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126
Writewithoma
Fiction Author || Autofiction writer || Freelance writer || Content Creator @ National open university of Nigeria
Fiction Author || Autofiction writer || Freelance writer || Content Creator @ National open university of Nigeria
Chapter 2 – Left in the Living Room
<p>The first time I set foot in his place, I wasn’t even meant to notice him.</p><p><br/></p><p>We walked in together, but almost immediately, he and my friend disappeared into another room, leaving me alone in the sitting room. It didn’t bother me. I had my phone, and that was enough. Games, movies, scrolling I could stay in my own bubble for hours.</p><p><br/></p><p>And I did.</p><p><br/></p><p>It wasn’t until my stomach started acting up that I even thought to speak. I wasn’t starving, but the food she’d given me earlier at her place was sitting wrong. A dull ache, twisting in my belly until I sighed out loud and finally called their attention.</p><p><br/></p><p>He was the one who came. Quiet, almost practical about it. He handed me a glass of water, pointed me to the restroom, and that was that.</p><p><br/></p><p>When I came back, they were still tucked away somewhere, so I went back to my seat, back to my screen. The ache didn’t really go away, but I was used to brushing things off.</p><p><br/></p><p>Then he came out alone.</p><p><br/></p><p>“She stepped out,” he said when I asked about her. Just like that, no explanation.</p><p><br/></p><p>So there I was me and him, in the quiet space she had left behind. And for the first time, we actually spoke. Nothing heavy, nothing deep. Just casual talk, my sharp mouth in full swing, teasing and prodding like I usually do. I threw lines at him, not expecting much, until I realized he could throw them right back.</p><p><br/></p><p>Sharp mouth versus sharp mouth.</p><p><br/></p><p>He was worse than me, honestly. Quick, witty, unbothered like he’d been waiting for someone to spar with. And instead of being offended, I found myself laughing. Bantering. Enjoying it in a way I didn’t plan to.</p><p><br/></p><p>When she finally returned, it was almost like nothing had happened. But something had.</p><p><br/></p><p>A small shift. A spark of recognition.</p><p><br/></p><p>And when I left with her that day, I carried it with me even if I didn’t understand yet why it mattered.</p>
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