i. A GMAIL KINDA LOVE STORY.
March 24th, 2024. 08:23 pm.
It was Sunday evening, and I lay in bed with a book in hand, wrapped in a cozy blanket. Happiness splashed all over me as I giggled at a character, while dangling my legs in the air like a 20-year-old lady who just received an ‘I love you’ text from her boyfriend. In my case, I’m 21, no boyfriend, no relationship, no situationship and definitely no marriage in view, but I’m happy with my life. Whoever says money can’t buy happiness, tell her to go buy books, she’ll die happy.
And Whilst enjoying my reading, without caring about the deafening noise galloping around, I munched on the minimie chin chin I had bought solely for the moment. I had teleported to the ethereal world and didn’t even care if my neighbour’s house was burning. Who cares about reality, anyway?
“Ding”
A notification popped on my phone, and I cursed myself for not putting the phone on DND. I hate it when I’m being jolted to reality, most especially while crushing on a character; at least not this minute when he had just found out the most despicable secret about his stepmom.
I sighed and picked up my phone thinking it was Martha; my 22-year-old friend who made it her mission to inundate me with pictures of her and her man, and lies that the man tells her on a daily basis. But who will tell her? Not me.
I let out a whiff of relief when it was clear that it wasn’t Martha, and scrolled through the 377 messages on WhatsApp, letting them go stale, and hoping to find the new message that just popped in.
I realised that the notification was from my Gmail and my heart beat rapidly like someone who had just turned to a horse. My mail is strictly for business and I wasn’t expecting any business-related mail to come in, and even the Director of the bookstore I manage knows to not message me without prior notice. So, I held my breath and counted from 10–1, a ritual I do whenever I’m nervous, before opening the message.
“Hello, Omowumi.”
I am Adeyemi Akinyemi from Lagos State. I got your email address from Goodreads on Google. I hope this meets you well.” no, this didn’t meet me well, cause you’re ruining my reading schedule, and why would you pick out my mail address? are you a stalker or a serial killer? you didn’t say them all out but continued to read. “I enjoyed your review for the book ‘Tomorrow Died Yesterday’ and that was my exact thought when I read the book too, which made me wonder who you are and how your brain works. I know this might sound creepy but I usually don’t have the same thought as people, so it felt wholesome when our opinions concerning this book aligned. I hope I’m not scaring you.” yes, you are and i don’t care about your story or your fetish for my brain. “I enjoyed the book so much that I got the writer’s second book and a signed copy at that.” hol’up, now I’m intrigued. i sat up straight on the bed, adjusting my dress with enthusiasm. “Do you have his two books? I’d like us to be friends and maybe meet up for coffee sometimes. Ps. I’m not a coffee person, but it sounds like what a character would say hence that.” i couldn’t help but chuckle at his confession. i don’t like coffee either. “I hope you’ll respond to this mail.”
“Love, Akinyemi.”
I dropped my phone on the bed trying to grasp what had happened, I also couldn’t help but blushed like a sunset painting the sky repeatedly. The mail seemed nice and had a calm tone. I have a weird habit of reading tone into messages, maybe because I studied linguistics, I can’t tell. I thought of responding to his mail but stopped abruptly telling myself not to, I don’t want to come off easy.
I picked up the book I was reading “Dreaming of Ways to Understand You” by Jerry Chiemeke and continued reading, maybe if I bury myself inside the book, I’ll forget the mail ever existed. But who am I kidding?
08:50 pm.
I’m not the type to lose focus while reading but that mail had done something I couldn’t shake off, and I found myself peeking at the phone whether another mail from this mystery Yemi would pop in saying it was a mistake, but nothing came. Did I just shorten his name? I’m a lost cause.
I eventually picked up my phone with my left hand, holding a bookmarked book with my right and dialled Racheal’s number who picked up at the second ring.
“Hey babe, what’s up? I’m surprised you called, did someone die?”
The question didn’t come as a surprise. I don’t make or receive calls once it’s 08 pm to 10 pm, cause it’s my reading period. It’s a ritual I started when I was in the university.
“No one is dying, Rachael. I just want to ask you something”
I heard the rustling sound at her end and asked if she was busy.
“No, I was just adjusting my sitting position. I didn’t know a day would come when your encyclopedia brain won’t be of help to you so much.”
I grunted.
“Whatever, promise me not to freak out, okay?”
“Wait, did someone truly die? I knew it, my guessing game is above par. Haha.”
“Can you just shut up and listen? And no one is dead or dying, please.”
She chuckled while I fought the smile tugging at my cheeks and explained what had happened to her. Why do I feel happy about the mail?
“You should respond. This is a mail that disrupted your reading schedule and made you call me. It’s worth responding to, shogbo?
I thanked her and said my goodbyes.
I responded to the mail before I could talk myself out of it. I continued reading when another email came from him. I gaze down at my phone with my cheeks flushed with a smile and that, ladies and gentlemen is how our GMAIL love story started.
Hii, if you get to this point, thank you. This is the first episode of A GMAIL KINDA LOVE STORY.
Now, you can clap up to 50 times, share and let me know what you think about the story, I’d love to read them.
Also, it’s day 70 of the chronicle of a final-year student who loves cheesy love stories and begged Oluwanishola to edit.
Thank you.