Flash Fiction 2: Strangers

They’d spend hours on the phone talking about how their days went. Exchanging stories on frustrating colleagues, demanding bosses, annoying trotro mates, and accra traffic that just seemed to steal your life away.

They knew each others dumsor schedules better than they knew their own. He knew she was afraid of the dark, and would lie awake at night when there was no light.

He also knew she was new to this whole feminism thing, contrary to what her timeline on twitter said. That she was scared the other feminists would call her out on some of her beliefs.
She knew he’d rather read a book than hang with the boys but was scared he’d be uncool if boys boys knew. She knew when his birthday was and what she would get him. She’d tried their names together and liked how it sounded.

They get off the phone and chat some more till one eventually drifted off. He knew her favourite food and how she wore her hair last week. She knew all of his friends and pretended she liked them all; even that girl whom she suspected loved him too. They knew so much about each other yet so little. They stay up all night talking when they can, and then promising to coordinate their schedules. That never happens.

Somehow, they would not meet. The last time they met was three months ago, they spoke briefly, less than five minutes, and parted, blowing kisses and promising to talk more later that night on phone. Perhaps they were scared to take their relationship past the phone. That they won’t have much to talk about or they’d finally have to talk about petty things like what they were to each other or whether they are old or new lovers. They were terrified that, maybe, they may not have much in common when the phone isn’t between them.