7:15pm by Adefolami Ademola | Fiction

The day Ayesha left the hospital for the sixth time in six days, was the day she met kwame. For her, it was the genesis of a happy ending to her miserable existence.
Having suffered, since childhood, from schizophrenic amnesia, which, from time to time, erases a large chunk of her memory, the idea of love, or serious relationship had always been evasive. Like it belonged to another world; another time. Her previous boyfriends had always left her to her fate whenever the sickness resurfaces, which was almost always.

So, her joy when Kwame came was bountiful. She was lost in his handsome features, and seductive baritone. In fact, it was love undeniable. Her smile was infinite when he begged to give her a lift. Her lips wouldn't oblige her intent to decline. So she consented.

They finally hit it off when he asked her out on a date. Yesha's happiness was ocean-full.


The call came in at exactly 7:15pm. She smiled knowing it was Kwame calling to check up on her. It wasn't. The voice at the other end ricocheted with a noisy ambience, like the caller was calling from a busy road. "Is this Ayesha"? He didn't even wait for a response. He poured out the remnants of his speech like a broken gramophone. "One Kwame has been involved in an accident at ikeja. He's dead!"

The tears are back tonight. Ayesha's thoughts back-pedal to the good times they had. The movies, Kwame's resonating laughter, the smiles. And the abrupt end of it all. She sobs uncontrollably. The doctor says the child growing in her is fine. Kwame's child.

Her eyes wander to the chiming wall clock. It was 7:15pm, 6th of October.
The night Kwame died, two years ago…


Creative works (literature, art and culture) emerging from Nigeria.

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