An Excerpt From Love, Scribbles & Other Things // A Christian Opposites Attract Romance

Chapter 1: Bex

“Hey, Lexi. How do you spell the word puzzle?” I lean back in my chair as my phone chimes.

“Puzzle...” The voice-activated digital assistant responds. “P-U-Z-Z-L-E.”

“Aha!” The excitement in my voice catches me off guard as I point at the highlighted word on my computer screen. “In your face, Scribbles.” My writing software, Scribbles, tried to convince me I spelled the word wrong, so it brings me joy to click the “ignore” button instead of letting this artificial intelligence question my literacy.

But my moment of victory is short-lived because I’m back to staring at the blinking cursor on the blank page. It must be mocking me, I’m sure. Why does it keep blinking when it knows I have no idea what to write?

You would think that after four years of perfecting my story outline, crafting the perfect characters, spending hours making mood boards, and watching countless videos online in the name of “research,” I’d at least know what the first sentence of this book is. But here I am, back at my desk again, for the fifth day in a row, with nothing to show for my hard work, except the word puzzle.

Puzzle? Seriously? That word has absolutely nothing to do with this story and that was the first thing my brain could spit out? Lord, please, have mercy on me.

I let out a groan and rub my eyes before deleting the word and pushing myself away from my desk. The pain that rushes through my head and down the back of my neck reminds me I’ve been sitting at this desk for way too long, or maybe it’s a sign that I should stop wearing my hair in a high puff every day.

It’s no secret that I love wearing my natural hair out, but I’m what you call a lazy natural because I can’t be bothered to keep experimenting with different hairstyles. If my hair is not in chunky twists, then it’ll be in a high puff with an Ankara headband and my high puffs always bang—if I do say so myself. But I think it’s time to switch up the hairstyle unless I want to keep dealing with headaches every day.

After filling my mouth with the last bits of my cheese and onion crisps, I toss the empty packet in the bin before closing my window to stop the early September draught from coming in. Then I take a big gulp of water from my bottle, just in case dehydration has contributed to this headache I have—which I’m sure it has, since it’s evening and my bottle is still three-quarters full. 

After pacing the length of my room, I sit on the edge of my bed and let my head fall into my hands. I take deep breaths in and out, trying to drown out the siren noises in the distance, which could either be from an ambulance or a police car. 

I like to always think it’s the former, since the hospital is only a ten-minute drive from our house. But you can never be too sure about what these kids are up to these days. My parents bought a decent three-bed, one bath house in Croydon because it has affordable housing and good transport links into Central London.

The location makes it perfect for commuting to my investment banking job in Canary Wharf. But even though it’s only a thirty-minute train journey, my introverted self always feels like I’ve run a marathon every time I get back home from work. 

I promised my sisters I’d start writing this novel this week, but here I am, on Friday night, with nothing to show for it. How do these author vloggers find the time to write with a full-time job and a family? They make it look so easy, but I’m already failing before I’ve even started. Surely there’s something I’m missing because this cannot be it.

My phone vibrates at my desk, pulling me away from the spiral of my thoughts. Rhoda—my youngest sister’s name—flashes on my screen and I swipe left to answer. “Sissy, we’re on our way. Are you ready?” 

I frown and stare at the watch on my wrist. It’s six-thirty PM. Wow, I can’t believe I’ve been sitting in this room for an hour. I haven’t even changed out of my work clothes yet. “Ready for what?” 

“Ugh, I knew you’d forget. You haven’t seen our messages on the group chat yet, have you?” Rachel, my other sister, responds this time.

I gasp before opening my messaging app, panicking about missing a special birthday or anniversary or something. My sisters and I make a big deal about celebrating each other, so I would never want to be the one to forget.

“Oh.” A sigh of relief escapes my lips as I bring the phone back to my ear. “I actually forgot the worship event was tonight. Soz.” 

“Yeah, you wouldn’t have if you had read your messages. Now get ready, coz we’re two minutes away.” Rhoda ends the call before I can put in another word and I roll my eyes.

Ugh, can you imagine the audacity? She better apologise when she gets here or else I’m not going.

