So... Friends? (The story)

Last in the August fiction series

“Miss Mimi, I have a question.”

“Okay?”

“Are you and Mr. Folarin dating?”

The question blindsides me, pulling me out of my thoughts. Amanda, one teenager I'm fond of at the bootcamp where I'm volunteering as an instructor, looks up at me with wide eyes, full of curiosity. I thought it was when the glory comes that there would be no words to say, according to that popular worship song. But here I was, startled and speechless.

How could she have come to that conclusion? I’ve been avoiding the man in question all day, trying to keep my mind occupied with everything but him. Yet here we are.

But maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. Children, teenagers—especially teenagers—always seem to know more than you think. Volunteering at the Peculiar Teenagers Boot Camp organized by my local church has taught me that much. Sometimes, I love their sharp insights and unfiltered honesty. Other times, like now, it makes me uneasy.

“No, no. We’re not fighting, darling,” I reply, attempting to redirect the conversation with a smile, hoping she’ll buy my distraction.

But Amanda, with her high-pitched giggles, isn't buying it. “Miss Misola, I asked if you two were dating, not fighting,” she corrects, her voice ringing out with that trademark giggle of hers.

Heh! I sigh inwardly. Where do I go from here? The girl’s too sharp for her own good. And of course, I'm going to tell her the truth.

“What?! No, no, no…big brother Folarin and I are just…cordial. We didn't even used to be friends until recently.” My chuckle comes out dry, my attempt at brushing off the subject, rather awkward.

“Oh, okay,” she replies with a knowing smile that somehow feels older than her years. “It’s just, I see the way he looks at you. That’s why I’m asking.”

My chest tightens, and I know it's not because I once had asthma. Wait o, how old was this girl again? Fifteen? (Or twenty?) The way he looks at me? What does that even mean?

I try to play along, tugging on her nose, “Really? Young lady, and how would you know when you're supposed to be paying attention to your boot camp instructors?”

Amanda tilts her head, her smirk deepening. “No, nau. I have been paying attention. I only noticed because it reminds me of how my dad looks at my mom. That’s all.” She shrugs, as if her words weren’t laced with significance beyond her age.

She continues, “Also, both of you are my favorite instructors at the camp, so maybe that’s why I’m shipping you guys.” The last part, she says almost nonchalantly, as if orchestrating romance were something she did every day.

I give an understanding nod, then I attempt to stir the conversation towards where I could sense God was leading me to.

“Speaking of noticing things, Amanda, can we talk about those books I saw you reading the other day?” my voice was low, retaining empathy.

But Amanda’s face flushes with embarrassment, and as she tries to play it cool, says, “Oh, um… I’ve stopped reading them, Ms. Mimi. Like I promised.”

I study her for a moment, sensing a bit of hesitation.

“I’m glad to hear that, Amanda. But I want you to understand why it’s important to be careful with what we feed our minds, especially at your age. Those kinds of stories can create unrealistic expectations about love and relationships. They can make it seem like physical intimacy is the most important part of a relationship, when really, it’s not.”

She raises a questioning brow. “But they’re just stories… right?”

“Stories have power,” I say gently, “especially when they touch on sensitive topics like relationships and sex. If the only thing you read or see is this exaggerated, unrealistic version of love, you start believing that’s how it should be. But love, real love, is so much deeper than what those erotic books portray. It is first about God's love for you, not just the physical side of things with the opposite sex.”

Amanda sighs, “I mostly read them because I'm curious, and the nasties aside, I enjoy reading love stories.”

I smile gently, appreciating her honesty.

“Curiosity is natural, Amanda. It’s okay to be curious. It’s normal at your age. However, I would advise you to protect your heart and mind, to make sure that what you’re feeding your thoughts with is healthy and reflects the kind of love God intends for you. God has a plan for you, and part of that plan is waiting until marriage to have sex. It’s not just about saying no to something, but saying yes to God’s best for you. Sexual perversion, like we already mentioned during the boot camp, can complicate things emotionally, spiritually, and even physically.”

“Oh…” is all she says, clearly still taking it all in.

I put a hand on her shoulders.

“Would you like to share with me how you feel when you read those stories?” I ask Amanda, trying to understand her perspective.

