MY DAMN FATE

# MY DAMN FATE

## Chapter 1

Hello! My name is Rachel, a 23-year-old originally from Africa, now thriving in Asia, a continent that has captured my heart. 

Today marks my birthday—yes, I’m celebrating the big 2-3! My phone has been buzzing with calls and texts from friends and family, but there’s one glaring absence: my dad. Mr. Ezekiel Johnson, a businessman who trades in farm products like cocoa and coffee from Nigeria to the Western world, seems to have overlooked my special day.

After a quick shower and a brush of my teeth, I dressed up for my birthday festivities. Just as I positioned myself in front of the mirror to apply my makeup, a text from my dad popped up: “Rachel, you have to come back to Nigeria.” 

What? No birthday wishes? Just a demand? Perhaps he genuinely forgot, but thankfully my mom was the first to call and wish me well. I decided to brush off Dad’s message, hoping he was planning a surprise for me.

While I was getting ready, my friend Bora dropped by to pick me up. We had an incredible time celebrating, and I might have indulged in a bit too much alcohol—definitely not my usual scene! When I returned home, I took a shower and collapsed into bed. Just as I was about to drift off, my phone rang. It was my mom again.

“Did you get the alert? I sent you a little money,” she said. Bless her! I had blown through my savings on this birthday bash.

“Thanks, Mom!” I replied, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over me. Then, curiosity got the better of me. “Why did Dad tell me to come back to Nigeria?”

“It’s a secret,” she replied cryptically. I figured that maybe Dad had something special planned after all, so I dropped the topic.

That night, I set my alarm and fell into a deep sleep, thanks to the alcohol. When my alarm went off the next morning, I was too wiped out to get up. I drifted back to sleep, only to be jolted awake by another call.

“No way, it’s my boss!” I groaned, realizing it was already past 10 a.m.

“Rachel, why aren’t you at work?” she asked, her voice laced with concern.

“I sprained my ankle,” I blurted out, lying through my teeth.

“Did you go to the hospital?” she pressed.

“Yeah, I’m on my way to the office now,” I said, trying to sound convincing.

I rushed through my morning routine, skipping my beloved cocoa tea—thanks, Dad, for all those care packages!

When I finally arrived at the office, I was surprised to see my crush, Dae, sporting a company t-shirt. “What?” I exclaimed, unable to contain my disbelief. I overheard others calling him Dae, and I couldn’t help but stare.

“He’s so cute,” I whispered to myself, recalling my childhood dream of marrying an Asian guy. Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Rachel, the manager wants to see you,” Adeline, my colleague, said.

I hurried into the manager’s office. “Good morning, ma,” I said, trying to sound professional.

“Are you okay?” she asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

“I’m fine?” I replied, genuinely confused.

“Your supervisor mentioned you sprained your ankle. But you seemed fine yesterday, is that how Africans works?” She challenged.

My blood boiled. How dare she insult Africans like that? I wanted to snap back, but I held my tongue. We had good food, awesome traditions, we were never lazy at our work. Which I represent them well at Asia country.

“Rachel!” she banged the table.

“Sorry, ma,” I muttered, knowing that my apology was insincere.

“Leave my office,” she ordered, and I stormed out.

As I opened the door to my department, disaster struck. I accidentally slammed the door into Dae, causing him to bleed from his nose. “I’m so sorry, Dae!” I exclaimed, horrified.

“Did you just say Dae?” he shot back, surprised.

“Yeah?” I replied, feeling embarrassed.

“How do you know my name? Are you stalking me?” he joked.

My colleagues attention were on us, whispering to theirselve calling me a stalker.

I was taken aback. “Why would I stalk someone like you? You’re so ugly!” I shot back, and the room erupted in laughter. That was it; my infatuation with Dae fizzled out.

Later, I received another message from my dad, insisting I return to Nigeria and resign from my job. What could be so urgent? I spent the night drafting my resignation letter, which shocked my manager the next day.

After wrapping things up at the office, I booked my flight back to Nigeria. Three days to wait, and my mind was racing with questions about why Dad wanted me home.

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