Chinedu noticed the first thing that was empty on his desk was the space.
He suddenly paused at the center of his room and looked at it.
"No," he whispered.
The brown notepads were missing.
He went forward, and blocked a stack of old newspapers. Then he looked under the desk, in his clothes and even under his bed.
Nothing.
His heart started going faster and faster.
This notebook was no ordinary notebook! It was Chinedu's brainchild, filled with ideas for a novel he was hoping to write someday, stories and poems for three years. It contained all the crucial concepts.
He lay on the bed's edge, trying to recall.
"When would I have seen it last?"
Gradually, the past slipped back into his mind.
He had brought the notebook to Freedom Park, in Lagos. He had been sitting and writing under a tree all afternoon, as everyone walked around the park. He then went into a tiny restaurant and then to his home on a bus.
His guts grew cold.
"I left it in the park."
The next morning, he went back to Freedom Park as soon as they opened.
It was the very same tree, and its branches swayed to the wind.
The notebook had been lost.
Chinedu strolled around and came up to a cleaner.
“Morning Ma,” he said to her. "Did anyone see any kind of brown notebook here yesterday?"
The woman shook her head in dismay.
"Well, my son, I don't know, maybe you should ask the security office."
A man who looked exhausted and was seated in the security office.A man sitting at a security office, looking tired.
"Is it a brown notebook?" he repeated.
“Yes, it is quite important.”
The man looked through a small box where he had found some misplaced belongings.
An umbrella.
A water bottle.
Sunglasses.
But no notebook.
The man apologized, "I'm sorry.
Chinedu managed a smile and gave him his thanks.
But he was sad on his shoulders as he approached the gate.
Three years of labour.
Gone.
For a week he had no other thoughts.
In his workplace he did wrong.
He was at home, looking at blank pages and he was unable to write.
His younger sister, Ada, observed.
One evening, she said to him, "You have been so quiet." One evening, she said to him, "You have been so quiet."
"The notebook has been lost!"
“It is possible to create new stories."
Chinedu shook his head in dismay.
"Well, that's not so easy after all."
Ada sat beside him.
"What if it were discovered?"
"But what will happen if they don't?"
She smiled.
"Worrying will not change anything,"
He laughed softly.
“You're becoming older than I am.”
“But I am smarter than you."
That was enough to put a smile on his face for the first days.
As for Tolu, meanwhile, she was sitting in her room of the hostel, a university student with a brown notebook on her lap, across the city.
It was under a park bench.
She was in a rush to catch a bus, so initially she was going to give it to security.
Later she opened it, hoping to find a telephone number.
She, however, discovered pages and pages of stories.
She became curious.
The style of the writing was simple but beautiful. The characters were believable.
She read portions of it for a couple of nights.
"That person can write indeed," she whispered.
She started to feel guilty within her.
There was someone who used the notebook.
This was most likely someone looking for it.
She discovered a loose page the night before near the end of the book. There's one email address on the bottom.
Her eyes widened.
"Finally."
She sent him a message right away.
"Hello. I believe I've discovered a brown notebook that is yours."
Chinedu's phone rang as he was eating dinner.
He mostly blew it off.
Next, he opened the e-mail.
He just looked on for a couple of seconds.
He jumped to his feet, and nearly knocked his chair over.
"Ada!" he shouted.
His sister came running into the room.
"What happened?"
"Someone found it!"
"Found what?"
"The notebook!"
He was not the loudest to shout, Ada was louder.
They agreed to have a meeting in a café in Ikeja two days later.
Chinedu arrived early.
He was nervous.
"But what if it's a mistake?"
A familiar brown notebook was carried by a young girl who came in.
He knew right away, as soon as he saw it.
“Yes,” she replied, “I'm Tolu.”
She nodded.
"And you're Chinedu."
They didn't say a word for awhile.
After she gave him the notebook.
"Excuses are not an acceptable answer. Sorry takes too long to say."
Chinedu gingerly lifted the cover.
It was like it never happened to be in fact.
"You don't know how much this is for me,"
Tolu smiled.
"I think I do."
His eyebrows rose.
"What do you mean?"
She laughed softly.
"I read some of it."
Chinedu's eyes widened.
"Do you read my stories?"
"A few."
He was embarrassed and covered his face.
"Oh no."
"They were good."
"You are being polite!"
"I'm serious."
She leaned forward.
"So what's the story of the old bus driver? I loved that one."
Chinedu was staring at her.
His work was not read by anyone outside his family before.
"Really?"
"Really."
For the next hour they conversed.
About books.
About writing.
About Lagos.
They seldom shared their dreams with anyone else.
Finally they stood up to go they had the notebook under their arm.
Outside the city it was as usual, noisy and busy. Cars honked. Anyone who got on the phone was called out to customers. The streets were filled with people running.
However, everything was a little bit different.
The notebook had been brought back.
And some unexpected thing had come with it—a new friendship started because of a piece of misplaced baggage.
