
Cheers to 2025
Every New Year holds promise, as though it is any different from the turn of
The story of fate and destiny
Chapter 4
The Dilemma
It was the lightest traffic she had been in that week. Vehicles were sprinkled on the road as though it were a playset that came with only a few cars. The aftermath of the COVID pandemic meant that a lot more younger people worked from home making commuting bearable. In place of the vehicles, delivery motorcycles and dispatch riders darted across the road in a frenzied haste.

Tara drove her car slowly, lost in thought. The bottle was on her backseat where she tossed it as soon as she got back into her car. She stole a quick glance from the inner mirror as though expecting the object to transform into something else.
The bottle rolled gently on its side mockingly.
“Common Taraoluwa, get a grip.” She chided herself.
For some reason she was relieved that parts of the mystery had been reasonably resolved. At least she knows that the address existed, and she was grateful to have met the husband of the woman in the photo. At least the woman was real.
“She is probably dead already. Poor old man.”
But what a coincidence it was that she met the husband on her visit. At least he was kind to share his side of the story.
“I wonder what happened to her?” She looked at the photo where she kept it around the gear shift. Something surely didn’t add up with the story. How could anyone disappear without a trace.
“Who tossed a bottle into the ocean with her picture and notes in it. What purpose was the message supposed to serve?”
The voices in her head did not yield until she arrived at her apartment in Lekki. She had decided to do some online research on the woman, who must be old by now. She was also going to work on putting together the pieces of paper until she could figured out what was written on them.
When she alighted from the car, she had with her the bottle, the photo, her bag, and the nylon with the scrap pieces of paper.
Now she had work to do.
*****
Sprawled on her center rug, Tara punched in the name of the lady into the google tab.
Christiana, Atinuke Dosunmu-Coker.
Nothing of note caught her attention in the search result. Apparently, she had gone missing in the early 90s, way before the internet was popular enough to be taken seriously in Nigeria. But there was a mention of her daughter Ann.

She was married to a popular Nollywood celebrity, Ade Expresso! It looked like she had done quite well for herself in academia. Aside from lecturing at the federal university in Yaba, she was also a popular celebrity psychiatrist credited with successfully managing some of the most difficult cases in showbiz.
“Interesting! I will come back to that.”
She spent some time looking at the bottle as it sat on her television console, blending into the deep mahogany furniture as though it was a part of her collection. From the distance, she could still see the coin inside the bottle.
“Shit! Shit, I didn’t ask for the strange man’s name? He claimed he was her husband.”
Promptly, she started to type the surname in hope that it could lead her to pages with information about the old man.
Her head started to spin the moment she read the first search page.
“Freak and fatal Accident
The heir and only son of the Coker Empire died in a bizarre and tragic accident on his yacht after a head-on collision with a local boat killing over 20 passengers. The cause of the accident was attributed to engine malfunction and Adetokunbo’s body was retrieved 3 days later, after it washed up on Lagos beachfront. He was survived by a daughter, Ann.”
His picture had an ominous import with every feature accentuated by every color of the High-definition image. It started to look like the picture was starting to become real. It was every inch the man she had met earlier that afternoon.

“Oh my God, Oh my God….” Her fingers began to tremble as fear crippled her very being. Images of their short meeting flashed past her in droves leaving her rooted to the same spot. She could feel all sorts of emotions at the same time. Maddening Fear, anxiety and confusion took turns to berate her.
Her thoughts were akin to driving around the block over and over, faster and faster in an endless cycle that made her head spin.
She shut down her laptop violently as she scurried quickly to the only couch in her living room.
“Jesus! Jesus!!” she screamed repeatedly.
Her body shook so violently, she couldn’t keep the throw pillow she held close to her chest, as she coiled into the fetal position, still.
When she turned her face away from the laptop, her eyes rolled slowly until her line of sight descended on the bottle where she had placed it on her television console.
“Maybe it was his twin. It had to be. There was no way I had just spoken to a ghost.”
She reached for her mobile handset.
Is it possible to speak to a ghost? She typed in google.
The results this time didn’t help. Some pages offered services to speak to Ghosts. The results left her more confused.
“What is going on?” The fog of confusion thickened as she struggled to string logical thoughts together. Her brain was fried-up, nothing was being processed.
Regret started to slither in quietly reminding her to always mind her business. She should have left the bottle where it was on the beach.
The steady tick of the wall clock was a tad slower than her shallow breath. Although every where appeared calm, she was convinced there was a nuclear war of words inside her head.
When she opened her eyes, she was clear of one thing she had to do.
She was going to find Ann. Perhaps if she met with her, she would provide some clarity to this ongoing dilemma. Tara had burning questions that craved for answers and her day was already unsettled. She was going to see this through.
This time she left her house with only the small photo of the lady.
******
The map continued to pass audio directions to her until she arrived at the location where the building housed Ann’s medical practice that was tucked in the streets of Opebi.
The House of Order wellness centre.
Tara waited in the car for a moment. She still hadn’t found the answer to one question popping up repeatedly in her mind.
“What the hell are you doing?”
She was too far gone to answer questions. Instinctively she looked into the rearview mirror to arrange the straying strands of her braids while casting a cursory glance at her rear seat.
To her horror, the bottle from the beach lay on her back seat as though it had never left the car. Stunned, she took a second look and a third before hurriedly opening the car door like a mad deranged woman.
“What the hell!”
Continue reading here

Every New Year holds promise, as though it is any different from the turn of

In an era that increasingly demands hyper-specialization, Akin Akingbogun stands out as a refreshing anomaly. He is a man who refuses to be confined to a single box.

