Fiction: The Intruder

December 8, 2015 Fiction , POETRY / FICTION


Isaac alesh Melchizedek



“Yetunde, please let me borrow your Calculus handout,” he asked as he entered her room.

She chose not to answer, instead, she took a tray full of bananas placed on her plastic blue table and stretched it to him, “Do you care for banana?” She asked. He too didn’t reply, but walked his way to her bed, placed his school bag at his own feet and lay down. He looked as tired as hell.

She looked at him the way a geography teacher will look at a detailed map, and frown. He had grown thin, not slim. He used to be a good-looking slim guy. She couldn’t even remember how they became friends. But he did. He is the one that keeps a record. He noted the first time they talked, the first time he ate at her place, the first time they had a night-call. He was crazy about her and she knows it.

“Yetunde, will you let me borrow your handout?” He asked again, trying to sound as persuasive as possible.

“I can’t give you”


She never backed her decisions with reasons; which, according to him, means she lacks the gene of a scientist; he knew that, but just felt like asking questions. He thought he deserved it.

Yetunde dragged herself to the side of the bed he was occupying, she dragged the tray with her, “Seriously, I bought these much because I thought you were going to eat. I won’t make that kind of mistake again.”

The bananas looked beautiful and innocent, just like her. He looked at her with tired, but seducing eyes; she tried to ignore it. “I… I didn’t say I wasn’t going to eat them,” he stuttered in defense. She pulled herself closer, this time they were only separated by a few inches of nothingness. His heart began to beat faster, like a talking drum that is afraid of what to say. He could feel her breathe, the rhythm of her heartbeat, her essence. They’ve never been this close before. She employed her bedroom voice to reach out to him; “You said you wanted to tell me something” His heart raced faster, leaving Usain Bolt behind.

Why was she doing this? She knew very well that he is the shy type.

He couldn’t bring himself to say the three words, besides, she already knows. Everyone knows that he loves her, so, what’s the point in telling her again? He shut his eyes and tried to focus on nothing, nothing except her and her enchantment – perhaps, he thought, it may give him the courage to tell her how much she meant to him. “Talk to me, what is it you wanted to talk about?” she continued with the persuasive version of her bedroom voice. He looked at her, at her fair-skinned hands, and went for it. He held first her left index finger, focused on it the way a scientist will examine his apparatus before carrying out an experiment. Took the second finger, and then squeezed her entire palm in his palms. It felt good.

“Can I ask you a question?” He finally breached the gates of his sealed mouth.


“Who are you dating?”

“Me? Dating? I’m not dating anyone” A corner of her mouth filled with a smile. “Why do you ask?”

His heart was beating even faster. His pores started breaking salty water. He looked tense. Not just because he was afraid to tell her how he feels about her, but also because he didn’t want to jeopardize their friendship. “I just want to know” he responded. He squeezed her hand again, choosing to convey the message to her body instead. She closed her eyes for a few seconds and sighed.


It was almost 6:30pm and they’d been there for hours. She knew he was going to say it, she knew he is shy. But she was not sure if she is prepared to wait.

After a long silence he spoke again, this time he was the one using the bedroom voice.

“Can you date your course mate?”

 She told him she could, provided he is in love with her. “By the way, do you want to give me out to one of your friends,” She asked jokingly, with doubtful intent.

“Why will I do that? I think it’s better to keep you for myself than to give you out to someone else”

“Can you ‘keep me’?”

Their conversation was finally heading towards where he wanted. This way he could tell her how he really feels about her, and, if lucky, ask her out. Of course, she was also aware of the destination of their conversation and it seemed like she’s in for it. She adjusted her position in such a way that the only thing he would be able to think about will be her sexy legs. She was trying her best to make him say the three words, protecting her pride with it.

Someone knocked; they looked towards the Mahogany door, displeased.

“Who’s there?” She shouted at the door.

“It’s me, open up.”



He cursed beneath his breathe and wondered what Abbey had come to do at her place. Ignorant of his newly conceived anger, Abbey entered, greeted him and took a few bananas. She looked at him, like a geography teacher trying to study the topography of a silent map – she saw anger in his eyes, then, quickly, excused herself dragging Abbey along.


“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting,” she said as she entered several minutes after dragging Abbey out of the room. “And I’m also sorry about Abbey.”

He looked at her and gave a fake smile.

She looked livelier, more cheerful and blunt. “Where were we again?”

Yetunde walked back to her previous position beside him, separated by fewer inches of oxygen and whatever his chemistry teacher said is in the air of her face-me-I-face-you apartment. Backed to her bedroom voice, and repositioning of her sexy legs.

“Can I ask you something? She asked, trying to breach the gate of his re-sealed mouth.


“Who are you dating?”

“Me? I’m not dating anyone. Why did you ask?”

She looked at him and didn’t know what to say, “Well, let’s just say I want to know”

It was her heart beating faster now and she didn’t know how to explain it to him. She wanted to apologize to him right away but was not sure if it was a good idea. She looked around and saw his left hand lying beside the bed idly. She reached for his index finger, studied it like a 6-unit course, she took the rest of his fingers to herself massaging them, studying them, wanting them. She squeezed his fingers into her palm and it felt perfect.

“Do you love me?” She asked, focused on his fingers.

“Yes Yetunde. I love you.” He was happy that she summoned the courage to ask. She asking him had somehow given him the courage to go on, “Yetunde, will you date me?” He asked, using the persuasive version of his own bedroom voice.

“I can’t date you”


“I already have a boyfriend”

He looked at her, at her eyes, and studied them the way a scientist will study his apparatus when his readings were inaccurate. He knew deep down that she never lied to him. Everything she had said was the truth. He dropped the tray of bananas in his hands on her plastic table, took her Calculus handout, and bade her goodnight.






Isaac alesh Melchizedek

Isaac alesh Melchizedek writes poems and short stories from Ibadan, Nigeria. His works were recently published by Brittle Paper and Ink Fifteen.


No Comments Yet!

You can be first to comment this post!

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.