AN INCARNATE OF LOVE

Ayobola rushed into her room with her breath coming in ragged gasps, and her heart drumming in her chest. Her fingers trembled as they fumbled through her bag and the leather strap dug into her palm as she tore through its contents. She could feel something heavy on her chest, more like a pressure, threatening to crush her as she grabbed her phone. She unlocked it with a quick swipe, and her fingers danced across the screen in a frenzy. She could barely contain the hotness inside her as she typed, while her mind raced.

“What is the meaning of AKUDAYA?”
She hit the search button, her heart pounding, and each second dragged like an eternity. The result appeared instantly. It was a definition that seemed to leap off the screen at her:
“A supernatural entity reputed to live on as an incarnate being in a place after being concurrently affirmed as dead.”

The words blurred before her eyes. Akudaya. Her blood ran cold, and a sickly chill crawled up her spine. She blinked rapidly, as if doing so would erase the meaning that had just pierced her like a knife. No, it couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be real.

But Baba’s voice echoed in her head, his words ringing with the shriek of a thousand years of ancient knowledge. It was one of those days when they had just finished watching a Yoruba movie titled Akudaya and Bola just laughed throughout the movie, claiming it was some sort of fable. “Bola, be careful o. Akudaya is the spirit of one who is dead, but now they are living in another place, wearing a new face. It’s a dangerous thing… You must not play with it.” And that was his grandfather’s response.
She gripped her phone tightly, her knuckles white. Her palms were slick with sweat, and beads of it slid down her forehead. She wiped them away quickly, but it didn’t help. The truth had come to her, and it was ugly. So ugly.

Ayobola pulled off her 32-inch bone-straight wig, feeling the heat of her fear. Her head felt light as if the weight of it all had taken her very strength. She shook her head in disbelief, the thought of what Baba had said settling into her bones, and she just could no longer ignore it.
Her heart raced as she scrolled down her phone to her gallery. She needed to see something. There, at the top of her photos, was a file labeled “SWEET GALE.” Her chest tightened. These were the photos she had taken with Babajide. They were her memories, her precious and forever cherished memories. She clicked on the folder with trembling fingers, but the pictures didn’t load. The screen was blank.

Her breath hitched. Her heart skipped a beat.
She tapped the screen again, but the same emptiness stared back at her, white or black, she could not tell, but they were empty spaces where memories should have been. She scrolled further. Her eyes landed on photos of herself. Those loaded fine, clear as day. But the pictures with him? Nothing.
She staggered backward, her mouth going dry. She pressed her palm to her mouth, trying to stop the scream that was rising in her throat. It was too much. The room spun, and her vision blurred. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She was drowning.
No, this can’t be real.

Her mind raced, fighting to deny what her eyes were telling her. Was this some sick joke? She closed her eyes and opened them again, hoping for a different reality. But the blank photos stared back at her, they mocked her and taunted her. What did it mean? What was happening?

The memories flooded her now. Too many of them, and the memories were just too many to ignore. The first time she met Babajide, the way he had smiled at her from across the hospital room. He seemed so harmless, so normal, and she treated him, caring for the small injury on his bearded jaw, thinking it was just another simple case. He was charming all along, his eyes full of warmth as he gazed at her like no one else ever. It all felt so right, so comfortable. And that was how it started, from dinner dates to strolling at the beach.

But now, everything felt like a lie.
“May I take you to dinner again?” Babajide had asked her, his voice smooth as honey, and his smile seemed so kind. She had blushed, a faint pink spread across her cheeks. Her heart skipped a beat as she nodded, her joy bloomed in her chest like a flower in the rain.
“Yeah, I’ll gladly go out with you again,” she whispered with her words catching in her throat. And he kissed her, soft and warm, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than usual. “Goodnight,” he whispered in a low voice, and she stepped out of his car with her heart fluttering in her chest.
Babajide and Ayobola became inseparable, their love blossomed so fast like a garden in the heart of spring. Whenever Bola had time off, they wandered hand in hand through beaches where the ocean sang lullabies to the shore or strolled through amusement parks where their laughter mixed with the atmosphere. In those moments, Jide would play the piano, and Bola would watch, enchanted by how his fingers danced over the keys, and weaved melodies that wrapped around her heart like ivy.
***

“I must go home tonight,” Bola murmured, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Jide walked her to the door, pulling it open just as a jolting thunder crack split the sky. The night had been swallowed whole by darkness, the wind howled, and the air carried a thick scent of heavy rain. A blinding lightning momentarily carved through the blackness, and instinctively, Bola stumbled into Jide’s arms.

A smirk played on his lips. “It seems the universe has other plans,” he teased. Bola swatted his chest playfully, but neither of them made another move toward the door. Then, the heavens finally gave in and released water that drummed against the rooftop with a deep rhythm. The two lovers lingered in silence. The room was filled with nothing but the scent of rain-soaked earth seeping through the open window.