She hesitates for a moment, then admits, “Well… sometimes, I get this really intense feeling. Like, I'm warm all over. Then, it’s like my heart starts racing, and I feel this… tingling, you know? Especially in my lower abdomen. It’s confusing.”

I nod, taking in her response. “Hm, that makes sense. See? Explicit contents like that is designed to provoke strong emotional and physical reactions. You're now mature, so it's normal to feel aroused or excited by such. But it's best to do away with those triggering contents, so it doesn't mess up with the tenderness of your conscience towards the fear of God, or even your brain. We already discussed this earlier under the module, Sex and the teenager, where your instructors, including myself shared our personal struggles and victory.”

“Tell you what? I'll assist with getting intriguing, yet edifying stories that you can equally enjoy and do not contain the nasties.”

Amanda beams with a smile. “I wouldn't mind at all.”

“Remember, if you ever feel tempted or confused, or you need someone to talk to about all this stuff, you can call me, or speak to another older person whom you think you can trust. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

At this, Amanda gives me a hug. And I feel at peace knowing a seed has been planted, and though it might take time for it to grow, I know she’s thinking deeply about it.

“Thank you, Miss Misola. You're such a blessing. I'll miss you so much.”

“I’ll miss you, too, sweetheart. But I'll make sure to stay in touch with you, Orire, Joy, Ayotide, and others from the teen's church, even if I might be away for a while.”

But just as I’m about to sigh in relief, God has other plans. Folarin steps in. How did I almost forget he was the object of discuss until he wasn't? But seeing him now, I don't know what to believe.

Amanda, ever the observant one, gives me a knowing grin before slipping away, leaving the two of us alone. Perfect. Just perfect.

He's holding a bottle of water and a lunch pack, as if on cue. My stomach twists into knots. Why, why, why now? Our t-shirts are a match since we’re–not a couple–but instructors at the boot camp. While mine is neatly tucked into palazzo pants paired with boots, his is matched with designer blue faded jeans, a face cap tilted slightly over his short, neat afro, and a pair of sneakers that give him a casual look.

I find myself involuntarily stiffening. The palazzo pants I once thought were the most comfortable thing to wear now feel constricting. I suddenly become hyper-aware of his movements, of the way his t-shirt clings to his frame, hinting at the muscular build beneath. It’s hard not to notice, and that only makes everything more complicated. How did I get here?

Folarin Jebutu, my co-volunteer at the boot camp, has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Our families have attended the same church for years–since my family relocated from Jos to Lagos. We practically grew up together during our teens. I remember him in everything memory verses, teen's ministration, boot camps and what not.

Back in the teen’s church days, Folarin was quite vibrant, almost to the point of being a know-it-all, so I found him rather annoying. He once used to tease me relentlessly, somehow always finding a way to get on my nerves. He was that kid—charming but insufferable, always pushing boundaries just for the fun of it. And as someone who had always been assertive, I always gave him his size.

Right from the latter days of secondary school, until university days, we hardly saw each other because we never for once attended the same school. He was a rich kid, attending real International schools (not sùkúrù, like some of us did). In fairness, I'm not from a wretched background, but when it comes to money, they're levels to it. Right?

Unlike others who we grew up in church together with, it's funny how Folarin and I never really kept in touch, not even on social media.

For one, during his undergraduate days, he almost never came home for breaks like I did. According to him, he was ‘down south, wilding out.’

It wasn't until last year when he completed his NYSC program that he came back home to head their family business following his dad's passing.

His ever pleasant mom, who always played matchmaker since we were young, calling me ‘our wife,’ gave him my number after recommending my baking business to him when he got in town. Knowing her, she probably had other plans. Cringe, I know.

But joking apart, that woman does not understand that I don't want to adopt ‘Jebutu’ for a surname when I get married. Davis (my surname) for Jebutu? God, no.

Now, Folarin is tall—taller than I remember, or maybe it’s just the way he carries himself now, with a humble confidence that wasn’t always there. And, oh! His dark chocolate skin. Once, it earned him “dudu choco” for a nickname. That day, he cried. But remind Folarin about that incident now, and he would swear it never happened. Denial and things.

“Hey, stranger,” Folarin greets me, his voice casual, but there’s an intensity in his eyes that makes my skin prickle.

