The morning sun spilled over Accra's uneven streets, catching the dust and painting the world in golden haze. The city moved in its usual rhythm — taxis honking, hawkers calling out prices for pure water and plantain chips, and the ever-present smell of roasted corn and exhaust in the air. Amid all this, Charlie leaned against his faded Toyota Corolla, squinting into the sunlight.
It was just another Tuesday, but something felt different.
He couldn't place it. Maybe it was the stillness in his chest, or how the air felt charged with something… waiting. Business had been slow all morning, and Charlie wasn't pushing it. He needed the money — God knew that — but he couldn't shake the strange calm urging him to wait.
He was twenty-three. A driver, not because he loved it, but because life never handed him the keys to anything better. His father wanted more for him, but Charlie had stopped dreaming beyond his means years ago. This job paid for the room he rented, the phone credit that kept him connected to his small circle of friends, and on some good days, a little leftover for grilled tilapia and chilled malt.
He checked his phone: 11:07 a.m.
Maybe I go go home early today, he thought.
That's when he saw her.
She came walking from across the street, a high school girl in the traditional blue skirt and white blouse. Her bag bounced softly against her back. Braids swung gently around her cheeks. She wasn't in a rush like the others. No earbuds, no distractions. Just walking, slowly, like the world wasn't in a hurry for her. There was something in her stride — not confidence exactly, but calm. And in her face, a strange sadness disguised as peace.
Charlie looked away, then looked back. Something about her made the street noise fade.
She paused near his car, pulled out her phone, and looked around. Her brows creased slightly. Confused.
Charlie opened his door and stepped out. He adjusted his cap, trying to act casual. "You dey lost?"
The girl looked up, startled by the voice.
"I'm looking for Edwin Bookshop," she said. "I think I passed it."
Charlie smiled. "You close. I go show you."
She hesitated, unsure.
"I dey go that side sef," he added, pointing casually in the direction. "I fit drop you."
A pause. Then she nodded. "Okay."
She opened the front passenger door, and Charlie felt something stir in his chest.
"I'm Sarah," she said, buckling the seatbelt.
"Charlie. But everybody dey call me Chale."
He started the engine. They pulled off slowly.
The car was quiet except for a soft highlife tune playing from the radio. Charlie stole a glance. She sat with both hands gripping her bag, watching the window.
"You sure say you be SHS girl?" he asked, half-joking. "You no look like one."
Sarah turned, a slight smile forming. "Because I'm wearing uniform?"
"No oo. Your vibe be different."
"You chat every girl you see or you dey pretend today?" she asked sharply, but her eyes were smiling.
Charlie laughed. "You be fire. I like that."
The conversation slipped into comfort. He learned she was in SHS 2 at City Royal, and that she wasn't supposed to be out today — her teacher had sent her to buy books. Her father was strict, "like military," she said, and her mother worked long hours as a nurse.
"You like school?" Charlie asked.
She shrugged. "Some days. Other days I feel like I just dey waste my time."
"Why?"
Sarah didn't answer immediately. "You ever feel like you were meant for something else? Not school, not work. Just… something different?"
Charlie nodded. He knew the feeling too well.
"Sometimes," he said. "But life no dey wait for dreams. If you no find work, hunger go find you."
"You sound like my father."
Charlie smiled, but inside something twisted. He hated that he understood.
They arrived at the bookshop too soon.
"You sure say you no want help carry the books inside?" Charlie asked, only half-joking.
Sarah tilted her head. "You want my number instead?"
Charlie blinked.
"Or you go act shy?"
He scrambled for his phone. "Make I take am before I blink then you vanish."
Sarah laughed and gave him her number.
As she stepped out of the car, she paused and looked at him. "You're different," she said.
Then she was gone.
That night, Charlie stared at her number for hours before sending a message.
Hey. It's Charlie. From the car. Hope you find the books.
She replied minutes later.
I did. You still smell like mint and fufu though.
He laughed. Then typed back:
That be my cologne. Limited edition.
So when next you dey buy book? I dey do discounts for beautiful girls.
Smooth. But you'll need more than that to impress me, Mr. Driver.
He leaned back on his bed, smiling for the first time in days.
Over the next few days, they chatted more. From morning to midnight. About school, work, the things they feared. Charlie learned Sarah had dreams of becoming a nurse like her mom — but she also wrote poetry, little things she never showed anyone. She once sent him a voice note of her reading one. It was about loneliness.
Charlie didn't say much after that. Just listened. Memorized her voice.
He began looking forward to their chats more than work. Sometimes, he'd skip rounds just to stay somewhere quiet and text. His friends teased him for smiling at his phone.
A week later, she called unexpectedly.
"Hey."
"Hey. You good?"
"I just wanted to hear your voice. I had a bad day."
Charlie left the radio playing and listened. She talked for almost an hour about a fight with her dad, how he didn't want her talking to "useless boys with no future."
"He dey mean me?" Charlie asked.
"I don't know," she whispered. "But… I don't care."
Silence followed. But it was the kind that said everything words couldn't.
One Friday afternoon, Charlie sent a message:
You go fit come town tomorrow? Come chill small.
Sarah replied after some hesitation:
I go try. My mom dey like you. She fit cover me small.
The next day, Sarah arrived in jeans and a pink crop top. Charlie couldn't hide the way he stared.
"You dey look like say you no dey believe."
"Truth be say, I no dey believe."
They walked along Osu's back streets, bought ice cream, talked for hours. Sarah confessed she never felt this safe with anyone before.
That night, Charlie dropped her off at a junction, and she surprised him with a tight hug.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"For what?"
"For showing me what peace feels like."
That night, lying alone in his room, Charlie stared at the ceiling. His chest was heavy — not with worry, but with something like love. It felt fast, maybe foolish, but he didn't care.
He opened his phone and typed a note, something he wouldn't send yet.
I don't know what this is yet, but I know it matters.
He saved it and fell asleep with her voice playing in his head.
END OF CHAPTER 1