Part 4 (Final): The Woman Who Left Notes for the Next Tenant

A year after that first mortifying knock on her door, Freya sat in her apartment packing boxes, preparing to move into a new place with Callahan considerably larger than either of their current studios, though she found herself unexpectedly sentimental about leaving the small apartment where everything had begun.

"You're getting emotional about a studio with a broken radiator," Callahan observed, watching her carefully wrap the shared notebook in bubble wrap rather than simply leaving it for the next tenant.

"I want to keep it," Freya admitted. "Though I suppose that defeats the entire purpose of a tenant notebook."

"We could photocopy our section," Callahan suggested. "Leave the original for tradition's sake, keep a copy for sentimental purposes."

"Compromise achieved," Freya said, smiling as she carefully photographed their joint entry before returning the notebook to its cabinet.

That evening, their final one in the building before officially moving, Mrs. Abernathy knocked on Freya's door, holding a small, wrapped gift.

"I wanted to give you both something," she said, settling into their mostly-packed living room. "Before you two officially leave my careful matchmaking jurisdiction."

Freya unwrapped the gift carefully, finding a framed photograph Mrs. Abernathy, considerably younger, standing beside a man Freya didn't recognize outside their very building.

"My husband," Mrs. Abernathy explained, warmth evident in her weathered voice. "We met in this building too, actually, over fifty years ago now. There wasn't a notebook then, admittedly, but there was considerable meddling from other tenants. I suppose I simply continued the tradition once I moved in permanently."

"You've been doing this for years, then," Callahan said, genuinely touched. "Setting up unsuspecting tenants."

"Successfully, might I add," Mrs. Abernathy said proudly. "You two are my fourth confirmed couple. I keep a private record, separate from the building's notebook."

"A private matchmaking ledger," Freya said, laughing. "That's either deeply concerning or wonderfully sweet."

"Both, generally," Mrs. Abernathy said, echoing Callahan's earlier assessment precisely. "Now, I expect a wedding invitation eventually. I do have considerable pride invested in this particular success."

They promised faithfully, and true to their word, when Callahan proposed six months later during, appropriately, one of his Sunday morning jazz sessions in their new apartment Mrs. Abernathy received the very first invitation, framed prominently at their wedding reception alongside a printed copy of the original notebook entries that had started everything.

"To Mrs. Abernathy," Callahan toasted during their reception, "the building's most persistent, most successful unofficial matchmaker."

"And to notebooks," Freya added, laughing, "for containing considerably more magic than mere radiator complaints ever should."

As they danced together later that evening, surrounded by friends, family, and their delightfully meddling former neighbor, Freya understood profoundly that sometimes the most genuine connections began in the strangest, most specifically absurd circumstances proof that love, given half a chance and one persistent elderly matchmaker, could bloom from even the most unexpected, delightfully bizarre beginnings.

THE END 📝💍💛✨

Part 2: The Woman Who Left Notes for the Next Tenant

Freya agreed to coffee, still faintly mortified by the mysterious matchmaker's intervention, though genuinely curious about the man whose jazz had apparently occupied more of her Sunday mornings than she'd properly admitted even to herself.

"So," she said, settling across from him at a small café near their building, "should we address the elephant in the room? Someone in our building apparently orchestrated this entire encounter."

"I have a theory," Callahan said. "Mrs. Abernathy in 2A. She's lived here longer than anyone, definitely has access to spare keys and unreasonable amounts of free time, and once told me directly that I needed to 'stop hiding my talent from the world.' I think she meant romantically, not just musically."

"That's either deeply invasive or weirdly sweet," Freya said, laughing.

"Both, generally, with Mrs. Abernathy," Callahan said. "She's been slipping unsolicited relationship advice under my door for two years. I should have expected escalation eventually."

Freya found herself genuinely enjoying his company easy conversation, a shared appreciation for the absurd, and considerable charm evident despite his slightly embarrassed origin story. "For what it's worth, the jazz really is excellent. I wasn't exaggerating in my note."

"Thank you," Callahan said, visible pleasure at the genuine compliment. "It's mostly self-taught, actually. Piano lessons as a kid, then just... continued practicing long after most people would've quit."

"What made you keep going?"

"Honestly? Loneliness, initially," Callahan admitted. "Moved to the city knowing nobody, and playing became something to fill the quiet hours. Eventually it just became genuinely enjoyable, rather than simply functional distraction."

