Alpha Saga: How I Met Your Daddy

APRIL If you really sat with it, like with a calm head, you would realise something quietly infuriating: the more life you live, the less sense it makes. At least, that has been my experience. Life, for all its glitter and buzz, has a habit of rearranging itself just when you think you have got a finger on it. A couple of years ago, fresh into university and still carrying the smell of home on me, I was terrified of the future. Like deathly. Not the dramatic, cinematic kind of fear where everything feels doomed, but the slow, practical fear that settles into your bones, that makes itself feel at home. I didn’t know what was waiting for me on the other side of graduation. I didn’t know if I would 'make it out there'. Aunt Ellen and her husband, Pascal, had emptied their pockets to send me to school. Literally emptied them. I saw it in the way Aunt Ellen started comparing prices more carefully at the market, in how Pascal stopped buying himself small, guilty comforts. They never complained though. They never made it feel like a burden because those two were sweetness personified, the kind of people who would give you the last piece of bread and insist they weren’t hungry. But kindness doesn’t erase awareness. I knew what it cost them. I knew how much they gave up so I could have a future they never had. Sometimes, when I lay awake at night back then, it wasn’t exams that kept me up. It was the fear of failing them. Because if I failed, it wouldn’t just be my disappointment to carry. Then it all changed. In what people now like to call a fairytale rise, everything shifted. At the beginning of my sophomore year, almost by accident, I started building an audience online. It wasn’t some master plan; I posted consistently, followed trends, showed up, day in, day out. Slowly, then all at once, it grew. Numbers climbed. Opportunities followed suit. What started as something small and uncertain turned into a real career. One I loved. From the outside, it looked like I had won. Money stopped being a problem altogether. Bills were paid without notice because who could bother to check the price tag, right? If I wanted it, I got it. I moved into an apartment I never thought I could ever afford. I did work that excited me, work that people saw. And yet. Despite the security, despite the joy of doing what I loved, loneliness still found me. It sat with me quietly, like an uninvited guest that somehow knew where to sit. ***** ***** “You travel a lot, don’t you?” Elise asked, a knowing smile etched onto her face. “I know you do. I follow you. You influencers love travelling, don’t y’all?” I smiled back at her, the polite kind that comes easily after years of practice. “I do travel a lot, Elise. But it’s rarely for rest. It looks like leisure, sure, but it’s usually just work. You pick locations based on what you’ll do there, who you’ll meet, what content you can create. That's it, dear.” Elise worked at the hotel. In the three days I had been staying there, we had somehow slipped into easy conversation, the kind that doesn’t feel forced. She had that energy, warm and observant, like someone who actually listened when you spoke. “I didn’t know what loneliness really meant,” I continued, surprising myself a little, “until I grew up and realised that adulthood is basically walking a lot of paths alone.” She nodded slowly. “That’s true. But I don’t think loneliness is abnormal. I think life works because we experience all of it, not just the parts we would choose. Even the uncomfortable feelings matter.” She wasn’t wrong. Still, it didn’t change the fact that life made very little sense to me. When I was broke and scared, I thought money and a job I loved would fix everything. That they were the missing pieces. Now I had both and something still felt hollow. Sometimes it crept up on me in the dead of night, when the apartment was too quiet and the bed too wide, and I remembered that I was the only one who ever slept there. That big, fancy apartment in an upscale area loses its shine when there’s never anyone to share it with. “Anyway,” Elise said gently, bending to wrap her arms around me where I sat, “I hope you enjoy the rest of your time here. We wouldn’t mind hosting you again. Maybe for your twenty-eighth birthday.” “I’ll miss you,” I told her, still smiling. She returned to work, and I stayed by the pool, staring at the water, wondering where exactly I had gone wrong. Or if this was just how things were. Four days earlier, I had taken a flight to this city on impulse. I booked a random hotel. It was my first time there. No plans, no expectations. Just space. Aunt Ellen wanted me home. She wanted cake and laughter and celebration. I wanted that too, I really did. But I also needed to be alone, if only to hear my own thoughts clearly. “My shoe,” a small boy complained nearby, running toward his mother, who crouched down to tie his laces with practiced patience. Family was beautiful, wasn’t it? Aunt Ellen was incredible. The closest thing to a mother I ever had. She and Pascal did their best. Truly. There wasn’t much to complain about. Or was there? “It’s still not noon,” I muttered, checking my wristwatch.I went back to my room, watched two episodes of a show I had recently grown attached to, and fell asleep without planning to. When I woke up, it was past seven. Damn it. I had planned to go out before dark, to do something, anything. Instead of ordering room