# Episode 1: A Chance Encounter
The alarm blared through the small bedroom. Anjolouwa Ella Adeniran groaned and reached over to silence it. Her room was cluttered with crumpled papers, empty coffee cups, and her laptop sat open on her desk, the screen dim. She sat up slowly, rubbing her tired eyes. On her nightstand was a framed magazine cover featuring her smiling face with the headline: "RISING STAR WRITER: Anjolouwa Adeniran's 'Echoes of Tomorrow' Breaks Records!" She stared at it with a bitter expression. That was two years ago.
A knock sounded at her door.
"Ella! Are you up? I made breakfast!" Evgeniya's cheerful voice called from outside.
"Coming!" Anjolouwa replied, dragging herself out of bed.
Evgeniya Ivanivna Shevchenko, bright-eyed and already dressed in her waitress uniform, was plating scrambled eggs when Anjolouwa shuffled into the kitchen. "Morning, superstar! How's the new script coming?" Evgeniya asked with a warm smile, her accent adding a musical quality to her words.
Anjolouwa forced a smile in return. "It's... coming along."
Evgeniya's expression softened. She could see right through her best friend's facade. "Ella..."
"I know, I know," Anjolouwa sighed, sitting down at the small kitchen table. "My editor's been calling. The network wants a draft by next month. I just... I can't seem to find the right story."
Evgeniya sat down across from her, concern evident in her eyes. "Maybe you need a break? You've been cooped up in that room for weeks."
"I don't have time for breaks, Eve. Everyone's waiting for the next big thing from me," Anjolouwa said, stabbing at her eggs without much appetite.
"You know what I think?" Evgeniya leaned forward. "You need inspiration. Real life inspiration. Not just staring at a screen all day."
Anjolouwa's phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at it. "It's Daniel. He wants to meet for lunch."
"See? Perfect!" Evgeniya's face brightened. "Go out, get some fresh air, see your boyfriend. Who knows, maybe something will spark an idea."
Anjolouwa nodded half-heartedly, but she knew deep down that lunch with Daniel wouldn't solve her creative crisis.
---
Back in her room, Anjolouwa sat at her laptop, staring at the blank document. The cursor blinked mockingly on the white screen. **Title: "Untitled Project" by Anjolouwa Ella Adeniran.** She typed a few words, then immediately deleted them. Typed again. Deleted again. Her frustration mounted with each failed attempt.
*Come on, Ella. You did this once. You can do it again,* she thought desperately.
The apartment felt suffocating. She needed to get out, needed to be somewhere else. Somewhere with resources, with books, with something that might spark an idea.
She grabbed her laptop and bag and headed to the city library.
---
Later that afternoon, Anjolouwa found herself at the city library, surrounded by stacks of books on storytelling, character development, and dramatic structure. Her laptop sat open in front of her, the screen displaying yet another blank document titled "Untitled Project by Anjolouwa Ella Adeniran."
She'd been here for hours, searching desperately for something—anything—that would spark an idea. The books lay open around her, pages marked with sticky notes, passages highlighted. But none of it helped. The words on the pages might as well have been in another language for all the good they did her.
Exhaustion weighed on her like a physical thing. Her eyes grew heavy as she stared at a passage about the hero's journey. The words began to blur together. Just for a moment, she told herself. Just rest your eyes for a moment...
Her head lowered onto her crossed arms on the table.
And then she was falling.
Anjolouwa found herself standing on a stage under harsh, blinding spotlights. The audience before her was a sea of faceless shadows, their forms shifting and merging in the darkness. Voices began to overlap, growing louder and more accusatory:
"Where's the next masterpiece?"
"Two years and nothing?"
"Was she just a one-hit wonder?"
"Disappointment..."
"Failure..."
The stage beneath her feet began to crack. Fissures spread rapidly across the wooden boards. She looked down in horror as the cracks widened. Then, suddenly, the stage gave way completely.
She was falling, falling, falling into an endless void—
"Anjie? Anjie, wake up."
Someone was shaking her shoulder gently. Anjolouwa gasped and jerked awake, her heart pounding. She lifted her head from the table, disoriented and confused.
Adebayo Daniel stood beside her, looking immaculate in his tailored suit, his expression a mix of impatience and mild concern. He was handsome in a polished, corporate way—everything about him carefully curated and controlled.
"I'm sorry," Anjolouwa said quickly, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. "I must have dozed off. I was working on a new pitch—"
"We need to go," Daniel interrupted, checking his expensive watch. "You wouldn't want to make us late for our reservation."
"But Daniel, I really need to put these books away," Anjolouwa said, gesturing to the chaos spread across the table—books lying open, stacked haphazardly, papers scattered everywhere.
"Leave it," Daniel said dismissively, already picking up her laptop and closing it. "What are the staff for?"
"But—"
"Come on, we really need to go," he insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument. He was already walking toward the exit, expecting her to follow.
Anjolouwa glanced back at the table—at the books left open and piled over each other, at the mess she was abandoning. She felt a pang of guilt, but Daniel was already several steps ahead. With a resigned sigh, she grabbed her bag and hurried after him, leaving the chaos behind.
---
The restaurant Daniel had chosen was upscale and modern, all sleek lines and ambient lighting. They were seated at a table by the window, menus presented with a flourish by an attentive waiter.
"Anyway, so this means my boss might take me out for dinner soon, and that means you should probably come along," Daniel said, barely looking up from his menu. "He and his wife will definitely be there. It'll be good for networking."
Anjolouwa wasn't really listening. Her mind was still back in the library, or perhaps still trapped in that nightmare. The faceless audience, the voices calling her a failure, the sensation of falling—it all felt too real, too close to her actual fears.
*Was that a dream... some weird omen?* she thought, staring blankly at her menu without really seeing it.
