EPISODE ONE
THE WOMAN AT THE ROADSIDE
The day broke with good news for Chioma, her admission letter had landed quietly and patiently in her Gmail inbox, waiting for her to discover it.
What a way to begin a new day.
Chioma stared at the screen of her phone. She read the email once, then twice, then a third time, just to be certain she wasn’t dreaming.
Her eyes widened.
She screamed at the top of her voice.
“Mummy!”
Her mother rushed into the room, frightened.
“What happened?”
Chioma stood in the middle of the room with her phone in one hand, the admission letter still open on the screen.
“I got in!”
Her mother stared at her.
“In where?”
“Macdonald American Open University!”
For a moment, her mother simply stood there. Then her face broke into a smile.
“Oh, Chioma!”
Chioma threw herself into her mother’s arms.
“I told you I would get in!”
“Yes, you did.”
“I told you!”
“I know.”
They laughed together.
It was the beginning of something new.
Chioma had always wanted to go to university, and now she finally had her chance. Because the university was not a traditional campus-based school, she wouldn’t have to leave Ibadan. She could continue living with her family in Bodija while studying.
To Chioma, it was perfect.
University. Family. Friends. And, most importantly, her books.
Chioma loved novels, especially romance novels. She loved complicated characters, impossible relationships, and stories where two people could somehow find each other despite everything standing between them.
She loved the way fictional people could say exactly what they felt. Sometimes, she joked that she trusted fictional men more than real ones.
Her two closest friends, Tola and Uche, never allowed her to forget it.
“You’re going to marry a fictional character one day,” Tola teased.
Chioma laughed.
“At least fictional men know how to communicate.”
Uche rolled her eyes. “Please. You haven’t even started university and you’re already discussing marriage.”
“I can multitask.”
They burst into laughter.
That afternoon, around noon, the three friends decided to visit a traditional museum in Ibadan. To catch a fresh breath and celebrate Chioma’s new admission.
⸻
The museum stood quietly behind its old walls, almost as though it had been separated from the rest of the city.
The moment they stepped inside, Chioma felt the atmosphere change. The noise of the road seemed to fade behind them. The air smelled faintly of old wood, dust, and polished artefacts.
Their curator, a middle-aged man named Mr. Adebayo, welcomed them at the entrance.
“First time here?”
Tola nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Then prepare yourselves.”
Uche laughed. “For what?”
“For history.”
He led them into the first exhibition room.
Chioma’s eyes widened. There were old carved wooden figures standing behind glass, traditional masks, drums, calabashes, beaded crowns, old farming tools, and weapons used by people who had lived long before them.
Mr. Adebayo explained the stories behind the objects, pointing out details the girls would have completely missed if they had explored the place on their own.
“This mask,” he explained, “was not merely decoration. It was connected to traditional ceremonies and spiritual beliefs.”
Chioma leaned closer.
“People actually believed these things?”
Mr. Adebayo smiled.
“Yes, we do and it’s real.”
Chioma looked at him.
There was something about the way he said it. She couldn’t explain why, but it stayed with her.
They moved through another room.
Old photographs lined the walls. Chioma stopped in front of one showing a group of women dressed in traditional clothing.
“Look at this,” she said.
Tola came beside her.
“Beautiful.”
Uche had already moved ahead.
“Are you two coming?”
“Coming!”
They followed.
For the next hour, they explored the museum, listened to stories, and took pictures. Chioma even bought a small souvenir before they left.
As they stepped outside, the afternoon sun hit their faces.
“I’m hungry,” Uche announced.
“You’re always hungry,” Tola replied.
“Because food is important.”
Chioma laughed.
They began walking along the roadside, discussing where they should eat.
Then Chioma stopped.
“Girls.”
Tola looked back.
“What?”
“Wait.”
“Why?”
Chioma pointed.
“Books.”
Uche sighed.
“Of course.”
An elderly woman sat beneath a faded umbrella by the roadside. A small wooden table stood in front of her, covered with books.
There were no shiny new books, only old ones with faded covers, yellowed pages, and torn edges. Some had handwritten notes scattered across their pages, as though previous owners had written their thoughts directly into the books.
Chioma’s curiosity immediately took over.
She walked toward the woman.
“Good afternoon, ma.”
The woman looked up.
“Good afternoon.”
Chioma crouched beside the table. She picked up one book, put it down, and picked up another.
The titles were strange.
Philosophy. Spirituality. Death. Dreams. The human mind.
She frowned.
“These books are interesting.”
The elderly woman watched her quietly.
Then Chioma saw it.
A dark-covered book lying beneath several others.
She pulled it out.
There was no picture on the cover. No author’s photograph. No colourful design.
Only five words.
MYSTERY AND PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE
Chioma stared at the title.
Something about it drew her in.
“How much?”
The woman looked at the book, then at Chioma.
“Seven hundred naira.”
Chioma raised an eyebrow.
“Seven hundred?”
“Yes.”
Chioma hesitated for a second, then brought out her money and paid.
The woman accepted it.
But she didn’t immediately hand over the book.
Instead, she looked directly into Chioma’s eyes.
Her gaze was unusually intense.
“Read it alone.”
Chioma smiled awkwardly.
“Okay.”
The woman tightened her grip on the book.
“Finish it.”
Chioma’s smile faded slightly.
The woman continued, “And escape to the land of all-knowing.”
Chioma blinked.
“I don’t understand.”
The woman stared at her.
Then she said quietly, “I said read it.”
Chioma didn’t know what to say.
“Okay.”
The woman finally released the book. As Chioma walked away, she looked back. The woman was still watching her.
“Why is she looking at you like that?” Tola asked.
Chioma shrugged.
“Maybe she likes my face.”
Uche laughed.
“Your head.”