service, I decided to visit the small restaurant on the hotel grounds. The place was expansive, meaning a short walk was required. As I moved through the paths, I took in the scenery one last time. My flight was at 8:30 the next morning. There was only so long one could press pause on life. ***** ***** The restaurant was alive in that gentle, end-of-day way, filled with clinking cutlery, soft laughter, and the low hum of conversations overlapping each other. Nothing loud, nothing intrusive. Just life happening around plates and glasses. I had barely settled into my seat when my attention was stolen. Not politely asked for. Stolen. From the moment I saw him, something inside me was called on, as though a switch had been flipped without my consent. It wasn’t dramatic or loud. No, it was quiet, almost instinctive. My body reacted before my brain had time to argue. His hair was styled neatly, yes, but that wasn’t what did it. It was the way he carried himself. His body was lean, toned, the kind of build that suggested strength without shouting about it, much like a coiled spring. Effortless. But it was his eyes that held me hostage. They were the colour of liquid amber, catching the light like fragments of trapped sunlight. Rare eyes, the kind you don’t see every day. And then it happened. In a moment so cinematic it almost annoyed me, our gazes collided. My heart stuttered. Just once, maybe twice, or thrice, but seriously, who's counting? I could have been imagining it, but I swear a smile tugged at the corner of his lips when he noticed me. Heat rushed to my cheeks as he walked toward me, and though I kept my posture composed, my insides were doing something embarrassingly close to spiralling. “Do you mind if I join you?” he asked, balancing a tray in his hands. I shook my head. “No, I don’t.” He sat. “This is a fine establishment, isn’t it?” “Yes,” I replied. “First time here?” “First and last, I fear.” “That bad?“ “Oh, no, far from it.“ He spoke softly as if wanting allow each word land safely. “I’m visiting a friend. I’m from far away.” “Well, I’m here for my birthday,” I said, relaxing despite myself. “Oh. Happy birthday then. You came alone?” “Yeah. Is that weird?” He lifted his hands slightly, as if warding the word off. “I try not to label things as weird or wrong these days. It’s all subjective.“ He was calm. Grounded. Reasonable. And yes, I was fully aware that I had met him minutes ago. So stop judging. We talked and all I could think about was how unfairly goodlooking he was. The way he spoke. The way he moved. The way his presence filled space without overwhelming it. Then a thought crept in. A ridiculous one. A reckless one. You know what? We can blame the champagne. You see, I considered asking him something I would never ask on a normal day. But what was the harm? He would never see me again. And if he was offended, well, he would never see me again. Leaning in slightly, I said, “I’m heading back to my hotel room. You could join me, if you like.” His expression froze for a fraction of a moment. I braced myself for rejection, for the discomfort, the quiet retreat that would ensue. It would sting, but I would survive. Instead, he cleared his throat. “It feels weird to say yes, but… yes. That’s my answer. I should probably stop talking now.” He seemed shy as we walked to my room, and for a moment I wondered if he thought I was some confident, wild seductress. If only he knew how familiar disappointment was to me. A welcome surprise? He was good! We kissed on the bed, me straddling his thighs, his touch gentle, deliberate. He wanted more, but he wasn’t rushing. His patience was sexy, made me want him more, heightened the moment. His hands traced beneath my blouse, his lips warm against my neck. Soon, clothes were abandoned. I stared at him, almost laughing at how unfair it was that he looked even better without them. This could be a god, you know? Like these ones in mythologies that could split mountain and fly on horses. “I’m not just saying this,” he murmured. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Sorry. I didn’t mean thing—” “I get it,” I chuckled. We couldn’t get enough of each other. Foreplay got lost somewhere along the way. He flipped me onto my back and everything that followed felt reckless and grounding all at once. It was absurd how satisfying something so spontaneous could be. “Eh—eh—eh,” he grunted as he finished, his hard body collapsing onto me. And then reality returned, like an alert saying you have just emptied your account. We hadn’t used protection. Embarrassment flooded me. We were grown adults. We should know better. I inhaled deeply. “Did you, um, pull out?” “Yes,” he said rather too quickly. “Of course.” “But I'm pretty sure I felt you…” “I did,” he reassured. “I promise.” “Okay,” I exhaled. “And you don’t have any… I mean…” “I take my health seriously,” he cut in. “I get tested like every other month.” We lay beneath the sheets for a while before he spoke again. “I’m Oliver Potter. What’s your name?” “It’s not important, Oliver Potter.” “Come on. If two strangers get naked together, they should exchange names. I don’t make the rules.” I laughed. “April June,” I muttered. “April June?” He blinked. “You’re kidding me.” “I’m really not.” Before he left, he took my hands, kissed my forehead with his eyes closed, and said, “I know it's silly but I hope I get to see you again.” I smiled and said nothing because I knew I would see him again.