Entangled

Mixed signals

Chapter 2 – Mixed Signal

I don’t fully understand the power this guy has over me.

It’s like no matter how far I run in my mind, somehow, I always circle back to him.

I kept telling myself not to reply. I even turned off my notifications. I tried. But my heart wasn’t listening.

In my head, I made a vow—this time, I’ll be strong. I won’t reply. I won’t care.

But then another message popped up, and everything in me crumbled.

“I’ll be in the country next week. I want to see you. Please.”

Just reading those words sent my chest into a spiral.

I didn’t expect this.

I mean, I never imagined he’d come back. Not like this. Not without warning.

My fingers hovered over the screen. I wanted to say something cold. I wanted to show him that I had changed. That his absence made me stronger.

But the truth is… I still wanted to see him. Not because I forgave him. Not even because I trusted him.

But because some part of me was still aching for closure.

I took a deep breath and typed:

“If you’re only coming back to make things right between us, don’t bother. I don’t want that anymore.”

It felt good to say it — even if part of me didn’t mean it.

He read it almost instantly. Seconds later, his name flashed on my screen.

He was calling.

My heart skipped.

I stared at the phone, frozen. I hadn’t heard his voice in over a year. The last time we spoke, he promised me forever. Then he disappeared like I never existed.

I didn’t know what to do.

The phone rang until it stopped.

And then another message came in:

“Pick up, Andy. I want us to fix this.”

The way he still called me that—Andy—like nothing had changed.

Like the pain he left behind didn’t exist.

I rolled my eyes, but deep down, I felt everything.

He always knew how to sound sincere when he messed up.

And once everything felt safe again, he would switch—like a lightbulb flickering before it dies.

Another call came in. This time, I picked up.

“Andy…”

His voice. That same deep, familiar voice. “It’s been a while. How have you been?”

“I’m good,” I replied quickly, trying to sound firm.

He sighed. “I’m really glad to hear that.”

I whispered something under my breath. It wasn’t meant for him to hear. “At least life didn’t end when you left me.”

But he heard it.

Silence.

Then he said, softly, “Andy… I’m so sorry. For everything I caused you. You didn’t deserve it. I know I’m a messed-up person. I left when I should’ve stayed. I ran instead of explaining. I hurt you, and I live with that guilt.”

My heart melted, just a little.

He always knew the right words.

And maybe I hated that I still wanted to believe him.

“Are you listening?” he asked gently.

I cleared my throat. “I’m listening. But I won’t fall for your lies again.”

I meant it. I think.

“You left without a word, Ayo. You didn’t just hurt me—you shattered me. And now you want to come back like nothing happened?”

He paused, then said, “I know what I want. And it’s still you.

Please, let’s talk. Face-to-face. We’re not kids anymore. Let’s have an honest conversation. I want to fix the things I broke… properly.”

I didn’t reply for a few seconds.

Then I said, “Okay. I’ll think about it. Bye.”

I ended the call before he could say anything else.

Then I turned off my data, placed the phone face down, and stared at the ceiling.

Tears started to roll down my cheeks.

Silent and slow.

I cried. Bitterly.

I didn’t even know what I was crying for.

Was it because I missed him?

Was it because I still loved him?

Or because I hated how much I still wanted him?

My emotions were all over the place. It felt like being pulled in a hundred directions at once.

I kept whispering to myself, You’ll be fine. You’ll be okay. It’s just a phase.

I got up, walked into the bathroom, washed my face, and wiped the tears away.

I did my skincare routine, forcing myself to stay grounded.

Then I whispered a few affirmations into the mirror.

“I am strong.”

“I am beautiful.”

“I deserve peace.”

“This is not my fault.”

I climbed into bed, pulled the covers over my body, and willed myself to sleep.

Tomorrow was Monday, and I had no room for sadness.

My business couldn’t run on broken hearts.

The next morning, my alarm went off at 6:30 a.m.

I rolled over in bed and groaned.

Then I sat up slowly, said my morning prayer, and thanked God for another day.

The emotions from last night were still there, lingering like perfume on fabric.

But I pushed them aside. I had things to do.

I brushed my teeth, made my usual cup of tea, and stood by the window while sipping it.

I opened my journal, wrote down my thoughts, and repeated my affirmations.

Something was calming about routine. It reminded me that I was still in control — at least of myself.

After that, I took a quick shower and slipped into a short, classy sky-blue dress.

It hugged me in the right places. My shape was perfect. My skin looked like milk.

I smiled at my reflection and noticed the one-sided dimple I always forgot I had.

You’re still her, I reminded myself. You’re still that girl.

I put on my heels, grabbed my bag, and headed out.

When I got to the office, my assistant met me outside. I handed her the keys to bring in the supplies Vinta and I had bought the day before.

I greeted the receptionist and smiled at a few staff members on my way in. I kept it professional—nobody needed to know that I had cried myself to sleep.

Once inside my office, I sat down, opened my laptop, and started going through emails.

Work was my distraction. It always has been.

Planning events, organizing details, managing timelines—it was my escape.

I was replying to a client’s message about color swatches when I heard a soft knock on my door.

I looked up.

“Come in,” I said, assuming it was my assistant again. The door opened, and it was...