Chapter 9: The Things We Leave Behind
1118 Words
Tobi’s POV
For a few minutes after Bami left, he stayed where he was.
Not because he had nowhere else to be.
Because leaving too quickly always felt like interrupting something.
He had grown to enjoy the quiet that settled over the café after their conversations ended.
The chairs looked the same.
The music hadn’t changed.
Kunle was still wiping tables while humming a song that was perpetually one verse away from being in tune.
Yet the space across from him felt…
Different.
Empty.
He smiled to himself.
It was strange how someone could leave a room while somehow leaving part of themselves behind.
He reached for his book.
The receipt he’d been using as a bookmark slipped onto the table.
He bent to pick it up.
That’s when he saw it.
Resting neatly against the back of Bami’s chair…
Was the cream notebook.
For a moment, he simply looked at it.
It seemed impossible that she’d forgotten it.
She carried it everywhere.
Sometimes she wrote in it before her coffee arrived.
Sometimes while they talked.
Sometimes she’d pause in the middle of a sentence because someone outside the window had smiled at a stranger or a child had said something that deserved to be remembered.
The notebook wasn’t just something she owned.
It had become part of the way she moved through the world.
He picked it up carefully.
The cover was warm from the afternoon sunlight spilling through the window.
His thumb brushed against its worn edges.
It looked… loved.
Not new.
Not pristine.
Loved.
He smiled.
“You forgot your shadow.”
The words escaped before he realized he’d spoken aloud.
“You talking to books now?”
Kunle appeared beside him carrying a tray of empty cups.
Tobi looked up, slightly embarrassed.
“It’s not a book.”
Kunle’s eyes landed on the notebook.
“Oh.”
He nodded knowingly.
“She’ll come back for that.”
“I know.”
“You could call her.”
Tobi’s smile faded into something sheepish.
“I can’t.”
Kunle frowned.
“You don’t have her number?”
He shook his head.
“No.”
Kunle stared at him for a long second before laughing.
“You two spend every Thursday together.”
“I know.”
“You know each other’s coffee orders.”
“I know.”
“You’ve helped old women cross roads together.”
“I know.”
“And you don’t have her number?”
Tobi scratched the back of his neck.
“When you say it out loud…”
“It sounds ridiculous?”
“A little.”
Kunle chuckled.
“I’ll pretend I never heard this.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
The bell above the café door chimed again.
“Tobi!”
He turned at the familiar voice.
Tolu.
His younger sister stood just inside the doorway, raindrops clinging to the sleeves of her denim jacket.
She looked around the café before spotting him.
“There you are.”
He laughed.
“I could say the same thing.”
She dropped into the chair opposite him without invitation.
“I was nearby.”
“You’ve never been ‘nearby’ in your life.”
“I have excellent timing.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
Her eyes drifted to the notebook resting on the table.
She tilted her head.
“Oho…”
There was mischief in her smile.
“Whose is that?”
“A friend’s.”
She gasped dramatically, one hand flying to her chest.
“A friend?”
He sighed.
“Behave.”
“I’m behaving.”
“No, you’re performing.”
“There’s a difference?”
“There is.”
She reached toward the notebook.
“So…”
Her grin widened.
“Let’s see what she writes.”
Before her fingers could touch it, Tobi quietly moved the notebook closer to himself.
“No.”
“Oh, come on.”
“No.”
“What if she’s written about you?”
“I doubt it.”
“You’ll never know unless you—”
“No.”
His voice wasn’t sharp.
Just certain.
Tolu stopped smiling.
She studied him for a moment.
“You really aren’t going to open it.”
He looked down at the cream cover.
The temptation was there.
Of course it was.
Curiosity always sounded harmless.
Just one page.
Just one glance.
She’d never know.
But he would.
He remembered the way she’d wrapped both hands around that notebook whenever she wrote.
The way she’d tucked it carefully into her bag before leaving each Thursday.
The way her face softened every time she opened it.
Some things weren’t meant to be earned through curiosity.
They were meant to be offered freely.
If she ever wanted him to read those pages…
She would hand them to him herself.
Until then…
They belonged only to her.
He looked back at his sister.
Quietly, he said,
“I would.”
For a second, Tolu didn’t speak.
Then something in her expression softened.
She smiled.
“I like her already.”
He laughed.
“You’ve never even met her.”
“I don’t need to.”
She nodded toward the notebook.
“People show you who they are when nobody’s watching.”
She leaned back in her chair.
“And today…”
Her smile grew warmer.
“You’ve shown me who you are too.”
He looked away, suddenly interested in the pattern the rain was making against the café window.
Tolu reached across the table and gently nudged his arm.
“Mum would be proud.”
He smiled.
“So would Dad.”
The words settled gently between them.
Neither of them rushed to fill the silence.
That night, the notebook rested on the corner of Tobi’s desk.
Untouched.
He passed it once while looking for a charger.
Again while answering emails.
A third time on his way to the kitchen for a glass of water.
Each time…
His eyes lingered on it for a second before moving away.
He wondered if she was looking for it already.
He imagined her retracing her steps.
Checking her bag again even after knowing it wasn’t there.
The thought made his chest tighten.
He picked it up carefully.
Not to open it.
Never that.
He simply brushed an invisible speck of dust from the cover before placing it inside his work bag.
Safe.
Exactly as she’d left it.
Tomorrow…
He’d return it.
Still carrying only the words she had chosen to keep.
He switched off the lamp beside his bed.
As darkness settled over the room, one thought stayed with him.
Trust, he realized, wasn’t built by grand promises.
Sometimes…
It began with a notebook that remained closed.
- Writer
