. This is a story about Abïkë and Oluwasegun.
I hope you enjoy this first part
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PART 1
A Novel
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Chapter 1: The Wrong Number
Abïkë — Age 16
The first time she heard his voice, she was crying.
Not the quiet kind. The ugly kind. The kind where your nose runs and your chest hurts and you pray no one walks in.
It was 11:47pm on a Tuesday. Her mother had said something cruel again—the kind of casual knife twist that left no blood but plenty of damage. "You think you're special? You're nothing but trouble. Just like your father."
She didn't have a father. Not anymore. So that one cut deep.
Abïkë sat on her bedroom floor, back against the bed, knees pulled to her chest. The ceiling light was off. Just the glow of her phone screen lighting up her tear-streaked face.
She needed to call someone. Anyone.
Her best friend was asleep. Her cousin wouldn't pick up. So she did something stupid—she dialed a number she'd saved months ago from a boy who'd given it to her at a party. A boy she never even liked.
Except she dialed it wrong. One digit off.
The phone rang once. Twice.
Then a voice. Deep. Warm. Slightly confused.
"Hello?"
Abïkë froze. That wasn't the boy's voice. This was different. This was...Someone else
"Hello?" he said again. "You there?"
She should've hung up. She knew she should've hung up.
Instead, she whispered: "I'm sorry. I dialed wrong."
A pause. Then: "You okay? You sound..."
"What?"
"Like you're not okay."
She should've lied. Should've said I'm fine and ended it there.
But something about his voice—the way it held her without even trying—made her chest crack open.
"No," she breathed. "I'm really not."
Another pause. Then, softly:
"Then stay on the phone with me. You don't gotta talk. Just... don't be alone right now."
And for some reason she couldn't explain, she didn't hang up.
She sat there on that cold floor, phone pressed to her ear, listening to him breathe on the other end. He didn't ask questions. Didn't push. Just existed with her in the dark.
After a long time, she whispered: "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For not making me feel crazy."
A quiet laugh. Warm. Real.
"We're all a little crazy. The trick is finding someone who doesn't mind staying through it."
She almost smiled. Almost.
"I'm Abïkë," she said.
"Oluwasegun."
"That's a heavy name."
"Heavy means someone had to carry it. My father. His father. Now me. One day, maybe my son."
She blinked. "You think about that? Having a son?"
"I think about having someone to pass my name to, yeah. Someone who'll carry it the way I'm trying to."
Quiet.
"How old are you, Oluwasegun?"
A beat too long.
"Twenty," he said.
She believed him.
---
Chapter 2: The Second Night
He called her the next night.
She didn't give him her number. He just... had it. From the missed call. And he saved it. And at 11:47pm exactly, her phone lit up:
Unknown Number: You okay tonight?
She stared at it for a full minute.
Then:
Abïkë: How'd you know I needed that?
Oluwasegun: Because last night at this time, you needed someone. Figured tonight might be the same.
Abïkë: What if I was fine?
Oluwasegun: Then you wouldn't answer.
She answered.
They talked for three hours.
Not about anything heavy this time. Silly things. Favorite foods. Worst dates. Songs that made them feel something. He told her about his mother's jollof rice and how no one could replicate it. She told him about the stray cat she'd been feeding for months that still wouldn't let her pet it.
At 2am, he said: "You know what I like about you?"
"What?"
"You don't try to be interesting. You just are."
Her heart did something dangerous.
"You don't even know what I look like," she whispered.
"Don't need to. I know your voice. I know you cry alone at night but still answer the phone. I know you feed stray cats even when they won't love you back. That's enough for now."
She pressed the phone closer to her ear.
"Oluwasegun?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't disappear."
A long pause. Then, soft as a prayer:
"I won't. I promise."
---
Chapter 3: The First Lie
Three weeks in, they'd talked every single night.
He became her alarm clock. Her goodnight. Her reason to smile at her phone like a fool. Her mother noticed. Asked who she was texting. Abïkë lied and said a friend.
Technically, it wasn't a lie. He was her friend.
But he was also becoming something else. Something she couldn't name without her face heating up.
One night, he asked: "What do you wanna be when you grow up?"
"A writer," she said without hesitation. "I wanna write stories that make people feel less alone."
"You already do that," he said. "With me."
She bit her lip.
"What about you? What do you wanna be?"
A beat.
"Worthy of someone like you."
She laughed. "That's not a job."
"It's the only one that matters."
She wanted to ask him more. About his family. His past. Why he sounded so tired sometimes. Why he always changed the subject when she asked about his day.
But she was scared. Scared if she pushed too hard, he'd slip away.
So she let it go.
And Oluwasegun? He let her. Because every night she asked how was your day? and every night he said better now—he was lying.
His day wasn't better. His day was exhausting. His day was pretending to be 20 when he was really 23. His day was carrying the weight of a lie that grew heavier every time she said his name.
He told himself he'd tell her soon. When the time was right. When she knew him well enough to understand why he did it.
