Chapter 4 – Sparks and Shadows
Amie had never felt so restless. Since her late-night conversation with Lamin, her thoughts wandered endlessly to their chats—short, playful, sometimes profound. His words carried warmth, his laughter broke through the loneliness of her world.
But she reminded herself, again and again, that this was nothing serious. Just online friendship. Nothing more.
Or so she tried to believe.
That evening, seated in her room with the city lights glowing through the wide windows, Amie scrolled through her phone. Lamin's message popped up:
Lamin: "You never told me your favorite color."
Amie: "Why would that matter?"
Lamin: "Because I want to imagine you in it."
Her breath caught. She typed back slower than usual.
Amie: "Blue. Like the ocean."
Lamin: "Then I hope someday I see you in blue. Maybe you'll smile at me across the distance."
She set her phone down, her heart racing. The man lived across continents, yet somehow, he felt closer than most people around her.
---
But while Amie wrestled with emotions, another shadow hovered in her life—her mother, Mariama, who had begun noticing her daughter's unusual glow.
One night, Mariama tapped on Amie's door. "You've been smiling at that phone too much lately. Tell me, who is it?"
Amie's cheeks burned. "No one, Mama. Just… a friend."
Her mother gave her a long look, the kind that saw more than words admitted. "Be careful, Amie. Not everyone who writes sweet words is true."
"I know," Amie said softly, though her chest tightened.
---
Later, alone again, Amie whispered to herself: Why does this feel so real if it's only friendship?
Across the ocean, Lamin stared at his own screen, fighting the same battle. He wasn't rich, wasn't powerful, but the way Amie listened to him made him feel seen. He wanted to give her the world—even if right now, all he had were words.
The following morning, Lamin woke up before dawn. His phone was the first thing he reached for, and Amie's last message still glowed on the screen. "Blue. Like the ocean."
He smiled faintly. How strange that a single line from her could carry more weight than entire conversations he had with people in person.
But as he slipped on his work boots, reality dragged him back. Lamin's job at the construction site paid just enough for food and rent. The machines roared, dust clung to his skin, and every nail he hammered reminded him that dreams cost more than sweat.
During his lunch break, while the other men joked and ate, Lamin typed quickly under the shade of a tree.
Lamin: "Amie, what's your dream? If money and distance didn't matter?"
The reply came minutes later.
Amie: "To create something lasting. Something beautiful that makes people remember me."
He stared at the words. They mirrored the ache in his own chest—the desire to be more than just ordinary, to matter to someone beyond a paycheck.
---
Amie, on her side of the world, tucked her phone under her pillow after sending that message. She hadn't admitted it out loud before. Her wealthy background meant she never lacked material things, but it also meant her life was wrapped in expectations: the right career, the right man, the right image.
Yet with Lamin, she didn't have to perform. She could confess her hidden dreams, her private fears. And he never mocked her—he understood.
That evening, as rain tapped gently on her window, she wrote again.
Amie: "Sometimes I wonder if I should stop talking to you. Maybe it's foolish."
Her heart thudded as she pressed send.
Minutes later, his reply flashed:
Lamin: "If it's foolish, then let me be a fool with you. Because these talks are the only thing that make my days feel lighter."
Her lips curved into a soft smile, though her chest ached. She whispered into the quiet room, "Why do you feel so close, Lamin, when you're so far away?"
---
That night, both of them lay awake, oceans apart, staring at the same moon.
Neither dared call it love. Not yet.
But the distance between them felt smaller with every word they shared.
The following weekend, Amie tried to distract herself with her usual routines—family lunches, meetings her father insisted she attend, and the endless chatter of her wealthy circle. But everywhere she turned, Lamin's words clung to her thoughts.
At one point, while her cousins laughed over a joke she barely understood, she slipped away to the balcony. The city stretched before her, skyscrapers glittering under the evening sky. Yet she felt oddly empty in the middle of all that luxury.
Her phone buzzed.
Lamin: "Busy day?"
Amie: "Crowded. Loud. But I'd rather be here talking to you."
Lamin: "Funny. I'm standing in a noisy bus park, and all I can think is—I'd rather be there talking to you."
She pressed a hand to her chest, startled by the way his words warmed her more than the city lights ever could.
---
Meanwhile, Lamin's day had been long. His wages had been delayed again, and the landlord had already knocked twice for rent. He should have felt hopeless. But instead, one message from Amie shifted the weight.
He typed slowly, choosing his words with care:
Lamin: "Amie, sometimes I wonder… do you ever imagine us meeting, even just once?"
He held his breath as he pressed send.
Amie stared at the message for a long time, her pulse racing. The thought had crossed her mind more than once—what if the distance between them was broken by a single step forward? But fear whispered: what if reality ruined what felt perfect in words?
Still, her fingers moved.
Amie: "Yes. Sometimes I imagine it."
She hit send before doubt could stop her.
---
That night, neither of them slept easily. Amie lay awake, wondering why she had admitted something so fragile. Lamin, on his side of the world, closed his eyes and let himself dream for the first time—not of riches or success, but of standing face-to-face with the woman who had unknowingly captured his heart.
---
[End of Chapter 4 ]