"I understand that kind of loneliness," Freya said softly. "I moved here eight months ago, around when the notebook's last entry was written, actually. Still working on building any kind of real community."

"Well," Callahan said, smiling warmly, "I suppose Mrs. Abernathy has generously solved that particular problem for at least one new connection."

"Efficiently, if invasively," Freya agreed, laughing.

They continued talking long past their coffee, easy conversation extending into a shared dinner neither had originally planned, both increasingly reluctant to properly end their unexpectedly delightful first meeting.

to be continued... 📝💫

I need to dedicate my time, focus and energy to watch it. These days, even to watch movies and series I find it difficult. Movies are 1 hour + and series are 20 minutes+ or 40 minutes.

This honest bunch podcast in particular, I have only watched three episodes out of it and it was the early ones.

The first one was with Esther Sky, the second one was with the girl taller, the one about male hygiene. The last one was with Geh Geh. He told his story about how he became rich.

Apart from that, I've not watched another one and they are new ones. The ones I watched was when Nedu was around. But because of controversy Nedu was removed and new hosts like Daddy Freeze were added.

I've not watched these new ones. And this particular podcast in the image below, the guy tells his story about how he got HIV.

And this episode is 3 hours?!! I don't know if I'll be able to watch it because I struggle to watch episodes of 1 hour. 🤔

Part 3: The Man Who Rated Every Sunset a 7/10

Six months into their relationship, Nadia had become such a fixture in Desmond's evening ritual that his followers had started noticing comments beneath his posts increasingly asking about "the woman in the background" who occasionally appeared at the edge of his photos, laughing at something clearly off-camera.

"You've become a minor celebrity," Nadia told him one evening, scrolling through his growing comment section. "People are shipping us. There's a hashtag."

"A hashtag," Desmond repeated, amused. "What's the hashtag?"

"#SunsetCouple. Deeply original."

"I'm slightly disappointed by the lack of creativity," Desmond said, "though I suppose I can't fault their enthusiasm."

Their relationship had deepened considerably beyond the initial charm of the sunset bit Desmond gradually opening up more about his grief, his father, the difficult year that had preceded their meeting; Nadia sharing her own struggles with a demanding job and the loneliness of moving to a new city without an established support system.

"I think," Desmond said one evening, watching an unusually spectacular sunset paint the sky in brilliant oranges and purples, "this one might actually break my scoring system entirely."

"High praise," Nadia said, smiling.

"Extremely high praise," Desmond confirmed. "Possibly a 9. I'd need to consult my notes to confirm I haven't already used that score."

"You keep notes on your previous scores?"

"Extensive records," Desmond said solemnly. "Someone has to maintain proper scoring integrity."

Nadia laughed, leaning against his shoulder as the sunset continued its spectacular display. "I love how seriously you take something so deliberately ridiculous."

"It stopped being purely ridiculous somewhere along the way," Desmond admitted, wrapping an arm around her. "Now it's mostly just... this. Evenings with you, watching something beautiful together, regardless of what score I eventually assign it."

"That's surprisingly sincere for someone who once docked a sunset two points for 'competitive clouds,'" Nadia observed, smiling up at him.

"I contain multitudes," Desmond said, grinning. "Deadpan comedy and genuine sincerity, in careful, balanced proportion."

to be continued... 🌅💛

Part 2: The Man Who Rated Every Sunset a 7/10

They watched the sunset together that evening, Desmond narrating his critique aloud with the same absurd seriousness he brought to his posts, Nadia laughing harder than she had in months at his increasingly elaborate justifications for docking points.

"The color gradient here is genuinely lazy," he said, gesturing at the horizon with theatrical disappointment. "Barely trying. I'm docking two full points."

"You're impossible to please," Nadia said, delighted. "This is objectively beautiful."

"Objectively beautiful and a solid 7 aren't mutually exclusive," Desmond said solemnly. "I maintain high standards precisely because I respect the craft."

"The craft of... the sky existing?"

"Someone has to hold it accountable," Desmond said, grinning despite his deadpan delivery. "It's gotten complacent, coasting on natural beauty alone."

Nadia found herself utterly charmed by his particular brand of humor, and their evening pier meetings quickly became a regular occurrence, Desmond's absurd sunset scoring continuing alongside genuinely warm, easy conversation that revealed considerably more depth beneath his comedic bit.

"Can I ask what actually started this?" she asked, several weeks into their new routine. "The sunset rating account, I mean. It seems like a strangely specific commitment."

