ruining me”.
Two days later, her parents arrived. Ngozi, her poised mother, and Chukwudi, her quiet father. They insisted on meeting Mr. Majekodunmi in his office.

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Books and artifacts lined the professor’s office, a testament to his scholarly pride. He sat stiffly as Cassandra and her parents entered. Ngozi looked at the professor with a hint of recognition and smiled softly before taking her seat.
“Thank you for seeing us”, Ngozi began. “We’re here about Cassandra”.
“Her grades reflect her effort”, he said coolly.
Ngozi smiled. “Let me introduce myself properly. I’m Ngozi Nwoke, once Ngozi Eze”.
His eyes widened. “Ngozi Eze? From UNN?”
“The same. We survived linguistics together, Tunde”.
A grin broke his stern facade. “Ngozi! Remember our heated tribal debates?”
“How could I forget? You were relentless.”
Cassandra gaped as they laughed, old friends reunited. After reminiscing, Ngozi’s tone softened. “Tunde, Cassandra messed up. She’s sorry, and she’s a good student. Please, give her a chance.”
He frowned, glancing at Cassandra. “She disrespected me publicly.”
“I know”, Ngozi said. “But she’s learned. She’ll work hard”.
Cassandra met his gaze. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll do better”.
Tunde sighed. “For you, Ngozi, and a second chance... I’ll ease up. But I expect excellence!”
Relief flooded Cassandra. “Thank you, sir.”

Over the next semesters, Cassandra poured herself into her studies. Mr. Majekodunmi morphed from tormentor to mentor, challenging her with tough questions but offering guidance. Her grades soared, and by her final year, her thesis on Yoruba tonal patterns won accolades.

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At graduation, as she accepted her honors, she spotted Mr. Majekodunmi in the crowd. He nodded, a rare warmth in his eyes. She smiled back, grateful for the mistake that had, in time, forged her success.

This is my story for @theinkwell's fiction prompt for this week.
What do you think dear readers? Bet you didn't expect it to be fiction😄

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