Ozonḓu Chronicles : The Elevator Frequency Part 2

His message “Psssst” has me a bit annoyed.

Why is he texting so late?

Already, I can feel the high of that elevator moment leaving my body. It’s subtle, but I notice it. That rush, that spark it’s fading, and now I’m left with questions instead of butterflies.

Helena is still looking at me.

Not in passing. Not politely. She’s… ogling me.

And this time, I actually let myself look back. She’s pretty. There’s something confident about her, something soft too, like she knows exactly how to hold both.

“I can drop you home,” I say, almost instinctively.

On the drive, she talks about the women she’s been with. There’s a pattern in the way she describes it she’s the one who takes care of them, the one who leads, who provides. I glance at her sitting in my passenger seat, and for a moment, I feel it.

That energy.

Is this what men feel like?

Being the one in control, the one desired, the one giving? There’s a quiet satisfaction in it. It’s… nice.

But my thoughts don’t fully settle there.

“Park here,” she says, pointing ahead. “I live here.”

I slow down, pulling over. The air shifts immediately heavy, a little awkward, charged with something neither of us is naming out loud.

I sit there for a second, hands still on the wheel.

I am flattered. I won’t lie about that. I like the feeling she’s giving me. The attention is warm, almost addictive in a soft way.

But

“Uhm… how will I contact you?” she asks.

Of course.

I take out my phone and give her my number. She smiles, a little cheeky, like she already knows something I don’t.

“Text me when you get home,” she says before stepping out.

And then she’s gone.

When I get home, everything quiets down.

And that’s when the truth comes in, uninvited but clear.

I didn’t like her like that.

I liked the feeling.

The being wanted. The way she looked at me. The attention it was cute, flattering… easy to sink into.

But it wasn’t her.

My mind drifts back to him.

The elevator. The way he looked at me. The confidence. His name.

Ikemefuna.

Like Ikemefuna from Things Fall Apart. I smile a little that will definitely become a joke between us at some point.

I stare at his message again before replying with an annoyed emoji. It feels honest. Slightly playful, slightly real.

Almost immediately, my phone beeps.

My heart lifts

But it’s not him.

It’s Helena.

“Did you get home safe?”

“And… would you be up for a date?”

I pause, staring at the screen.

I don’t respond.

Not tonight.

Tomorrow, I tell myself.

The next morning, I check my phone.

Nothing.

Ikemefuna read my message… and didn’t reply.

That small drop in my stomach doesn’t go unnoticed.

Around 11am, my phone rings.

It’s him.

“I was wondering what happened to you,” I say, half joking, half meaning it.

We laugh, and then I admit, “I’m struggling with your name.”

He chuckles. “You can call me…” he starts, spelling it out slowly. “D-A-R-L-I-N-G.”

I blink.

Miss it completely.

“What?”

He repeats it.

Still nothing.

Again.

And again.

My workplace is loud today construction noise everywhere and maybe that’s part of it, but also… my mind just isn’t catching what he’s saying.

“This doesn’t sound like your name,” I laugh.

After what feels like five failed attempts, it finally clicks.

“Oh… you mean darling?”

“Yes,” he says smoothly.

I pause, smiling. “So I’m your darling?”

There’s something about the way he says it next.

“I was worried you are slow.”

I laugh.

But something in my stomach tightens.

Just slightly.

Enough for me to notice 

and then ignore.

Because the rest of the conversation flows so easily.

He tells me he runs. We talk about work, and slowly, I start piecing together who he is.

A lecturer.

An author.

Someone who consults for government.

He’s not just confident he’s accomplished. The kind of man who knows his value and moves like it.

We stay on the phone a little longer than necessary, neither of us rushing to end it.

Until finally, we agree.

We’ll meet for coffee.

Soon.

And just like that… something begins.

And that’s how I met a man whose everything felt right at first… but something deeply wrong was brewing.

It was in the subtle things.

The way my body didn’t fully relax.

The way something in me stayed alert, like it was waiting.

Watching. Making me ponder and wonder…

Could I be falling in love? Could he be the one?

To be continued…