I force a smile, trying to act normal, though my heart pounds in my chest. He takes a step closer, and I catch a whiff of his signature fragrance–how does he still smell this good after such a sweaty day?

“Hey!” My voice sounds too bright, too fake, as I try not to meet his gaze.

Recently, Folarin admitted to being in love with me. It’s not the playful teasing I remember from our teenage years. Instead, it’s something more deliberate—his gaze lingers a little longer, his conversations with me are more intentional, and he’s become surprisingly thoughtful, remembering little details that I didn’t think he’d notice. It’s as if he’s seeing me for the first time, not just as the girl he knows from way back, but as someone he genuinely wants to know on a deeper level. And maybe, just maybe, I’m beginning to see him differently, too.

“I couldn’t help but notice—have you been avoiding me?” he asks, his voice laden with concern.

There we go!

“Yes.”

He blinks, clearly not expecting the straightforward answer. “Whoa! Honest, much?”

“Would you rather I lied to you?” I counter, forcing myself to meet his gaze, though it took everything in me to do so.

Folarin’s gaze softens, but there’s a flicker of hurt there, too. “Well, are we good? I was going to give you a lift again yesterday, but you left without saying goodbye after the session.”

“Er, yeah. I had an emergency,” I stammer, the lie sitting uncomfortably on my tongue.

“Really?” he stresses the word, wearing a look of disbelief.

I glance at the bottle and lunch pack in his hands, desperate to change the subject. “Is that for me?”

He shakes his head, amused. “No, it’s not.”

“Too bad,” I say, reaching for it anyway. “Because I’m going to have it.”

He pulls it out of my reach, proving I fall short of a few inches with respect to him. His expression turning more serious. “Not until you tell me why you’re avoiding me.”

“Wait—please tell me this has nothing to do with the last time.”

I cringe at the memory. “Er, do you mind? Stop making it sound like something happened between us!”

“Oh, but it did. Didn’t it?” he teases, though there’s a hint of something deeper in his tone, something that makes my stomach flip.

The last time he was referring to had caught me completely off guard. After a long day at the boot camp on day one, Folarin had offered me a ride back home. It had seemed normal enough at first because we have hung out a couple of times, but something felt different.

There was a tension in the air that I couldn’t shake off. When we arrived, he didn’t turn off the engine. Instead, he looked at me and confessed his feelings–more like sharing his convictions about wanting to be in a relationship with me, saying he couldn’t keep pretending we were just friends. I didn’t know what to say—I wasn’t ready for this. I quickly excused myself, saying I needed time to think. Later that night, I realized that things between us had changed for good, whether or not I see it that way.

I chide, hitting his arms playfully. “Stop playing.”

“Do you know Amanda literally asked me if we're dating before you got here? She says she noticed you look at me the way her dad looks at her mom,” I share.

He wears a look of disbelief before chuckling. “No, she didn't! You’re making this up, Misola.”

“I kid you not. These kids?” I also laugh before wearing a serious look. “And you, Mr Jebutu, why about me have you so enthralled enough for the kid to notice?”

Folarin wears an optimistic smile. “Best to keep my thoughts to myself this time. Well, I hope you told Amanda I’ve always had a crush on you since Sunday school days, and I'm not ashamed to admit it now, and that you like me too, but you're forming hard guy.”

I feign exasperation. “You see? That right there is the reason I've been avoiding you!”

“Oh, yeah? The former or the latter?” he quips, raising an eyebrow.

I mutter, “You’re annoying,” though my lips betray me with a small smile.

“Ha! Gee, thanks. By the way, you did great in your session today. I love how you have your way around these kids. It's beautiful. You'll make an exceptional mother someday…”

“Thank you.” I reply, softer now. “You did great as well. It's interesting how we who used to be students of PTB are now volunteering as instructors.”

He replies with a chuckle, “God’s plan.”

Folarin sighs, and for a moment, the playful banter fades. “You know, if this isn’t a good time, it’s alright. The last thing I want to do is have a serious conversation with you when you’re not ready. And before you faint, here—” He hands over the water and the lunch pack, his tone lighter again.

With both hands now in his pocket, he seem to be turning to leave. “So, I guess, see you around?”