Chioma laughed too.
And within minutes, the strange woman was already becoming a distant thought.
⸻
That evening, Chioma sat on her bed with the book open in front of her. The house was unusually quiet, her mother was downstairs, and her brother was somewhere in the sitting room.
Chioma turned the first page.
Then another.
Then another.
The book wasn’t exactly a story. It was a collection of thoughts about life, human existence, dreams, death, and consciousness.
But one subject kept appearing.
Imagination.
Can human beings always trust what they see or read?
Can the mind create something so convincing that a person believes it is real?
What happens when the mind can no longer separate imagination from reality?
Chioma became fascinated.
She read aloud sometimes, frown at certain passages, and stopped occasionally to think.
One page became five.
Five became twenty.
Twenty became—
She didn’t know.
She didn’t notice the passing of time. She didn’t notice the sunlight disappear. She didn’t notice the house becoming quieter.
She simply kept reading.
Then she looked at the clock.
12:00 p.m.
Chioma frowned.
She looked toward the window.
Darkness.
Her heart skipped.
She checked the time again.
2:00 p.m.
She stared at the clock.
“What?”
She checked her phone.
2:00 p.m.
Her brows pulled together.
“Two o’clock?”
She looked toward the window again.
It was dark.
She looked at the date.
The date hadn’t changed.
She sat still.
“Why did my time just jump from twelve to two within seconds?”
She looked at the book.
“I thought I came home around 4 p.m.”
“Why did my time back time to 2 p.m.”
Her breathing became slightly faster.
“What is going on?”
She rubbed her eyes and closed the book.
“Enough.”
She needed something soft.
She reached for one of her romance novels, opened it, and began reading.
A few minutes passed.
Then—
“Chioma.”
Her eyes stopped moving across the page.
She listened.
Nothing.
She slowly looked up.
Her bedroom door was closed.
“Chioma.”
Her heart skipped.
The voice sounded familiar but her mother nor her brother. Then she remember, the woman from the roadside.
Chioma stared at the door.
Slowly, she stood.
“Ma?”
Silence.
She walked toward the door, her hand reached for the handle.
Before she could touch it—
“Chioma.”
She turned around.
The woman (Bookseller) was standing beside her bed.
Chioma froze.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then Chioma smiled.
“You scared me.”
The woman smiled back.
“Why did you drop my book for another?”
Chioma looked at the book in her hand.
“How did you get here?”
The woman didn’t answer.
Instead, she walked toward the bed and sat down. Chioma followed, still confused. The woman looked at the romance novel in Chioma’s hand.
“You cannot read that anymore.”
Chioma frowned.
“Why?”
“Because you have begun my book.”
“So?”
The woman turned her eyes toward her.
“From today, that is the only book you are allowed to read.”
Chioma laughed nervously.
“You’re joking.”
“I am not.”
“What do you mean?”
The woman’s expression became serious.
“You will read my book from this day until the day you die.”
Chioma’s smile disappeared.
“Until I die?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you have opened what should have remained closed.”
Chioma stared at her.
“What does that even mean?”
The woman leaned closer.
“You wanted to know the truth about life. Now you will read until you know it.”
Chioma swallowed.
“And if I stop?”
The woman smiled.
“You won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the book has already chosen you.”
Chioma stared at the dark-covered book lying on the bed. For the first time, she noticed something she hadn’t seen before.
The cover seemed to be breathing.
Slowly.
Almost imperceptibly.
She stepped backward.
“No.”
The woman laughed mystically.
“Yes.”
⸻
Downstairs, Chioma’s mother was preparing dinner when she heard her daughter’s voice. At first, she ignored.
Chioma sounded to be on the phone call. Then she heard laughter.
Loud laughter.
Her smile disappeared, she stopped what she was doing and listened.
Chioma was shouting now.
Her mother frowned.
Who was she shouting at?
She wiped her hands and climbed the stairs.
The bedroom door was slightly open.
“Chioma?”
No answer.
She pushed the door open.
“Chioma, who are you shouting—”
She stopped.
Chioma was sitting on her bed.
Alone.
Her mother stared at her.
“Who were you talking to?”
Chioma looked confused.
“She.”
She pointed beside her.
“Who?”
Chioma pointed again.
“There.”
Her mother looked.
There was nobody.
“Chioma…”
“She was sitting right here.”
Her mother stepped farther into the room.
“Who?”
“The woman who sold me the book.”
Her mother’s face changed.
“What book?”
Chioma held up the book.
“Mummy, she came to see me.”
Her mother stared at her daughter.
“Who came to see you?”
“The woman.”
“There is nobody here.”
Chioma laughed nervously.
“Mummy, stop.”
Her mother slowly moved toward her.
“Chioma, there is nobody in this room.”
Chioma’s smile disappeared.
She looked beside her. The woman was still there, watching her.
Smiling.
Chioma pointed again.
“She is right there.”
Her mother shook her head.
“No one is there.”
“She is sitting beside me!”
“Chioma—”
“Can’t you see her?”
Her mother’s eyes filled with fear. Chioma looked from her mother to the woman. The woman leaned closer, then whispered something into Chioma’s ear, Chioma’s expression changed.
“What?”
Her mother grabbed her arm.
“Chioma, come downstairs.”
“No!”
“Come.”
“She’s talking to me!”
“Who?”
Chioma stared at the woman.
Then at her mother.
“She says you know her.”
Her mother’s face went pale.
“I don’t know anyone.”
The woman smiled.
Chioma smiled back.
And for the first time, her mother realized that her daughter wasn’t joking.
She was seeing someone who wasn’t there.
END OF EPISODE ONE
Story by Abisola Olowoyo
Written by Abisola Olowoyo
All rights reserved @Stories N Series
This is amazing
ReplyDelete