There is a particular kind of silence that falls on a man when the phone stops ringing, the proposals go unanswered, and the diary that once groaned under the weight of appointments sits quietly — almost mockingly — open. If you have ever been there, you know it.

Let me tell you something uncomfortable: the most generous person you know — the one who volunteers every weekend, donates quietly, never asks for anything in return — is probably getting something out of it. Not money. Maybe not even recognition. But something.

Adaeze had been awake since 4 a.m.
Not because she was anxious — though she was — but because this trip felt different. After eighteen months of follow-ups, phone calls, and PowerPoint presentations polished to a mirror shine, the deal was finally ready to close. An investor meeting in Abuja. A partnership that would change the trajectory of her small but gutsy consulting firm. She had triple-checked her flight, her documents, her outfit. She had prayed. She was ready.

When he told his father, Dare’s first response was a sigh. Then: “I told you to practice more. I told you months ago. You don’t listen. You never listen.”
There was no “I’m sorry, son.” No pause to let the boy simply feel the loss of the thing he wanted. Just a swift, seamless pivot to what Temi had done wrong — and, by extension, how Temi’s failure was evidence of Temi’s failure to take his father’s wisdom seriously.

I want to tell you something that took me embarrassingly long to learn. Not because the idea is complicated — it is not. But because it cuts against something deeply wired in us, something we are rarely honest enough to admit.

You are somewhere between forty and fifty-five. You looked in the mirror recently and had a thought you immediately dismissed. Maybe you googled something at 2am that you would never say out loud. Maybe you bought something expensive and impractical and told everyone it was an investment. Or maybe you just feel — quietly, persistently — like the life you built was supposed to feel better than this by now.

Anton Chekhov was a Russian physician and playwright — a man trained in the discipline of diagnosis before he became one of the most precise storytellers in the history of world literature. That combination of sensibilities matters, because the principle he articulated in the late nineteenth century was not merely a rule of dramatic craft. It was an observation about the nature of significance itself. About what it means for something to be present. About the relationship between introduction and consequence.

There is a prison that has no concrete walls, no iron bars, no guards posted at the gate. Nobody built it for you. Nobody sentenced you to it. And yet, for many people, it is the place they spend the better part of their lives — circling its perimeter, brushing their fingers against its invisible boundaries, and quietly retreating each time they feel the edge of something that might require more of them than they believe they can give.

Picture a hand holding sand. The tighter the grip, the faster the grains escape between the fingers. Ease the grip — open the palm, allow the hand to become a vessel rather than a vice — and the sand stays. This is one of the oldest paradoxes of leadership, and one of the least learned: that control, pursued too aggressively, produces the very loss of control it was designed to prevent.

There is a version of ambition that builds. And there is a version of ambition that consumes. From a distance — and especially from inside it — they look almost identical. Both are energetic. Both are forward-moving. Both speak the language of vision and possibility. The difference only becomes visible later, usually at the point of fracture, when what was built begins to come apart under the weight of what was promised.

There is a particular kind of organisational absurdity that most people who have ever worked in a company will recognise immediately. It is the policy that was clearly designed by someone who has never had to implement it. The restructuring that looked elegant on a slide deck and chaotic on the ground. The customer-facing process that was overhauled by a committee that has not spoken to a customer in years. The directive that arrives from above, fully formed and non-negotiable, that causes the people closest to the work to exchange a look — the kind of look that says, without words: they have no idea what we actually do here.

We have built an entire mythology around exhaustion. In boardrooms and business culture — perhaps nowhere more so than in the high-pressure, always-on professional culture many of us inhabit — busyness has become a currency. To be tired is to be serious. To be overwhelmed is to be important. To be burning out, quietly, is somehow proof that you are fully committed.
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16 thoughts on “Remember me (IV)- Short story”
Pingback: Remember me (III)- Short story – Akin Akingbogun
See me helping her search for No.17…ha ha ha! I could have sworn I was right in the same room with these two. Your really know how to pull your readers into your stories.Your descriptive abilities are unmatched.Well done!
Thank you so much Lola. Oya let’s help Tara solve this mystery.
Na wa o, Akin. You just suddenly changed the outline of this story. No be so we talk am o. Now you leave me in suspense …
Don’t worry, there is a major twist ahead. Look out.
Quite inspiring. I am waiting for chapter 5.
Soon enough sir!
I sometimes get goosebumps when watching a horror movie but not when reading. First time ever, you got me brother. Well scripted
This is so warming. I will take this to the bank. Trust me.
This is a good story
Thanks Inusa
Always a delight to read.
Thank you Peter
This suspense ehn…part five pls
Part 5 is ready and waiting for you Faith
a hilarious and captivating novel that had me laughing out loud! The witty humor and quirky characters made the story truly entertaining. It’s refreshing to dive into a book that not only entertains but also keeps you eagerly turning the pages to see what funny antics the characters will get into next. If you’re looking for a good laugh and an engaging read, this novel is definitely one to consider diving into!