Love in Pieces.
Chapter One: Frameworks and Data Collection.
TEGA’S P.O.V:
By the time OgheneTega Edewor stepped into the departure hall, he already knew he was late.
Not “I still have a chance” late.
Proper late.
The kind of late that makes airport staff look at you with quiet amusement, like you’ve just volunteered yourself for stress.
He didn’t run. Tega rarely ran. But his steps were longer than usual, measured but urgent, his carry-on strapped across his shoulder, one hand pulling his suitcase behind him.
He joined the line at the check-in counter, eyes scanning the screens overhead.
Accra. Boarding soon.
Good.
Not gone yet.
When it was his turn, the airline attendant didn’t even pretend to smile.
“Check-in has closed.”
“I checked in online,” he replied, calm, steady, already handing over his passport.
She took it, typed briefly, then nodded. “Yes, you checked in. But baggage drop is closed.”
Tega glanced at his suitcase, then back at her.
“Can I still board?”
“Yes. But the bag cannot go.”
He looked behind her to the conveyor belt. Some suitcases were still being arranged.
“I can still see some of the luggage. I am sure you can help me. I am the final person on the queue. It won’t take you much time. Please.”
“There is nothing I can do.” She said
He nodded slowly.
Then waited.
Silence.
She looked at him again, this time longer. The kind of look that wasn’t about policy anymore.
“You know…” she began, voice lowering slightly, “there are ways to make things move faster.”
Tega met her gaze.
“I’m sure there are,” he said. He knew what she was insinuating and he wasn’t going to indulge her. He never gave a bribe. So he kept his eyes trained on hers so she would see his meaning.
Something in his composure seemed to irritate her. Or maybe confuse her, because she clicked her tongue softly, took the tag, and pulled the suitcase toward her.
“Next time, be early,” she muttered.
“Thank you,” he said simply.
With a silent prayer to God, he moved.
*********
Immigration was worse.
The officer flipped through his passport like he had all the time in the world.
Which, apparently, he did.
“Where are you going?” the man asked, though the answer was written clearly.
“Accra.”
“What for?”
“Work.”
“What work?”
Tega held his gaze. “Ministry.”
The man paused. Looked up.
“Pastor?”
“No.”
Another pause.
Longer this time.
The kind that stretched unnecessarily.
“Please, is there any issue sir. I’d like to hurry. I don’t want to miss my flight.”
The man tapped the passport against the desk.
“You people like to rush,” he said. “Always rushing. Why?”
Tega didn’t answer.
There was nothing to answer.
The silence sat between them.
Heavy. Deliberate.
The officer leaned back slightly, as if waiting for something else to enter the conversation.
It didn’t.
After a few more seconds, he stamped the passport.
Hard.
“Go.”
Tega nodded once. “Thank you.”
And moved.
By the time he reached the gate, they were already making the final call.
He handed over his boarding pass just as the attendant began to turn away.
“Accra?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She scanned it quickly, then looked up.
“You’re the last one.”
“I thought so.”
She shook her head, half amused, half annoyed, and waved him through.
“Run.”
This time, he did.
****************
AKOSUA’S P.O.V:
Akosua Agyeman had already arranged her space.
Not casually. Deliberately.
Her bag was placed under the seat at an exact angle. Her tablet aligned with the edge of the tray. Her phone face-down, parallel to the armrest. Headphones coiled neatly, not tangled.
Everything in its place.
Everything accounted for.
She adjusted the seatbelt slightly. Not because it was uncomfortable, but because it wasn’t exactly right.
The cabin was calm. First class always was. Softer lighting. Less noise. Fewer people.
She preferred that. She had had a busy trip. This flight was supposed to be her downtime before she had to do the whole social thing again. She needed the space to recharge.
Father, either let this sit be empty or let me sit next to someone who will sleep all through.
She prayed silently in her mind
Movement at the entrance drew her attention. A man stepped in. Late. Typical.
She watched him briefly, eyes taking in details without lingering.
Measured walk. Not frantic. Even now.
Interesting.
He moved down the aisle, scanning seat numbers, then stopped beside her.
Of course. Just her luck. The tardy, disorganised fellow was her seat partner. God had a sense of humor.
Her expression didn’t change, but her thoughts did.
Late and lackadaisical with it. There was no urgency to his movements. None at all. She was immediately miffed by his existence.
He placed his carry-on up, sat, adjusted slightly, then exhaled once. Not dramatically. Just enough to release the tension of the rush.
