A mysterious call
27 pages

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27 pages

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Alice, an accomplished and a little disillusioned woman, goes to a reception she dislikes in advance, because of a rather strange phone call she received... What will she discover? Is it really fate?


Before I could make a choice, the line started to crackle.

“A . . . Alice?”


“I . . . it . . . can’t . . . hear. . .”

The line went dead.

Just like that.

I had spent an hour wondering what to do, what to say, who to turn to, then I decided to do the most reasonable thing: go to the speed-dating, discover the truth for myself. I was going to meet an important person, or I would have proof that this call was a prank, but at least I would know. I did not believe in soul mates and all that Disney-inspired crap, but I wanted to understand. This phone call was too strange.

And here I am. Looking for signs I couldn’t see. Not yet, at least.



Publié par
Nombre de lectures 5
EAN13 9791096622689
Langue English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0007€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.


Iman Eyitayo
       A mysterious call
Short Story
© Editions Plumes Solidaires
© Editions Plumes Solidaires
Author  : Iman Eyitayo
Cover illustration : Shutterstock
Making of the cover : Iman Eyitayo
Collection  : Plumes libellules
ISBN : 979-10-96622-68-9
© all rights reserved for all countries
November 2019
From the same author
Cœur de Flammes, Tome 1
Cœur de Flammes, Tome 2
Cœur de Flammes, Tome 3
Cœur de Flammes, Tome 3.5
Cœur de flammes, tome 4
L’antichambre des souvenirs, Intégrale
Abiola et la plante magique
Abiola et la déesse des mers
Abiola et le peigne divin
Un Noël pas comme les autres
L’appel du destin
La danse des tatouages
Un service explosif
Au-dela du miroir
Voyageuse, tome 1
Next to be published
Abiola and the magic plant
Dear reader,
Because everything is connected…
Iman Eyitayo
       A mysterious call
Short Story
© Editions Plumes Solidaires
The Arrival
The room is larger than I imagined. Prettier, too. With a high ceiling, polished walls, earthenware decorations and mirrors all over the place, it reminds me of the castle of Versailles—a much smaller and modest version, but still.
For an instant, I think I did well by coming here, that somehow happiness awaits me in the course of a conversation or a smile. Then I reconsider. I don’t believe a word of it. Love at first sight, the perfect encounter, it’s for the Cinderellas awaiting their princes. Right now, at 30 years-old, I don’t seek magic anymore, only pragmatism. Who would be able to adjust to my super busy manager’s life? Who would be able to accept my past wounds? Who would make an acceptable father? Those are the only questions that matters anymore, the ones that motivate me every single day, that push me forwards.
When I signed up for that event, the lady on the phone surprised me by agreeing with me:
“Oh, I do understand what you mean!” She said. “Knowing what one wants is the key to success! So I think, Miss Odrego, that you’ll find someone faster than most women, who still lie to themselves!”
Her honesty had really surprised me; she was supposed to sell dreams to her clients, after all. However her attitude had reassured me, and I had validated my participation. To see how it goes, to try. I almost cancelled though, this morning, but the weird phone call I received made me change my mind. Let’s hope I wasn’t wrong. . .
“Miss Odrego? Miss Alice Odrego? Is that you?”
The woman welcoming me is wearing a very nice outfit: an elegant blue suit accessorized with a very plunging neckline, a waxed pair of Louboutins, a bun so sophisticated the few strands of kinky hair sticking out seem to actually fit in with some predetermined pattern . I’ve always dreamt on having this type of hair: black, curly or kinky, with personality, with class. That, or be a red head. Basically, anything notable. Instead I have straight black hair—very mundane. Fortunately, my eyes are a little unusual with their dazzling green; otherwise I would have been completely average.
So I’m instantly under the spell of my host, with her chocolate complexion and her bright smile: actually, I like her a lot. If I was a man—or a lesbian—I would have immediately fallen for her. But even my sexual orientation had to be conventional .
“Did you find it easily?” She asks me kindly.
I nod. The journey from my apartment in the seventeenth arrondissement of Paris to this converted theatre near the Moulin Rouge was quite...

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