Too Many Personalities
997 Words
Amia doesn’t wait. She never does.
“What kind of game?” she asks, already halfway to Elara, already reaching for the paper like it belongs to her.
Elara pulls it back slightly. Not defensive, just instinct. “It’s nothing serious. Just something I wrote.”
“That’s exactly how all the best chaos starts,” Kunle says, lifting his phone. “Recording from now. If anything goes wrong, I want evidence.”
“Or content,” Simy adds, sliding in beside him.
“Same thing.”
Dami exhales and leans against the counter. “If this ends with someone crying, I’m leaving.”
“No you’re not,” Amia says. “You love us too much.”
“I tolerate you.”
“Same thing.”
Laughter spreads again, easy and loose. The room feels alive in that careless way, like nothing bad could ever really happen here.
Elara unfolds the paper slowly. It’s handwritten, neat but not perfect. The kind of writing that took time.
Amia leans over her shoulder. “This looks serious.”
“It’s not,” Elara says, softer now.
Michel watches from across the room. Not the people. The paper.
Always the paper.
“What’s on it?” Lila asks, nudging Marcus aside so she can see.
“Categories,” Elara says. “Like roles.”
“Roles?” Fola repeats, interest lighting up. “Define that.”
“Titles. The lover, the liar, the hero. Things like that.”
“Oh I like this already,” Amia says. “We’re exposing people tonight.”
“No exposing. It’s just for fun.”
“Fun is subjective,” Jonah mutters from his corner.
No one really responds, but the words hang for a second longer than they should.
Simy lifts her phone higher. “Wait, say it again. This is perfect.”
“No,” Elara says with a small smile. “You don’t need to record everything.”
“I absolutely do.”
Kunle leans into frame. “Future documentary. The night everything changed.”
“Relax,” Dami says. “Nothing is changing.”
Marcus smirks. “Speak for yourself.”
Lila nudges him. “Don’t start.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t have to.”
Their tone is light, but there’s something under it. Something tight.
Fola notices. He notices everything. “Interesting,” he murmurs.
Amia claps once. “Focus. We have a game. We have people. Let’s begin.”
“We haven’t explained it,” Elara says.
“Then explain it while we play.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“It is tonight.”
There’s a small pause. Not uncomfortable, just a shift in rhythm.
Elara looks around the room. Familiar faces. Comfortable ones. Safe ones. Her grip tightens slightly on the paper.
“It’s simple,” she says. “We write names under each category. Whatever fits best. No overthinking.”
“Oh I’m definitely overthinking,” Kunle says.
“You always do.”
“I’m deep.”
“You’re annoying.”
“Same thing.”
Another round of laughter keeps things moving.
They gather closer now, forming a loose circle around the table. Plates are pushed aside, drinks forgotten. Elara places the paper in the center.
For a second, no one touches it.
Then Amia grabs a pen.
“Let’s start easy. The Lover.”
“Oh that’s obvious,” Marcus says immediately.
Lila raises an eyebrow. “Is it?”
He pauses. “I mean…”
“Write it,” Amia says, handing him the pen.
He hesitates just long enough to be noticed, then writes. Lila watches his hand the whole time.
“Next. The Liar.”
Kunle laughs. “This is where friendships end.”
“Or begin,” Fola says.
“Please don’t make this deep.”
“It already is.”
The pen moves again. Different hands now, different energy.
Some names are written with confidence. Others with hesitation. Some get laughs. Some get silence.
Jonah doesn’t move from his corner, but his eyes track every name as it appears.
Simy shifts angles, trying to capture everything. “This is actually so good. The lighting, the tension, the vibe…”
She pauses. Just for a second. Her screen flickers.
“Did you see that?” she asks.
“See what?” Kunle says.
“My camera just glitched.”
“It’s your phone. Not everything is supernatural.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
But she checks the footage anyway. Just a quick replay.
In the background, behind everyone else, near the edge of the frame, something moves. Too fast to make out. Too wrong to ignore completely.
She blinks and looks up. Everything is normal. Same people, same room, same noise.
“Probably nothing,” she mutters, lowering her phone.
“Exactly,” Dami says. “Nothing.”
Back at the table, the list is growing.
The Coward.
The Hero.
The Runner.
Each title feels heavier than the last. Not because of what they mean, but because of how easily names fall into place. Like everyone already knows. Like they’ve always known.
Elara watches it happen, her expression unreadable now.
Across from her, Michel shifts slightly. “Funny,” he says quietly.
“What?” she asks.
“How accurate people get when they think it doesn’t matter.”
She frowns. “It doesn’t.”
He looks at her then, really looks. “Yeah. If you say so.”
Amia straightens up, satisfied. “Perfect.”
“Perfect for what?” Dami asks.
“For the next part.”
“There’s a next part?”
“There’s always a next part.”
She taps the paper with the pen. “Now we see what happens.”
A beat passes. Then another.
Somewhere in the room, a light flickers once.
Not enough to stop anything.
Not enough to matter.
But enough that Michel notices.
And this time, he doesn’t look surprised.
- Writer
