The Hookup
That Changed Everything
A story about two souls, a night of chemistry, and the clarity that followed.
A Complicated Spark
💬“Let’s Just Be Friends”
It had been three weeks since that morning — the one neither of them could name without wincing.
Daniel arrived early, just like he used to, but this time it wasn’t her apartment; it was the small café Tola had chosen, halfway between their offices. Neutral ground. The kind of place with soft jazz and too many plants — safe, intentional.
Tola walked in wearing calm like armor. Her smile was polite, not warm.
“Hey,” she said, setting her phone down. “Thanks for coming.”
He nodded. “Of course.” The words felt too easy, too practiced.
They talked — first about work, then about the podcasts they’d been listening to. It was ordinary, even friendly. Until Daniel mentioned a new dating app he’d deleted after a week. Tola laughed — a short, startled sound — and the silence that followed was too honest to ignore.
She finally said, “Maybe we should learn how to be friends before we start fixing anyone else.”
He smiled, but the ache behind it said everything.
“A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.”
Proverbs 17:17 (NIV)
💔 The Other Woman
They decided to meet again, just as friends.
No late texts, no lingering touches, no talking about “what happened.” It was a rule Daniel had suggested, and Tola had agreed too quickly, as if afraid her hesitation might betray her.
For the next few weeks, they fell into a rhythm. Shared memes. Quick check-ins. Saturday morning coffee when neither had plans. There were moments of real ease - until life, predictably, interrupted.
It was at a charity networking mixer - a casual evening for a cause Tola supported - when she saw Daniel walk in. She smiled instinctively, then froze.
A woman was beside him. Confident. Effortlessly stylish. The kind of woman who spoke with her eyes before her lips moved.
“Tola,” Daniel said when he reached her. “This is Amaka.”
His tone was friendly, but his eyes darted, searching her expression for something - permission, maybe.
“Hi, Amaka,” Tola said, her voice perfectly calm. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”
Amaka smiled, unbothered. “Briefly, yes. A few weeks ago. You were with Daniel that evening.”
That night, Tola discovered something uncomfortable: being intentional didn’t erase instinct. She hated how her body reacted - the stiff smile, the tightened shoulders, the ache of wanting to seem unaffected.
Later, when Amaka went to greet someone across the room, Daniel leaned toward Tola.
“I didn’t plan this,” he said quietly. “We just ran into each other last week. She wanted to come.”
Tola sipped her drink. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“I know,” he replied. “But I wanted to give one anyway.”
For a moment, they both stood there — two people trying to rewrite their story while the old chapter refused to stay closed.
And as Amaka laughed across the room, Tola realized something: maybe being intentional wasn’t about control at all.
Maybe it was about choosing how to show up even when your heart didn’t cooperate.
“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.”
— Proverbs 4:23 (NIV)
🙏 When Peace Feels Fake
Tola drove home in silence.
The city outside her window blurred into streaks of gold and gray - Lagos had a way of matching her moods. Every traffic light felt like a moment to think, but she didn’t want to.
By the time she got home, she’d already convinced herself she was fine. She took off her earrings, poured water into a glass, opened her laptop… and then just stared at the screen.
Her phone buzzed.
Daniel: “You handled that so gracefully. Thank you.”
She typed, ‘No worries’, then deleted it. Typed again, ‘It was good seeing you’, then deleted that too.
Finally, she locked the screen and dropped the phone face-down.
Tola had spent months trying to be intentional — to mean what she said, to not lead with emotion, to choose peace over impulse. But tonight, peace felt fake.
She walked to the mirror, studying her own reflection - eyes sharp, lips pressed, posture perfect. You wanted friendship, she told herself. This is what it looks like.
Except it didn’t. Friendship wasn’t supposed to feel like swallowing glass.
She lay on her bed and opened her journal, the one she started after the first mistake — the one labeled “The Work.”
She flipped past old pages filled with affirmations and quotes, until she found the entry that mattered:
“I want love that grows in daylight, not shadows.”
It had sounded wise when she wrote it. Now, it sounded naïve. Because Daniel was daylight once - bright, steady, present - until the night blurred everything.
And yet, she couldn’t deny it: seeing him again had awakened something. Not longing, exactly - more like unfinished business.
Tola closed the journal, whispering to herself,
“Maybe being intentional means accepting when the heart still stumbles.”
“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.”
— Psalm 34:18 (ESV)
She turned off the light, but her thoughts didn’t rest. Somewhere between guilt and grace, she realized — this wasn’t the end of their story. Just the pause before something shifted again.
Across town, Daniel sat in his car outside Amaka’s apartment. The night was quiet except for the hum of the streetlights. He hadn’t planned to stay this long, but Amaka had a way of keeping him still — calm, confident, unbothered by his hesitations.
She leaned into the passenger window, smiling softly.
“You were distracted tonight,” she said. “You kept checking the door. Was it because of her?”
Daniel looked down at the steering wheel. “It wasn’t like that.”
Amaka tilted her head. “Then what was it like?”
He hesitated. The truth pressed against his throat - that seeing Tola again had stirred something he thought he’d buried; that friendship felt harder than distance; that guilt still lived in the spaces they didn’t talk about.
But instead, he said, “It’s complicated.”
Amaka smiled knowingly, but her tone sharpened just slightly.
“Just make sure you’re not trying to fix something that’s meant to stay broken.”
She kissed his cheek - brief, deliberate - and stepped out of the car. The door shut softly behind her.
Daniel watched her walk away, his phone lighting up on the dashboard. A message from Tola:
‘Thanks for coming today. I’m glad we can still talk.’
He stared at it for a long time, thumb hovering over the keyboard, then finally turned the screen off.
For a moment, he sat there — two names in his phone, two unfinished stories, one heart that hadn’t decided what it really wanted.
“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”
— Matthew 6:21 (NIV)
🔥 Reflection
Sometimes, being “intentional” doesn’t mean you’ll feel strong or holy.
It means you’ll choose honesty even when your heart is messy.
Like Tola, there will be moments when your version of peace feels forced — when you’re trying to forgive, move on, or simply not fall apart. But real peace isn’t pretending you don’t care; it’s trusting that God can work in the spaces where you still care.
This week, ask yourself:
- Am I being honest about what I feel, or just suppressing it to look healed?
- What boundary do I need to set — not to punish, but to protect peace?
- Where can I invite God into the unfinished parts of my story?
“And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”
— Philippians 4:7 (NIV)
Next: Episode 3
Actions & Intentions
We would like to know your thoughts
If this resonated — or you’re screaming inside — share it, save it, or email me your take. I don’t promise answers, but I promise to reply like a friend.
I can also send you a copy of the 3 months guide I use when exploring new connections.
Hmm… Just suppressing to look healed? Wow!
“Maybe being intentional means accepting when the heart still stumbles” Hmm 🤔
“Real peace isn’t pretending you don’t care; it’s trusting God to work on spaces where still care” So profound!