I stared at the screen for the tenth time in five minutes.
Nothing.
No blue ticks. No typing dots. No response.
You'd think I'd be used to this feeling by now—the waiting, the pounding heart, the unspoken hopes—but something about this girl made everything feel ten times more intense.
Ella.
Her name alone had the power to send a chill down my spine. Not the scary kind, but the one that leaves you breathless. The one that reminds you of how much you don't want to mess things up.
I looked away from the phone and let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Maybe I was being foolish. Maybe she wasn't even going to respond. Maybe that "Hi" text I finally sent after weeks of contemplating was a waste of nerve and airtime.
But how do you ignore a feeling that has lived in your chest since childhood?
It started a long time ago, probably around the time we all attended the same children's church. I still remember that day vividly. She wore a lemon-yellow dress, her curly hair bouncing with every step, her cheeks puffed from pouting because the Sunday school teacher made her sit beside a boy she didn't like. Her voice—high-pitched and full of fire—cut through the room as she argued about who got to hold the tambourine.
It was ridiculous, and I remember laughing under my breath.
But even back then, something about her pulled me in. Maybe it was the way she didn't care what anyone thought, the confidence that wrapped around her like armor. I didn't know I had a crush. I just knew I liked seeing her every Sunday.
Years went by, and the feelings hid beneath layers of school stress, puberty, and fear. Mostly fear. Ella wasn't like other girls. Her eyes alone could silence an entire classroom. There was power in her gaze, a strange and quiet command that made you second guess everything you thought you were sure of. And that scared me.
I mean, how do you tell someone like that how you feel?
So, I stayed back. Watched from afar. Admired her whenever she walked past with her friends—laughing, smirking, occasionally rolling her eyes at boys who tried to impress her. I convinced myself I was okay being invisible.
Until I wasn't.
It wasn't one thing that changed. It was everything. The way she moved, the way she now smiled a little more, the way she joked with Zinny and Kosi, her growing beauty that even my guy friends couldn't stop talking about.
One time, I was seated under the tree near the junior block, and two of my classmates were talking about her. Praising her body, her face, her mystery. I tried to laugh it off with them, pretend like I wasn't bothered, but inside… I was burning.
Jealousy is a strange thing.
It made me realize just how badly I wanted her to see me—not just as some random guy she saw around the estate or someone she bumped into at her younger siblings' school—but as someone who truly saw her.
So, I decided.
I'd ask Dayo for her number. And thank God he didn't ask too many questions when I did. The boy just stared at me with a weird smirk and said, "Okay."
Later that day, I checked my phone again.
She'd replied.
Just one word: Hi.
Simple. Casual. But I smiled like a fool. Maybe it was a test. Maybe she was trying to gauge my seriousness. And I was ready to prove her wrong if she thought I wasn't serious.
Just then, a voice cut into my thoughts.
"Who's that girl you've been smiling about since morning?" my mom asked, walking in with her headwrap halfway tied.
I jumped. "Nobody."
"Ah. So nobody is making my son blush like yam under fire?" she teased, folding her arms with that knowing grin. "Is it Ella?"
My cheeks must have changed color because she started laughing. "I knew it! It's that Ella girl. You've been staring at her like a lost puppy since the twins birthday. Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."
"Mummy please," I mumbled, ducking my head.
But she wasn't done. "I like her. She's different. But don't mess it up, oh. Girls like that, once you lose them, no replacement."
"Thanks for the unsolicited advice," I replied with a grin.
"You're welcome. Now go and wash plates."
I groaned and stood up reluctantly, still holding my phone like it was some treasure.
Later that night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. My chest was full—of hope, fear, and something heavier.
Should I tell her?
Should I say, "Hey Ella, I've liked you for years but I was too scared to say anything"? Or "Hey, I know I'm not the boldest, but I see you—and I mean really see you."
But what if she doesn't feel the same? What if I'm just one of those guys on the long list of admirers she never takes seriously?
I turned to the side and picked up my phone again.
Typing…
Deleting…
Typing again.
Finally, I wrote: Can I be honest with you?
