Moments of intense emotion are what make up romances. The past four pages have been dedicated to those moments. This is the final page. I hope you have enjoyed reading them as much as I have enjoyed writing them

Chapter V

At her desk you will find clutter. She's got neat tendencies in her, but not as much as clutter. Her mother, however was a bit of a neat freak. No matter, she no longer lives in her mother's house. But her mother is still there, even after four years of death. It seemed to her that she found more in herself that was like her mother, than when her mother was alive. She smiles. It is irony. That it should take death to make her mother come alive. In her.

Days like today are quiet. A dense fog covers the earth. As if to shroud and still the hectic and busy antics of the people around her. As if to remind them that life was too precious. Too wonderful to be spent frustrated and worried. She woke up this morning tired. For her sleep is a momentary lull in her life. A suspension of life, yet profoundly living. She shakes her head and frowns. How to explain this? How to explain how sleep surrounds her, stills her. Yet makes her aware of how very alive she is. Is it that in sleep she is alive yet dead?

She turns to look through the window. On the sill is a small candle. A candle he gave her the last time she left. He liked to give her small mementos of himself. As if to remind her that in her far away place, he was still there. For her. And to remind her not to forget him. As if she could. She smiled. Just like him. To be thoughtful and paranoid. All in one.

Often she finds herself thinking of him and what her mother would say about him. About his dreams, his desires, his dedication to her. She would probably snort and say "hmmm" in that infuriatingly Ghanaian way of hers. The same "hmmm" that she now says, all the time, in the same infuriatingly Ghanaian way.