He sat beside her and said hello, she replied as she fiddled with the ring on her ring finger. The action was reflex.
He didn’t move the conversation beyond the hello.
Awesome. It seemed this trip could be salvaged after all.
He reached for his phone. Dialed.
She looked away. She wasn’t listening. But she heard.
“Korede, I made it.”
A pause.
Then a small smile touched his face.
“No. It was close… but I’m on.”
Another pause.
“Yeah. I’ll call you when I land.”
He ended the call.
Simple.
No story. No exaggeration.
She noted that too. Points in his favor. He may not be a talker after all. The perfect seat mate for this wind down flight.
Then he leaned back, closed his eyes briefly, and spoke quietly.
“Thank You, Lord… for helping me make this flight.”
She waited.
One second.
Two.
Don’t do it, Akosua. Don’t do it. It is not your job to instruct everybody.
Too Late.
She turned slightly.
“If you had prepared properly,” she said, voice calm, precise, “You wouldn’t have had to disturb the host of heaven with your tardiness.”
Silence.
The kind that doesn’t rush to fill itself.
TEGA’S P.OV:
Tega turned to the woman beside him and for the first time, he really looked.
Not the quick, functional glance from earlier. This time, he let his eyes take in detail.
Her face was softly contoured, high-cheekboned, with that quiet balance he had seen often across Ghana — the kind common among Akan women. Her eyes tilted slightly upward at the edges, but they were wide in shape, not in size — alert, assessing. Her nose carried a kind of quiet elegance. Her mouth was full, set in a neutral line that didn’t try to please anyone.
Her hair was natural, gathered into a bun at the crown of her head. Which meant it was long. He noticed that. He had always liked long hair on women.
But the observation didn’t stay there.
She was dressed simply — a black cashmere two-piece, clean lines, with understated jewelry. Everything about her looked… intentional. Not styled for attention. Styled for comfort and class.
There was a book resting on her lap.
Half-open.
His eyes dropped to it.
And stayed there.
Counterfeit Gods — Timothy Keller.
That caught his attention more than anything else.
Not the face.
Not the poise.
Not even the precision with which she held herself.
The book.
He shifted slightly in his seat, turning just enough.
“You read Keller?” he asked.
Her eyes moved to him.
An emotion moved in them. It was not surprise. It was not warmth. She seemed more present.
“I do.”
Her voice matched everything else about her. Measured. Clean. No unnecessary softness.
He nodded once. “That’s not light reading for a short flight.”
“It’s not meant to be finished in one sitting,” she replied.
He gave a faint smile at that.
Fair.
A small silence followed.
Not awkward.
Just unfilled.
He leaned back slightly, then added, “Which part are you on?”
He saw interest in her eyes, like she was considering continuing the conversation or ignoring him. He saw when she picked the former.
“Chapter 4, The Seduction of Success,” she said. “When good things become ultimate things.”
He nodded once.
“That chapter is uncomfortable,” he said.
Her gaze shifted to him, just slightly.
“Why?”
He shrugged, easy. “Because most people don’t think those things are problems.”
A pause.
“They think they’re just… doing well.”
She held his eyes a second longer this time.
“Are they not?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Then, simply: “Depends on what it’s costing.”
That was all.
He leaned back again, giving her space like he had earlier.
She studied him now.
Properly.
He wasn’t trying to impress her.
That was the first thing she noticed.
But he had impressed her. He had obviously read the book enough to have a lucid thought. He was grounded enough to give a profound answer to her question.
And best, he wasn’t trying to show off.
No follow-up question.
No attempt to turn the conversation into something longer.
No curiosity that felt invasive.
He had asked.
She had answered.
He had stopped.
Unusual.
Most people didn’t know when to stop.
But the best thing, he had deflected her attack by making the conversation about something they shared in common. That was master level diplomacy.
Her fingers rested lightly on the page, but she hadn’t turned it.
Instead, she said, “And you? What do you read on flights?”
He shrugged slightly. “Depends.”
“On?”
“The kind of work I’m going into.”
She tilted her head a little.
“And what kind is this?”
“Sensitive,” he said.
That was not an answer.
She knew it.
But he didn’t expand.
Her lips pressed together briefly—not irritation, not quite interesting either. Something in between.
She looked back down at her book and turned the page.
He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
The cabin lights dimmed slightly. So she turned on the one directly overhead.
The aircraft began to taxi.
And beside him, Akosua read.
Or appeared to.
The journey had begun… not just to Ghana… to something more.
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