THE GIRL WHO WROTE BACK

**Title: The Girl Who Wrote Back** **Chapter One: Anonymous** Ruth was skeptical about love stories. She didn’t believe in the genuine ones. To her, love was merely a distraction, a sign of weakness, and a luxury for those free from obligations. Instead, she valued control. That conviction led her to join an anonymous writing app. Here, two strangers could collaborate on a story, with no names or faces—just the power of words. It felt safe. Or so she thought. Her writing partner went by the username InkShade. Their initial chapter was far from successful. He filled it with lengthy descriptions of the sky, the stillness, and the way the male protagonist observed the female protagonist from a distance, as if she were something delicate. Ruth deleted a substantial portion of his text. In its place, she introduced dialogue, conflict, and intense tension. The following morning, he responded by editing her revisions. He softened the confrontation, including a quiet moment following the argument where he wrote, “He noticed the tremor in her voice even when she pretended to be strong.” Ruth found herself fixating on that line for longer than intended. Finally, she typed her response: “She doesn’t tremble.”Her heart raced. “She has to face that she’s not as strong as she pretends.” The room felt cramped. Ruth gulped—she had never shared this before. Yet, through a fictional character, he had drawn it out of her. Leaning back, she realized this was risky, not because she disliked it, but because she enjoyed it. Over the next few weeks, writing became a ritual—morning drafts, midnight edits, and lingering silence where both wrote and paused together. She noticed his habits: ellipses when nervous, an aversion to the word "goodbye," and a male lead who observed even the smallest details—the shifts in tone and breath. Without intending to, she found herself eagerly awaiting his responses and notifications of new chapters from InkShade. Eight months passed. For eight months, they enjoyed anonymous intimacy, never sharing real names or personal details. Yet, their characters had fallen in love, and Ruth feared she might have, too. One evening, after an emotional scene, a new message popped up—not in character, but from him: “Do you ever wonder who I am?” Caught off guard, Ruth hesitated, contemplating ignoring it. Instead, she typed “No.” His response came quickly: “Liar.” She felt exposed and deleted her reply three times before sending, “Why does it matter?” Minutes passed without a response, her heart racing. Finally, he replied, “Because if we met in real life, I’d recognize you.” Ruth's stomach sank. How could he recognize her when she had never revealed her face, voice, or name?She forced herself to type something casual. “That’s impossible.” His reply came instantly. “Is it?” Her heart slammed hard against her ribs. And then, as if the universe was listening, her email notification chimed. Lagos Creative Fellowship – Finalists Announced. Her hands trembled as she opened it. Congratulations, Ruth Adebisi. You have been selected as one of ten finalists. Her breath hitched. This was everything she had worked for. Everything. Then she scrolled down to see the other names. Her eyes froze on one. Derick Adebayo. Something about the name made her pulse stutter. She didn’t know why. It shouldn’t mean anything. But it did. Her phone buzzed. Back on the writing app. InkShade had added one more line. “If we met tomorrow, I think you’d know it was me.” Ruth’s heart began to race. Because tomorrow— She would be in Lagos. And for the first time in eight months, the thought of meeting a stranger didn’t feel abstract. It felt real. Dangerously real.She looked once more at the name on the fellowship list: Derick Adebayo. Then, she glanced back at the screen. “If we meet tomorrow…” Her fingers shook as they hovered over the keyboard. For the first time, it wasn’t fear of the unknown that gripped her. Instead, it was the unsettling realization that she might already know him. Tomorrow could reveal the truth.