I stared at the message for a full minute before hitting send.
Then I did the only thing left to do—I waited.
And hoped that she would let me in.
I didn't sleep much that night. My body stayed still, but my mind paced like a prisoner inside a locked cell. Every time my phone lit up, I pounced on it like it was oxygen.
But she didn't reply.
Not that night.
Not the next morning.
I wanted to believe maybe she was just busy. Or maybe she read it and didn't know how to respond. Or maybe—just maybe—I'd made a mistake.
By the time I got to school, my stomach was already a tangled mess of knots. I kept looking around for her in the hallway, hoping to see her with her usual calm walk, her unreadable expression. Ella always had this quiet confidence about her, like she knew everything happening in the room but would never let it show. She intimidated even the loudest boys.
And yet here I was, longing for even a glance from her.
When I finally saw her—it was by the water tank behind the class block—she was with Zinny and Kosi, laughing at something Kosi had just said. Her smile was faint, but it was real. And I couldn't take my eyes off her.
But she didn't look my way.
Maybe she didn't want to.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and kept walking.
"Guy, wetin dey worry you today?" Tayo asked me during break, tapping my shoulder with his snack wrapper.
"Nothing," I said quickly.
"Liar," he grinned. "You've been walking around like one heartbreak patient."
I wanted to tell him. I wanted to say, I like her. I really, really do. But I'm scared she doesn't feel the same. But I didn't. Some things weren't meant for jokes and banter. Some feelings were too fragile for careless laughter.
Later that day, I went home early. I couldn't handle the constant tension between wanting to be near her and pretending not to care.
My mom was in the kitchen, pounding yam like she was fighting her enemies. When she saw me, she dropped the pestle and looked up with her signature raised brow.
"You look like you lost money."
"I'm fine," I mumbled.
She wiped her hands on her apron and gave me that same grin that always made me nervous. "She hasn't replied yet, abi?"
I sighed. "Mum—please."
"I told you not to rush. Love is not firewood. But if you really like her, don't hide it. Girls these days—some of them want to see that you're willing to fight."
"She's not the fighting type," I said quietly.
"Oh, she's not?" My mom arched her brow. "Then you better learn how to read her language. If you're waiting for a big smile and open arms, my dear, you'll wait till Christmas."
I wanted to believe she was right. That Ella was just testing me. That beneath that stone face, she was curious, maybe even hopeful.
And yet… doubt had a funny way of feeling louder than truth.
That evening, I lay on the living room couch scrolling mindlessly through my phone when her name lit up my screen.
Ella: I don't know. Depends on what you want to be honest about.
My chest stopped moving for a moment.
Was this her way of inviting the conversation? Of saying she was open?
My fingers trembled slightly as I typed:
Me: I like you. I have for a while now. I just didn't know how to say it because I thought I wasn't your type… or that maybe you'd laugh.
I sent it.
And sat frozen.
The minutes crawled by. I imagined her reading it. Frowning. Rolling her eyes. Maybe even laughing with her friends about it.
I was about to turn off my phone completely when her reply came:
Ella: I don't laugh at things like that, Michael.
Short. Sharp. But not a rejection.
Not a no.
I didn't even know what to say next. My heart had already launched into some drum solo I couldn't control. But before I could type another word, she sent a follow-up:
Ella: Why now?
Why now?
I stared at the question for a long time.
She deserved an answer. A real one.
Me: Because I was scared before. Scared that you'd reject me. That I'd embarrass myself. But the truth is, I've liked you since we were kids. I just didn't know how much until recently.
It took her a while to respond.
Then she typed:
Ella: You're not the only one who was scared.
I sat up straight. Re-read the message three times.
She was scared too?
Of me?
Of this?
Suddenly, something shifted in my chest. The heaviness gave way to warmth. Hope.
Before I could say anything else, my mom called from the kitchen.
"Your food is ready. Come and eat before I start suspecting that this girl is using jazz."
I laughed for the first time that day.
"Coming, mummy!"
But my heart was already full.
Maybe—just maybe—this wasn't going to end the way I feared.
Maybe it was only just beginning.