But soon kept coming. And the truth kept waiting.
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Chapter 4: The Almost
Two months in, they almost met.
She suggested it first. A mall. Saturday afternoon. Neutral ground.
"I wanna see you," she typed. "Really see you."
His heart stopped.
"Abïkë..."
"What? Don't you wanna meet me?"
"More than anything."
"Then why—"
"Because what if I'm not what you imagined?"
She read it five times.
Then:
"Oluwasegun. Listen to me. I don't care what you look like. I care that you're the first person who's ever made me feel like I matter. You think I'm letting that go over something as stupid as a face?"
He stared at the screen.
For a moment—just a moment—he almost believed her.
But then reality hit. If she saw him, she'd ask his age. She'd do the math. She'd realize a 23-year-old man had been falling in love with a 16-year-old girl.
And she'd run.
So he did the only thing he could think of. He lied again.
"Something came up. Work. I'm sorry. Rain check?"
She didn't reply for an hour.
When she did, it was just one word:
"Okay."
But he felt the distance in it. The crack.
---
Chapter 5: The Spiral
She started pulling away after that.
Not completely. She still answered. Still laughed at his jokes. Still said goodnight.
But something shifted. She stopped suggesting meetings. Stopped asking about his day. Stopped sending the little voice notes he'd replay ten times before sleeping.
He felt her slipping and panicked.
One night, at 2am, he called instead of texting.
She picked up on the third ring. "Hey."
"Hey."
Silence.
"You mad at me?" he asked.
"No."
"Liar."
A bitter laugh. "Yeah. Guess we both are."
His chest tightened.
"Abïkë. Talk to me. Please."
Another long silence. Then, her voice smaller than he'd ever heard it:
"I just... I don't understand. You say you care about me. You say I matter. But every time I try to get closer, you push me away. And I'm sitting here, Oluwasegun. I'm sitting here waiting for you to choose me. And I'm tired."
He closed his eyes.
"I do choose you."
"Then act like it."
He had no answer.
"I gotta go," she whispered. "Goodnight."
"Abïkë—"
Click.
---
Chapter 6: The Breaking Point
Three days of silence.
Three days of staring at his phone, willing it to light up.
Three days of her doing the same.
On the fourth night, she broke first.
Abïkë: I don't even know why I'm texting you.
Oluwasegun: Because you miss me.
Abïkë: Arrogant much?
Oluwasegun: Honest much.
She almost smiled. Almost.
Abïkë: I do miss you. And I hate that.
Oluwasegun: Why?
Abïkë: Because missing you means I need you. And I promised myself I'd never need anyone.
He read it. Read it again. Then typed:
Oluwasegun: Needing someone isn't weakness, Abïkë. It's human. The only weakness is needing someone who doesn't need you back.
Abïkë: And you? Do you need me back?
His thumb hovered.
This was the moment. The truth. The line he couldn't uncross.
Oluwasegun: More than I've ever needed anything. And that terrifies me.
Abïkë: Why?
Oluwasegun: Because if I lose you, I lose the only good thing in my life.
She stared at the screen. Tears blurred her vision.
Abïkë: Then stop being scared and let me in. Really in. No walls. No distance. Just... us.
Oluwasegun: You don't know what you're asking.
Abïkë: Try me.
He closed his eyes. Breathed deep.
Then he typed the words that would change everything:
Oluwasegun: I'm not 20.
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Chapter 7: The Truth
Oluwasegun: I'm not 20.
Abïkë: ...What?
Oluwasegun: I lied. From the beginning. I'm 23.
Silence.
Abïkë: 23.
Oluwasegun: Yes.
Abïkë: So when I was 15 and we started talking, you were...
Oluwasegun: 22. Almost 23. I know. I know how it looks.
Abïkë: How old did you think I was?
Oluwasegun: I knew your age. From the first night. You told me. And I should've stopped. I should've told you then. But I couldn't.
Abïkë: Couldn't? Or didn't want to?
Oluwasegun: Both. Neither. I don't know. I just know that from the moment I heard your voice, something in me recognized you. And I was scared that if I told you the truth, you'd disappear. So I lied. And every day since, I've hated myself for it.
She didn't reply.
He waited. Five minutes. Ten. Twenty.
Abïkë: I need time.
Oluwasegun: Take it. I'm not going anywhere.
Abïkë: That's the problem. You should. You should go. This is... this is wrong, Oluwasegun. You know it's wrong.
Oluwasegun: I know.
Abïkë: Then why—
Oluwasegun: Because love doesn't care about right or wrong. It just is. And I love you, Abïkë. I've loved you since that first night on the floor of your bedroom when you were crying and I was a stranger and somehow, somehow, we found each other.
No reply.
But she didn't block him.
And that? That was hope.
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Chapter 8: The Waiting
Three weeks passed.
She didn't text. Didn't call. Didn't erase him either.
He checked his phone obsessively. Wrote messages he never sent. Practiced apologies in the mirror like a madman.