"Anjie? Anjie? Are you even listening?" Daniel's voice cut through her thoughts, sharp with irritation.
She looked up, startled. "I'm sorry, what? Oh right, dinner? I mean, if you really think I should go?"
"Of course you should go," Daniel said, as if it were obvious. "It's important for my career."
The waiter appeared at their table. "Have you both decided what you would be having this evening?"
"Yes, I'll have the ribeye steak, medium-rare," Daniel said confidently. "And she will be having the Emilia Romagna tortelli. Let's start with the fresh scampi Carbone. Thanks."
Anjolouwa opened her mouth—she'd been about to order something completely different—but Daniel continued before she could speak.
"Oh, can you please recommend whatever wine goes great with our meal?"
"May I suggest the Barolo Riserva?" the waiter offered. "It pairs excellently with both dishes."
"Perfect. We'll have that," Daniel said, handing back the menus without consulting Anjolouwa.
The waiter nodded and disappeared. Anjolouwa sat back in her chair, feeling a familiar sense of invisibility settle over her. This was how it always went with Daniel. He made decisions, and she simply went along with them. It was easier than arguing.
Daniel launched into a detailed explanation of why this dinner with his boss was so crucial, his career trajectory, the promotion he was angling for. Anjolouwa nodded at appropriate moments, made small affirming sounds, but her mind was elsewhere.
The food arrived—beautiful, expensive, exactly as Daniel had ordered. Anjolouwa looked down at her tortelli, picked up her fork, and took a bite. It was delicious, she supposed, though she couldn't really taste it.
---
After dinner, Anjolouwa begged off Daniel's suggestion to go back to his place. She needed air, needed space, needed to be somewhere that wasn't so suffocating. She told him she was meeting Evgeniya and some friends, which wasn't entirely a lie—Evgeniya had mentioned they were gathering at their favorite café that evening.
When Anjolouwa arrived at the small, cozy café near her apartment, she found Evgeniya already there, seated at a large table with three other friends—Maya, Chen, and Kofi. They were all around the same age, all struggling artists and creatives trying to make it in an unforgiving industry.
"Ella!" Evgeniya called out, waving her over. "We saved you a seat!"
Anjolouwa slid into the empty chair, grateful for the warmth and easy camaraderie of the group.
"We were just talking about 'The Letter,'" Maya said, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. She was a graphic designer with dreams of illustrating children's books. "It's still one of my favorite things you've written. The way you captured that longing, that sense of missed connections..."
"It was brilliant," Chen agreed. He was a filmmaker, always carrying around a battered notebook full of shot ideas and script fragments. "But 'Echoes of Tomorrow'? That was next level. The character development, the plot twists—"
"When are you going to write something new?" Kofi asked. He was a musician, constantly tapping out rhythms on whatever surface was nearby. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"
The question hit Anjolouwa like a physical blow, even though she knew it came from a place of genuine interest and admiration. "I'm working on something," she said automatically, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue.
"That's so exciting!" Maya said. "Can you tell us anything about it?"
"It's... still in the early stages," Anjolouwa hedged. "I don't want to jinx it by talking about it too much."
Evgeniya, bless her, sensed Anjolouwa's discomfort and smoothly changed the subject. "Has anyone seen that new exhibition at the modern art museum? I heard it's supposed to be incredible..."
The conversation flowed away from Anjolouwa's work, but the damage was done. She felt the familiar weight of expectation settling on her shoulders, heavier than ever. Everyone was waiting. Everyone was watching. Everyone expected her to produce another masterpiece, and she had nothing. Absolutely nothing.
She excused herself early, claiming exhaustion. Evgeniya gave her a knowing, sympathetic look but didn't try to stop her.
---
The walk home was quiet, the streets mostly empty in the late evening. Anjolouwa's mind churned with anxiety, replaying the day's events—the nightmare, Daniel's dismissiveness, her friends' well-meaning questions. Everything felt like pressure, like the walls were closing in.
She was so lost in thought that she didn't notice the book until she literally stumbled over it.
Her foot caught on something on the sidewalk, and she nearly fell. She looked down, annoyed, and saw a book lying face-up on the ground. It must have fallen from someone's bag or been left behind accidentally.
The title caught her eye immediately: **"Follow Your Curiosity: A Guide to Finding Your Creative Voice"**
Anjolouwa stared at it for a long moment. Of all the books, of all the titles, of course it would be this one. The universe had a sense of humor, apparently.
She bent down and picked it up. The cover was slightly worn, the pages dog-eared. Someone had clearly read and re-read this book, found value in it. On impulse, Anjolouwa tucked it under her arm. Maybe it would help. Maybe it wouldn't. But at this point, she was willing to try anything.
When she finally reached her apartment and let herself in, she was greeted immediately by Pepper, her gray tabby cat. Pepper meowed loudly, weaving between Anjolouwa's legs and demanding attention.
"Hey, baby," Anjolouwa said softly, setting down her bag and the book before scooping up Pepper. The cat purred immediately, nuzzling into her neck. "At least you still believe in me, right?"
Pepper's only response was to purr louder.
Anjolouwa carried Pepper to her bedroom, the cat still cradled in her arms. She set Pepper down on the bed, changed into comfortable pajamas, and crawled under the covers. The book—"Follow Your Curiosity"—sat on her nightstand, its title mocking her.
*Tomorrow,* she told herself. *Tomorrow I'll figure this out. Tomorrow I'll write something brilliant.*
But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it was a lie she told herself every night.
Pepper curled up beside her, warm and solid and comforting. Within minutes, Anjolouwa's exhaustion caught up with her, and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new anxieties, new failures. But tonight, for just a few hours, she could escape into the oblivion of sleep.
And perhaps, tomorrow, something would change.
Perhaps.
Mycatisslim 🐾🐾