THE GIRL WHO WROTE BACK: CHAPTER TWO
1029 Words
**Title: The Girl Who Wrote Back
Chapter Two: Familiar Strangers**
Ruth hardly got any sleep. Each time she shut her eyes, two things occupied her mind. The name Derick Adebayo loomed large, alongside the phrase: “If we met tomorrow, I think you’d know it was me.”
By morning, her anxiety was at its peak.
The Lagos Creative Fellowship building rose high, its glass facade reflecting the first rays of sunlight. Groups of writers huddled together, their laughter loud and forced, a thin veil over their own nerves.
Ruth adjusted her blazer, took a deep breath, and stepped inside. This was her place. She was meant to be here. All she needed was a moment to collect herself.
As she entered the main hall, she noticed the finalists starting to assemble—ten individuals each with their own unique styles and personalities.
Her gaze drifted to the name tags on a nearby table, and that’s when she spotted it.
Derick Adebayo.
Her heart raced, pounding hard against her chest, seemingly in response to her thoughts.
Then, as if he had sensed her presence, a voice called out from behind her, “You must be Ruth, right?”
She turned cautiously.
And there he stood—tall, composed.His dark eyes seemed to perceive more than they expressed. He wasn’t grinning widely, but instead observed her intently, as if trying to unravel a mystery.
“Yes,” she replied, managing to get the word out.
“I’m Derick,” he introduced himself.
There was no explosive moment, no dramatic soundtrack—just an eerily familiar sensation.
His voice was soft yet firm, and it resonated in her chest. For a brief instant, she visualized him typing, those same hands crafting words in the stillness of the night.
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” she reminded herself.
They shook hands; his grip was warm and assured—unhurried. But he didn’t release her hand right away.
“Have we met before?” he inquired.
The question was too straightforward, causing her throat to constrict.
“No.”
The response slipped out faster than she intended.
His gaze remained fixed on her, as if he doubted her answer.
As the orientation commenced, Ruth found herself only half-listening to the proceedings. Instead, she became increasingly aware of him just two seats away—how he leaned in attentively and lightly tapped his pen while pondering.
That rhythm felt oddly familiar, reminiscent of a blinking cursor.When the first group exercise was announced, the atmosphere turned electric.
“Pair up,” the host instructed.
Before she knew it, Derick was next to her.
“Partner?” he asked casually, but his eyes searched for a deeper connection.
She nodded, and they sat at a shared laptop. The prompt appeared:
"Write a short scene where two characters meet for the first time but seem to know each other."
Ruth's stomach flipped.
Of course.
Derick started typing.
“The moment he saw her, something in his chest tightened. Not because she was beautiful, but because she felt familiar.”
Ruth’s breath hitched.
Familiar.
She swallowed and typed, “She hated that look in his eyes—the one that showed he recognized something she hadn’t revealed.”
Derick paused, then typed, “She lies too quickly when she’s nervous.”
Ruth froze, her heart racing.
That line.
She had written something similar in an anonymous draft months ago.“She hides when she wants to avoid attention.”
Her fingers hovered above the keyboard.
Carefully, she typed: “Maybe she isn’t ready for recognition.”
An uneasy silence settled. Derick focused on her instead of the screen.
“You write like someone I know,” he murmured.
Her heart raced. “That’s not possible,” she replied, trying to sound calm.
He tilted his head. “Is it?”
The same wording, the same tone. Her palms began to sweat.
Before she could reply, another finalist approached—sharp-featured with piercing eyes.
“Teni Oladipo,” she said smoothly. “I’ve heard about you both.”
Ruth forced a polite smile. “Heard what?”
“That you’re the best writers here.”
Ruth glanced between them. “And that you write like you’re in sync.”
Her stomach knotted. Teni leaned closer. “It’s impressive. And risky.”
“Risky?” Derick asked lightly.“Yes,” Teni replied. “When two writers connect like that, someone always gets hurt.” She walked off, leaving Ruth and Derick speechless.
The day passed in a blur of workshops and introductions, but the tension between Ruth and Derick only intensified. Their conversations felt complicated, as if they were having two discussions simultaneously: one spoken and another unspoken.
Later that night, Ruth logged onto the app, her heart racing upon seeing InkShade online. Unable to hold back, she sent a message: “Did you start the fellowship today?”
A quick response followed: “Yes.”
Feeling anxious, she typed, “Are you Derick Adebayo?”
This time, the pause stretched out painfully. She focused on the blinking cursor, her heartbeat loud in her ears. Finally, he replied, “What makes you think that?”
Her pulse quickened, and she replied, “Because you write like him.”
Another pause hung in the air before his response: “And you lie like her.”Ruth gasped as the air left her lungs. Her phone buzzed with a notification from an unknown number. After three seconds of hesitation, she opened the message. It read simply, “I think we need to talk. — Derick.” Panic set in; if he wanted to talk, he must know something—or suspect it.
Her screen lit up again. InkShade was typing. Ruth’s hands trembled as she watched, but the message cut off abruptly, leaving her hanging: “If we’re who I think we are…” Then it stopped.
Another buzz—Derick's message arrived. “I’m outside your hotel.” Her heart sank. Tomorrow was meant for a gradual reveal, not this hurried confrontation. As she stood, her racing pulse echoed one terrifying thought: What if she wasn’t ready for the truth?
- Writer