And Abïkë?
She was fighting a war with herself.
Half of her screamed run, this is wrong, he lied, he's 23, you're 16, this is dangerous.
The other half whispered but he sees you. Really sees you. No one's ever done that.
Her mother noticed her distance. Asked if she was okay. Abïkë said fine and locked her bedroom door.
One night, at 11:47pm—the exact time of that first call—she opened his chat.
Read every message. Every late night confession. Every goodnight beautiful. Every I'm here if you need me.
And she cried.
Not because she was sad. Because she was tired of being strong. Tired of pretending she didn't feel it. Tired of fighting something that felt like the only real thing in her life.
So she typed:
Abïkë: I don't forgive you. Not yet.
Oluwasegun: I know.
Abïkë: But I don't wanna lose you either.
Oluwasegun: You won't. I'll spend the rest of my life making sure of it if you let me.
Abïkë: That's a long time.
Oluwasegun: Then I'll start now.
Another pause. Then:
Abïkë: Tell me something true. Something I don't know.
Oluwasegun: My father left when I was 7. I've spent my whole life trying to be nothing like him. But lying to you? That was exactly what he would've done. And I hate that. I hate that I became him, even for a second.
She stared at the screen.
Abïkë: You're not him.
Oluwasegun: How do you know?
Abïkë: Because he left. And you stayed. Even when I pushed. Even when I disappeared. You stayed.
Oluwasegun: Always.
Abïkë: Prove it.
Oluwasegun: How?
Abïkë: Meet me. Saturday. Same mall. No more running.
His heart stopped.
Oluwasegun: You sure?
Abïkë: No. But I'm tired of being scared. Aren't you?
Oluwasegun: Terrified. But I'll be there.
Abïkë: Good.
Abïkë: Oluwasegun?
Oluwasegun: Yeah?
Abïkë: Don't be late.
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Chapter 9: The First Time She Saw Him
Saturday. 3pm. Mall entrance.
She got there early. Purposefully. Wanted to see him before he saw her. Wanted to watch him wait, to see if he'd check his phone, to see if he'd look nervous.
He was early too.
She spotted him from across the courtyard. Tall. Brooding in a way that wasn't try-hard. Hands in his pockets. Jaw tight. Eyes scanning the crowd.
He was older than she imagined. Not in a bad way. Just... man. Not boy.
And for a moment, panic hit. What am I doing? He's 23. I'm 16. This is—
Then he turned.
And their eyes met.
And everything stopped.
She watched his face shift—recognition, relief, fear, hope—all in one second. He didn't move. Didn't wave. Just stood there, like he was seeing something sacred.
She walked toward him. One step. Two. Three.
When she was close enough to touch, she stopped.
"Hi," she breathed.
He stared at her like she was the answer to a question he'd been asking his whole life.
"Hi," he whispered back.
"You're taller than I imagined."
A nervous laugh. "You're more beautiful."
She almost smiled. Almost.
"I'm still mad at you."
"I know."
"This doesn't fix it. The lie. It's gonna take time."
"I know."
"And if you ever lie to me again, I'm gone. For real. No second chances."
"I know."
She searched his eyes. Found nothing but truth there.
"Okay," she said softly. "Then let's start here."
He didn't reach for her. Didn't push. Just nodded.
"Here," he agreed. "Wherever you want."
She looked at him—really looked—and felt something shift in her chest.
Maybe this was crazy. Maybe this was wrong. Maybe the world would never understand.
But standing there, in the middle of a crowded mall, with a man who'd lied to keep her and waited when she left?
She didn't care about the world.
"Walk with me," she said.
And he did.
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Chapter 10: What Faith Had in Store
They walked for hours. Talked about everything and nothing. He bought her ice cream. She made him laugh—really laugh—for the first time in months.
When the sun started setting, they sat on a bench outside the mall. Watching people pass. Watching life happen around them.
"Oluwasegun?"
"Yeah?"
"What happens now?"
He thought about it. Looked at the sky. Then at her.
"Now? We take it slow. We do it right. We let you grow without me rushing you. We let the world judge without us caring. And one day, when you're older and I'm still here and we've survived everything they throw at us?"
"What?"
He smiled—soft, real, hers.
"Then we tell our kids the story about the wrong number that turned out to be exactly right."
She stared at him. Felt her eyes sting.
"You really think we'll make it that far?"
"Abïkë." He turned to face her fully. "I lied about my age. I lied to keep you. I'll carry that guilt forever. But I have never, not once, lied about how I feel about you."
"And how's that?"
He reached out—slowly, giving her time to pull away—and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Like you're the first real thing in my life. Like I've been asleep for 23 years and you're the wake-up call. Like faith isn't just a word—it's you. It's this. It's us."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"That's a lot," she whispered.
"You're worth a lot."
She looked at him. The sunset behind him. The city noise around them. The weight of everything they'd been through.
And for the first time in months?
She felt home.
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To be continued...
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🍿 End of Part One