The three of us have completely different personalities, Rhoda being the sharp-mouthed one, even though she’s the youngest. As I’ve already established, I’m the introverted and more reserved one, while Rachel sits in between like the perfect middle child she is. 

We were all born in Cameroon, but our parents moved to the UK when we were eight, six, and four years old. In secondary school, they used to call us the three sister-teers because we were always together and even though we’ve individually made friends through university and our jobs, we’ve always been each other's best friends.

As much as our personalities are different, so are our personal styles. Rachel loves wearing make-up every time she goes out because she has been practising for years and even though she wears prescription glasses, you would never know because she has different ones with different frames to match her outfit. She also changes her hairstyle every four to six weeks because she does her hair herself and if she wasn’t also my personal hairstylist, I would envy her.

Rhoda is much more laid back than me. She always wears her type 4a natural hair in a wash-and-go hairstyle, her gorgeous curls popping every time no matter the season. Rhoda also doesn’t joke with her comfort. The girl doesn’t like stress, so flats and warm clothes are her go-to—especially when the cold weather rolls in.

Rhoda flings herself on me, almost knocking my tired self to the ground when I open the door for them. “I’ve missed you, Sissy.” She squeezes me into a tight hug, barely leaving me with enough energy to hug Rachel. The entire speech I planned to scold Rhoda for hanging up on me flies out the window because she gives the best hugs.

“Wow, I didn’t know I was that loved.” I smirk as Rhoda gives me a side eye. I only missed one of our weekly catch up sessions and now she’s acting like I disappeared for a year. 

“You can’t miss our next outing,” Rhoda says as we follow her lead up the stairs and into my room, which used to be our hang out spot when we all lived at home with our parents. The room is bigger and doesn’t have a bunk bed like Rachel and Rhoda’s old room, so we used to lie on my bed for hours talking about everything and anything. 

When Rachel got her job as a secondary school science teacher, she moved out and got a two-bedroom flat in Mitcham. She didn’t need to, as the commute from Croydon to Mitcham is not too bad, but Rachel loves her independence and her own space. 

Rhoda also joined her and they both share the rent, so we’ve moved our weekly meetups to their flat, which has given us the freedom to catch up without worrying about our parents eavesdropping on us. 

Last Saturday, the plan was to go see a movie together at the cinema. Rhoda bought the tickets and everything, but work was so busy and I just wanted one evening to do nothing, so I cancelled. My sisters understand that sometimes I need days to recuperate when my physical and emotional energy is drained. That’s why they gave me space. 

They never give me too much space though, because before I blink, they’re back knocking at the door, invading my space and bugging me as always. With Mum and Dad away on their yearly trip to Cameroon, we have our privacy today.

“So, how’s your writing going?” Rhoda asks as she throws herself on my bed, messing up my perfectly-laid sheets.

I avert my gaze and open my built-in wardrobe, staring at my row of blouses and pretending I didn’t hear her. 

“Bex?” They both call out and I turn around before laying out a black-and-white striped blouse on the bed.

“Well, I was in the zone until you girls showed up and ruined my flow.” 

“Really?” Rachel taps the space key on my laptop, turning it on and exposing my lies. “There’s nothing on the page, Bex. Just a blinking cursor.”

“Urgh. You girls can’t let me get away with anything, can you?” I plop down on the edge of my bed and my sisters sit on either side of me. 

“What’s going on, Bex?” Rachel asks, pushing her glasses close to her face.

“Yeah, talk to us, Sissy,” Rhoda places her arm around my shoulder and I lean my head on hers before sighing.

“I just…” My words falter as I fight the tears blurring my vision. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve bawled in front of my sisters, but I fear they would think me silly for crying over a book. But it’s more than just a book and I don’t know if I can ever make them understand why it’s so important that I write this story.

“I just can’t bring myself to start.” My words come out in a whisper as one tear escapes. “I’ve spent so long preparing for this moment and now that it’s here, I can’t find the words. How am I going to write the story if I can’t find the words?” 

“Hey, hey.” Rachel wipes the tears sliding down my cheeks. “The words will come, Bex. Maybe you’re just afraid of making it perfect from the beginning, so you’re putting pressure on yourself.”