Jide’s fingers found Bola’s arm, and the touch was as light as a whisper. She met his gaze, and those dark, unreadable eyes pulled her into their depths. Slowly, he lowered his lips to her forehead, a feather-like kiss melting into her skin. She exhaled, closing her eyes as he drew her into his embrace, his warmth seeped into her like fire on frostbitten hands. Their lips met, they were soft and seeking, igniting something primal. Their bodies pressed, their breaths tangled, and the world outside faded into nothingness as they fondled themselves in the intimacy of Jide’s room.

The dim light of early morning sneaked through the curtains and poured some pale streaks over the tangled bedsheets and their entwined bodies. Jide lay half-covered by a foamy duvet and his fingers idly traced circles on Bola’s bare shoulder. He glanced at his wristwatch resting by the bedside and sighed.

“Are you sure you want to leave now?” His voice was thick with sleep.
Bola sat up abruptly, clutching the duvet to her chest. “I have to be at the hospital by six,” she said, but her voice wavered under the emotions she couldn’t name. Her eyes swept across the room, taking in the faint scent of musk and something bittersweet that clung to the scent of the room. A lump formed in her throat as she saw it, the scarlet stain spreading across the white bedsheet like a leak from a wound.
Jide reached for her bra and handed it to her with a smirk. She snatched it from him, the heat rising to her cheeks. She felt suffocated and the room felt thick with something more than humidity. Her heart pounded against her ribs as she bolted for the bathroom, dragging the duvet around her like a shield. The door clicked shut, and she leaned against it, her breaths became uneven.
Stepping under the shower, she let the water cascade down her body, but it failed to wash away the ache in her chest. Blood rivulets swirled down the drain, and they took with them something she had sworn to protect. Her mother’s voice replayed in her mind, a whisper from the past, and a warning she had failed to heed.

What had she done?
She scrubbed her skin until it burned, but the guilt remained burrowed into her like thorns beneath the flesh. Ayobola was a child of an early pregnancy, the daughter of a teenage mother who bore her before she had even figured out life for herself. So, yes, Ayobola was raised by a single mother, she learned resilience early, but childhood was brief because death took her mother before puberty could claim her. Her grandparents took her in, their home was adorned with rules that were not too difficult for Ayobola to live by, and their voices were always insistent with lessons of chastity.

Although Ayobola was now successful on her own terms, she still carried their warnings like scripture. She had sworn not to repeat history, so she had never once imagined herself walking the path of single motherhood. All she ever wanted was love in its truest form.
But dreams shift. She did find love, but just tonight, she had broken her own vow.
“Babe?” Jide’s voice drifted through the door.
She wiped her face hastily, pressing her lips together to keep the sob from escaping. When she emerged, Jide had turned his gaze away, giving her space to dress and silence stretched between them.

Finally, he exhaled. “You could have told me,” He murmured. “You could have stopped me. I didn’t know…”
Bola swallowed hard, shaking her head. “It’s fine,” she whispered, though every fiber of her being screamed otherwise. “I just want to go.”
Jide studied her for a long moment. ” Ayobola, It’s past midnight,” he said gently. “Stay. I’ll take you home at dawn.”

She hesitated, but when he called her by her full name, something inside her trembled. He had never called her that before, so it made a cold unease crawl up her spine.
Her mind raced back to the movies she had seen, the ones where love soured after intimacy, where men changed overnight, where affection suddenly became an illusion. Was this the beginning of the end?

After a glance at Jide, she slipped out into the night even though the rain was still drizzling in mournful whispers against the pavement.
***

For weeks, she ignored his calls, and let his messages pile up so quick. When he finally stopped reaching out, she convinced herself she had done the right thing.
Then, two months later, her body betrayed her with the undeniable truth. Firstly, It was a missed period, then sudden waves of nausea and she found out the truth. A life was growing inside her.
She dialed Jide’s number, her fingers trembling. The automated voice on the other end cut through her like a blade for the umpteenth time: “The number you have dialed does not exist.”
That day, her heart hammered, and she rushed to his apartment. The house stood the same, yet different and it was just like a memory warped by time. A middle-aged couple answered the door with confused expressions.
“Babajide?” she stammered with her voice barely above a whisper.
The woman frowned. “I’m sorry, dear. No one by that name has ever lived here.”
Bola stepped back, and the world tilted beneath her feet. “That’s not possible. I— I was here just two months ago.”
The man exchanged a worried glance with his wife. “We’ve lived here for years. We only went on vacation recently.”
The truth slammed into her and left her breathless. No neighbors had seen him, no friends knew him, and no traces of him remained.

Had he ever existed at all?
Numbly, she wandered the streets, retracing every place they had been together. But everywhere she looked, there was nothing. No footprints in the sand, no remnant of their laughter in the air. It was as if she had loved a shadow and held hands with a ghost.
She returned home, curling into herself on her bed, grief wrapped around her. She had loved him, given him everything, and now, all she had left was the silence he had left behind.

Her fingers brushed against her stomach, a life growing inside her was enough proof that he had been real, even if the world refused to remember him.
“No!” she cried, her voice cracking as she clutched at the emptiness where Babajide once was.
Now, she understood her grandfather. She had seen, she had felt, she had lived it.

Babajide was never just a man.
He was a reincarnation of love itself, and love, as she had always known, had vanished with the dawn again.