Linda lay sprawled across her bed, phone balanced on her stomach as the soft glow from the screen lit up her face. The ceiling fan spun lazily above her, but it did nothing to calm the restless excitement bubbling inside her.
It had only been a few days since she got back to Lagos, yet somehow Zara had slipped into her routine so naturally that it felt like she'd always been there.
Morning texts.
Random voice notes.
Late-night chats that stretched into the early hours without either of them noticing.
Linda smiled as she reread Zara's last message for what had to be the tenth time.
Can't believe I'm finally moving tomorrow. Lagos better behave because I'm coming for chaos.
Linda bit her lip, trying—and failing—not to grin.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before she typed:
Please. Lagos is not ready for you.
Zara replied almost instantly.
Are you?
Linda's heart skipped so hard she actually sat up.
She stared at the message, heat rushing to her cheeks.
Now that could mean anything.
And that was exactly the problem.
Linda dropped back onto the bed dramatically, pressing her phone against her chest as if that would somehow steady her racing heart.
She liked Zara. That much was obvious now.
Not in the casual way she liked most people. Not in the fleeting way she'd crush on strangers and forget them a week later.
This was different.
Zara had a way of making Linda feel seen—really seen. She remembered tiny details Linda mentioned in passing. She sent her pictures of sunsets because Linda once said she loved orange skies. She laughed at Linda's dry jokes like they were the funniest thing in the world.
And the voice notes?
Linda had replayed some of them more times than she would ever admit.
Still… she couldn't tell if Zara was flirting or just being Zara.
Girls could be confusing like that—soft, affectionate, playful. A lingering compliment here, a teasing nickname there, hearts at the end of texts that could mean everything or absolutely nothing.
Linda groaned into her pillow.
"This is torture," she muttered.
Her phone buzzed again.
Zara: Be honest. Did you miss me?
Linda stared at the words, her pulse quickening.
She could already picture Zara's face—that smug little smile she probably had while typing that.
Linda smiled despite herself.
Maybe she didn't need to have everything figured out tonight.
Maybe tomorrow, when Zara was here, she'd get her answer in the little things—the way Zara looked at her, whether her touches lingered, whether that spark Linda felt was real or just hope playing tricks on her.
For now, she typed carefully:
Maybe a little.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Then:
Liar. You've been obsessed with me since the day we met.
Linda let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head.
Her cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
She pulled the duvet closer, hugging it to herself as she stared at the screen, warmth spreading through her chest.
Tomorrow.
Zara would be here tomorrow.
And for the first time in days, sleep didn't feel impossible.
It felt like something she had to get through before morning came faster.
ZARA'S POV
Zara lay awake in the half-packed guest room at her mother's house, surrounded by open boxes, folded clothes, and the soft chaos of leaving one life behind for another.
Tomorrow, she'd be in Lagos.
Tomorrow, she'd see Linda again.
The thought alone made sleep impossible.
Her phone rested beside her on the pillow, the screen still glowing faintly from their last conversation. Zara reached for it again, smiling the second Linda's name filled the screen.
She was ridiculous.
For someone who usually prided herself on being smooth, unbothered, impossible to read—Linda had somehow reduced her to this: smiling at texts, replaying voice notes, checking her phone every five minutes like a teenager with her first crush.
It was embarrassing.
And exciting.
Zara rolled onto her side and opened one of Linda's voice notes from earlier that day.
Linda had been ranting about Lagos traffic, her voice warm and animated, irritation fading into laughter halfway through because she knew Zara was laughing at her.
Zara closed her eyes as Linda's laugh filled the room.
That laugh.
God.
There was something about Linda that unsettled her in the best way.
It wasn't just that she was beautiful—though Zara still remembered the first time she'd really looked at her and momentarily forgotten what she was saying.
It was the little things.
The way Linda scrunched her nose when she was suspicious.
How she pretended to be tougher than she was.
How soft her voice got when she was tired.
How Zara found herself wanting to be the person Linda reached for first.