Desmond's expression grew momentarily more serious. "My therapist, actually. Suggested finding a small, low-stakes daily ritual after a difficult year my father passed, work was overwhelming, general life chaos. Rating sunsets seemed appropriately absurd and pointless enough to actually stick with consistently."

"I'm sorry about your father," Nadia said gently.

"Thank you," Desmond said. "It's been almost two years now. The sunset thing started as something to anchor my evenings, honestly. Somewhere along the way it became genuinely enjoyable, rather than simply therapeutic obligation."

"I'm glad it worked," Nadia said sincerely. "Though I confess, I'm also glad it eventually led to me finding out you sit twenty feet from my apartment every single evening."

"Fate, clearly," Desmond said, smiling warmly. "Or considerably lucky urban planning that put our respective sunset-viewing spots so conveniently close together."

Their relationship deepened steadily over the following months, Nadia gradually joining Desmond's evening ritual as a genuine, cherished habit rather than simply an amusing bit, both of them finding real comfort and connection in the simple, consistent practice of watching the sky together.

to be continued... 🌅💫

Part 3: The Woman Who Reviewed Restaurants Her Ex Couldn't Afford

Their relationship developed steadily over the following months, Marisol's restaurant blog taking an amusing new turn as she began with Emeric's enthusiastic permission reviewing his restaurant regularly, their private jokes about foam garnishes becoming an ongoing bit her readers had grown to love.

"You've turned our relationship into content," Emeric observed one evening, reading her latest post over her shoulder. "I'm not entirely sure how I feel about being 'the chef boyfriend who finally understood proper foam restraint.'"

"You should feel deeply honored," Marisol said, grinning. "My readers adore you. Several have specifically requested you cook for their own anniversary dinners now."

"A dubious honor, being famous primarily for what I've stopped doing to plates," Emeric said, though clearly pleased despite his mock complaint.

Their relationship deepened considerably beyond the playful restaurant dynamic, Emeric gradually becoming genuinely integrated into Marisol's life beyond simply professional or culinary connection. He met her closest friends, she learned the considerable behind-the-scenes stress of running a professional kitchen, both discovering genuine compatibility beyond their initially amusing, internet-comment origin story.

"I've been thinking," Emeric said one evening, several months into their relationship, "about your ex-husband's Caesar salad standards. Does he know about the blog? About the entire premise being built around spiting his frugality?"

"God, no," Marisol said, laughing. "The blog's anonymous specifically to avoid that conversation entirely. Though I confess, part of me occasionally wonders if he'd recognize himself in the running joke, should he ever stumble across it."

"Would it bother you if he did?" Emeric asked curiously.

Marisol considered the question seriously. "Honestly, not anymore. I started the blog out of genuine bitterness, admittedly. But somewhere along the way, especially since meeting you, it's become considerably more about celebrating genuinely excellent food and writing I actually enjoy, rather than simply proving a petty point to my ex."

"I'm glad," Emeric said sincerely. "Though I confess, I do rather enjoy being your excellent food's culinary co-conspirator in accidentally, indirectly spiting him."

"You've become essential to the bit," Marisol agreed, smiling warmly. "Impossible to properly separate the joke from the genuine relationship at this point."

to be continued... 🍽️💛

The police in the FCT police command, has found the mother of the baby girl dumped along the road in Galadima, an area in the FCT on Monday, September 12.

In an interview with the spokesperson of the command, SP Josephine Adeh, the mother of the baby, Soliat, who hails from Oyo state, said she was gangr@ped by four men in Keffi where she was initially based. She said after the r@pe incident, she left Keffi to Abuja, where she lived with her brother. She said she hid her pregnancy from her brother because she feared he would throw her out if he discovered she was pregnant. She said she lived in shame knowing that the r@pe incident left her pregnant with a baby she couldn’t ascertain who the father is.

Soliat said after she gave birth to her baby, she placed the baby in a carton, dumped the baby on the road, and hid in a place as she waited for anyone who would pick up the baby. She said she watched as a good samaritan who found her baby and took the baby to the Galadima police station. Soliat said she tried aborting her baby but was unsuccessful.

Shortly after Adeh brought the case of the abandoned baby online, her neighbors, who knew she was pregnant all along, accosted her and, after much interrogation, owned up that the abandoned child was hers.