“Yeah, but you have to push through that fear and just start writing,” Rhoda adds.

“I did. I sat here for an hour today and do you know what my first word was?”

The girls both give me blank stares.

”Puzzle. How can my first word be puzzle? What has that got to do with anything?”

“I guess that’s a puzzle we need to solve,” Rhoda says, and we all laugh. “Come on, Sissy. Remember the day you told us about this story idea four years ago? You said God was the one who gave you the story, right?”

I nod and sniffle.

“So if He gave you the story, don’t you think He’ll help you write it too?”

“He sure will,” Rachel answers for me.

“Yeah, but sometimes I wish I didn’t have so many distractions around me. My job is a blessing, but it physically drains me and I barely have any energy left at the end of the day. When I can’t write, I watch other author vloggers online and end up feeling sorry for myself because I can’t be as productive as them.”

“Okay, you need to stop watching those vloggers.” Rachel wags her finger in my face. “You know most of them only show you the hills of their journey and never the valleys, right?” She refers to one of our favourite songs by Tauren Wells.

“Yeah, stop comparing your journey with them,” Rhoda chimes in. “You don’t work weekends, so maybe you can leave the writing until then? Remember, you used to go out to coffee shops to work on your outline on Saturdays?”

“Oh yeah. I was so proud of myself for leaving the house every Saturday.” I smile, remembering my initial excitement about the story when God first gave me the idea. 

“If coffee shops worked for you before, why don’t you try them again? I’m sure there are so many in central you haven’t explored yet.”

I pause for a moment, thinking about Rhoda’s suggestion. Even though the idea of leaving the house and interacting with people gives me palpitations, I can’t deny the fact that I was more productive at coffee shops. Plus, if God helped me do it before, then He can surely help me do it again. “I guess I can try one out next week.”

“Yay. That’s what we like to hear.” Rhoda pushes herself up from the bed and claps her hands. “Well, now that the crisis has been averted, it’s time to hit the road or we’ll be late.” She taps on her watch and then rushes out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen. Of course, she needs a snack for the journey, even if it’s only a fifteen-minute drive. The girl is such a foodie. 

I wipe my tear-stained face and put on my clothes before rushing to the bathroom to do my quick ten-minute makeup routine. After sliding my feet into my ankle boots, I spray on my fruity and aromatic perfume combo, which always gets me a lot of compliments. I may not always enjoy interacting with people, but I like to smell good when I do. 

 “I’m ready.” I pop back into the room.

“Finally.” Rachel picks up her handbag and we both troop downstairs to meet Rhoda, coming out of the kitchen, a half-eaten bag of plantain chips in her hand.

“What?” Rhoda asks with wide eyes, crunching the chips in her mouth as we both stare at her. “A girl has to eat.”

“We didn’t say otherwise, Madam.” I chuckle. “Just wipe the crumbs from your mouth, please. If anyone sees you at church looking like this, Mum and Dad will hear of it. Don’t disgrace us, oh.” I pull my ears, mimicking what our mum would say, and we all laugh as we get into Rachel’s car.

“I can’t wait for Mum and Dad to return on Monday. We need those authentic Cameroonian treats before my stomach withers.”

“Did someone ever tell you you’re so dramatic?” I turn to Rhoda in the backseat as we put on our seatbelts. 

“What’s so dramatic about loving food?” 

“Don’t worry, tell me what you want to eat and I’ll make it next week,” Rachel says as she turns the key in the ignition. 

“Ooh, poulet DJ, please.” Rhoda’s face lights up as she mentions her favourite Cameroonian meal. “Give me that and I’ll make dessert.” 

“I’ll buy drinks, then,” I add, and just like that, our date is planned. That’s the benefit of having sisters who have mad cooking and baking skills. I just have to do the bare minimum and I end up having the best food, the best dessert, and the best company. God knew spending time with my sisters was exactly what I needed today after the hectic week I’ve had. I can’t wait to get over this hurdle and finally start writing this story.

If you enjoyed this excerpt then you can preorder the ebook here.

Thanks for reading.

God bless you

Joanny 💕