She sighed and dropped the phone on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
That was the problem.
She wanted too much too quickly, and she had no idea if Linda felt the same way.
Sure, Linda flirted—or at least Zara thought she did.
There were the teasing messages, the late-night conversations neither of them wanted to end, the way Linda sometimes went quiet after Zara said something bold, like she was blushing on the other side of the phone.
But girls were complicated.
Especially pretty girls who were naturally sweet.
Sometimes affection was just affection.
Sometimes chemistry was one-sided.
And Zara had learned the hard way not to build castles out of maybes.
Still, Linda made it difficult not to hope.
Her phone buzzed in her hand.
A new message from Linda.
Sleep. You have a flight tomorrow.
Zara smiled so wide her cheeks hurt.
Even when Linda was bossy, it was cute.
She typed back:
Make me.
Almost immediately, Linda replied:
Zara.
Just her name.
Nothing else.
But somehow it made Zara's stomach flip.
She stared at it, grinning like an idiot.
Linda had no idea what she did to her.
Or maybe she did.
Maybe that was why Zara was so restless now—because beneath all the jokes and teasing and carefully placed half-flirts, there was something real building between them.
Something fragile.
Something that could either become everything or break her heart if she got it wrong.
For once, Zara didn't want to rush.
She wanted to see Linda in person. To feel out the spaces between them. To know whether the electricity she felt every time Linda said her name was real.
Tomorrow would tell her more than a thousand texts ever could.
She hugged her pillow tighter, smiling into the dark.
Tomorrow, she'd finally get to see if Linda's smile was as dangerous in person as she remembered.
And if it was?
Zara already knew she was in trouble.
As the night wore on, neither Linda nor Zara seemed ready to let go of the conversation. What started as teasing texts about Lagos traffic and Zara's flight slowly turned softer, more intimate in the quiet way that only late-night conversations could be. Linda lay curled beneath her duvet, smiling every time her phone lit up, while Zara stayed awake in her half-packed room, surrounded by boxes she'd long forgotten about. They talked about little things—what Zara still had left to pack, what Linda planned to wear tomorrow, who was more likely to cry first when they saw each other again. Each message carried a warmth that felt almost impossible to ignore.
Still, beneath all the laughter and playful flirting, there was a quiet uncertainty neither of them could shake. Linda wondered if Zara's boldness meant something deeper or if she was simply naturally charming. Zara, on the other hand, kept second-guessing herself too, afraid of mistaking Linda's softness for something more. Both of them wanted to ask the question sitting at the edge of every conversation, but neither was ready to risk ruining what they already had.
Eventually, when the hour grew late and sleep became impossible to avoid, Linda sent a soft reminder that Zara had an early flight and needed rest. Zara protested, dragging out the conversation just a little longer because she wasn't ready to say goodnight—not when tomorrow felt so close. Linda teased her for being stubborn, and Zara replied with a joking complaint about how Linda was already acting like she owned her time. The words made Linda blush even though Zara couldn't see it.
When the goodnight finally came, it wasn't simple. It was drawn out with heart emojis, fake arguments over who was ending the chat first, and promises to text the second Zara landed. Linda stared at Zara's final message—Sleep well. Dream about me a little—and couldn't stop smiling. Zara, meanwhile, reread Linda's reluctant Goodnight, troublemaker. Travel safe tomorrow more times than she cared to admit.
Long after the messages stopped, both girls lay awake in the dark, phones clutched close, hearts racing with the same nervous excitement. Linda imagined what it would feel like to see Zara step through the airport doors, to hear her laugh in person again, to finally know if the electricity between them was real. Zara pictured Linda waiting for her, beautiful and smiling, and felt her chest tighten with anticipation.
Eventually, sleep found them both—not because they were calm, but because tomorrow was finally close enough to touch. And for the first time in days, the uncertainty felt less frightening than exciting. Morning was bringing them closer to an answer neither of them was brave enough to ask for yet.