But something inside me stops him.

“Folarin, wait,” I call out, my voice trembling with vulnerability.

He pauses, turning back to face me, his eyes gentle but questioning.

“I… I truly apologize for going quiet on you the other day,” I begin, my words shaky, each one feeling like a step into unknown territory. “I just didn’t know what to say. The last time we talked… It scared me. You caught me off guard, and I’ve been feeling anxious ever since.”

The confession feels raw, exposing parts of me I’ve tried to keep hidden. But there’s no turning back now.

I see he’s silent for a moment, his gaze steady, waiting for me to continue.

“It’s good that you have your convictions,” I say, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “But I’m still figuring mine out. Do I feel something for you? Maybe. I admit, I really enjoy your company–your silly banter, your thoughtfulness now and then, your heart for God and his people. But for me, feelings aren’t the best litmus test, you know? They’ve burned me too many times before. And when you confessed your feelings, it… it laid me bare. I wasn’t ready to confront that.”

Folarin steps closer, his voice soft but firm.

“Misola, I’m not trying to pressure you. I don’t want you to feel anxious or trapped. My reaching out—it’s because I care. But when you started pulling away, giving me those one-word replies, it hurt. It felt like I had confessed my feelings to a vacuum and shared my conviction with a stranger. And that’s hard, you know? Putting myself out there without knowing where you stand. I don’t expect answers right away, but choosing to avoid me? Come on.”

I swallow hard, his words hitting me square in the chest. He’s right. I’ve been avoiding him, not just physically, but emotionally as well. And it’s not fair to either of us.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, more earnestly this time. “My attempts to figure things out have been misguided. I don’t have all the answers yet, but while I'm at it, I'd prefer if we don't communicate as often. I need a clear head and some time to seek God on this.”

I hope he understands where I'm coming from. This is how I should have communicated my thoughts, not avoid him.

Folarin is endearing as he says, “As you should. Look, I understand. Before approaching you with my confession, proposal, whatever, I took my time as well. It's only fair to allow you to do the same. I just needed to hear it from you.”

Such a relief!

I sigh, offering him my warmest smile, “So... friends?”

He closes his eyes and sigh, following my cue, “I guess there's no escaping this friend-zone, is there?”

“Think about it this way, this friend-zone is defined. We're on the same page, aren't we? That's all that matters.” I smirk, “You know what? Let me give you a hug, so you know I'm genuine.”

But he shakes his head, a playful glint in his eye. He gives an awkward handshake instead, the kind I saw Tom and Jerry share the only time.

“You might want to save the hug for when I become yours. I also need a clear head as well,” he replies.

“Now someone is getting too confident.” I try not to act disappointed even if I was.

“Anyway, thank you for the lunch pack. I’ll make sure to enjoy it.”

He chortles. “You’re welcome, Misola. And now that you're leaving for NYSC soon… be rest assured, I'll wait for you. And if you need anything or just want to talk, I'm only one call away.”

My heart melts. I give his hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, Folarin. Although your line is giving Ijebu-Jesa Charlie Puth.”

At this, we both burst into giggles. And, as we turn to walk away, a sense of closure washes over me, although not the final kind. It is the kind that brings relief, but leaves the door open for whatever God has in store. Whether it’s friendship, a deeper connection, or something entirely different, I know that whatever happens next, it will be according to God’s plan.

And for now, that's enough.

---

Hey, everyone. There you have it–all stories for the August fiction series now complete. Sighhhhhhhh.

I want to say a heartfelt thank you, first to the Holy Spirit, the giver of inspiration. It may interest you to know that as at the time I put it out that I would be doing a fiction series this August–four stories, I only had two drafts initially! The other two, I gave a title in faith, and soon enough, it all came together nicely to the glory of God.

Also, thank you to everyone who has made it such an encouraging season for me. Your support, likes, feedbacks and shares do not go unnoticed. For a very special reason, the next time I'll be writing to you will be on wednesday (28/08) to share a very exciting news.

Did I buy a house, or a car? Win a scholarship?Am I traveling out of the country? Getting hitched? Releasing a novel? Leaving substack? What???

I'll leave you to some interesting guesses. 💛

Yours in Quality time,

Adebola🦋.