Written By Moyosore Gaffar. Read her piece below…

“Four weeks ago, social media went agog as an Apete resident posted that the government was supplying enough electricity appealing that they could finally turn the power off.

“The social media user went on to note that all the items in her freezer had become completely frozen.

“Her experience was quickly re-echoed by citizens. One Instagram user wrote, "Come to Adegbayi. They don't off light here." Another typed, "Abeg make Tegbe just continue him work oooo. We just dey gbadun 23hrs 45 mins electricity for Apete this time around."

“Beyond domestic relief, this steady power supply is translating directly into economic productivity. Small business owners from barbers and tailors to cold-room operators and digital hubs are seeing overhead costs plummet as the heavy burden of fueling diesel generators lifts. Manufacturing plants and commercial enterprises are operating with greater predictability, boosting local output and driving job creation.

“These are not isolated incidents; they form a growing chorus of testimonials from Nigerians witnessing tangible improvements.

“This shift aligns with a guiding philosophy championed by the Minister of Power, Joseph Tegbe: "We don't just want to count megawatts; we want to be able to count how electricity is impacting Nigerians."

“While it is easy to dismiss incremental improvements in a sector marred by decades of disappointment, cynicism should not blind us to reality. We still have a destination to reach, but true progress powering homes and businesses is undeniably being made.

“For years, the narrative of Nigerian electricity was defined by darkness and the deafening roar of generators. Today, under President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s Renewed Hope agenda, that narrative is being rewritten.

“When Tegbe assumed office, he emphasized that historical bottlenecks were rooted in governance and execution rather than technical deficits alone. Adopting a strategy anchored on accountability, the Ministry has aligned generation, transmission, and distribution components. Tegbe noted: "This sector faces serious challenges. Technical issues account for only a fraction of those challenges. The larger challenge is governance. No agency, no department, no unit can solve this sector's problems alone."

“This unified strategy has yielded vital milestones. Across the country, dormant generation assets are resuscitating, transmission capacities are expanding, and the revival of major plants like the 450MW Alaoji Plant after three years signals a new operational urgency. Furthermore, NERC has stepped up consumer protection enforcement to hold operators strictly accountable.

“While years of infrastructural decay cannot be undone overnight, evidence from communities like Apete and Adegbayi shows the power sector moving in the right direction. Under President Tinubu, steady electricity is replacing generators, ensuring that across homes nationwide, Nigerians' freezers will continue to freeze.”

United States Attorney Leah B. Foley and Jeff Grimming, Acting Special Agent in Charge of Homeland Security Investigations in New England made the announcement in a release issued the Department of Justice on Wednesday, September 16, 2026.

The Defendant residing in Lynn, Massachusets, Boston, also allegedly voted in the 2024 Presidential primary election.

Okafor, is charged with unlawfully voting as an alien.

The defendant was arrested on Wednesday morning.

She is expected to appear in federal court in Boston on the same day.

According to the charging documents, Okafor is a citizen of Nigeria who was born in Aba, Abia State.

Okafor obtained lawful permanent resident status in December 2022 but is not a U.S. citizen and has not applied for U.S. citizenship.

In July 2022, Okafor allegedly submitted a voter registration card, signing her name under a certification which provided “I AM A CITIZEN OF THE UNITED STATES … Signed under penalty of perjury.”

The City of Lynn subsequently registered her to vote, and Okafor allegedly voted in the midterm elections that fall.

It is further alleged that Okafor submitted a second voter registration form in October of 2023, checking the “U.S. Citizen” box and signing under the U.S. citizen certification. Okafor allegedly voted in the 2024 presidential primary election.

The charge of unlawful voting as an alien provides for a sentence of up to one year in prison, one year of supervised release and a fine of $100,000.

The defendant may be subject to deportation upon completion of any sentence imposed. Sentences are imposed by a federal district court judge based upon the U.S.

Sentencing Guidelines and statutes which govern the determination of a sentence in a criminal case.

Assistant U.S. Attorney Julissa Walsh of the Major Crimes Unit is prosecuting the case.

The country’s health and medical services minister, Dr Ratu Atonio Lalabalavu, said in a statement on social media that an outbreak-level response was no longer sufficient to address what he described an “epidemic”.

“Today I am formally declaring a national health emergency in Fiji,” he said. “This decision recognises the seriousness of the epidemic and the urgent coordinated response our country now needs.”

The health minister said the government estimates that one in every 60 adults in Fiji is now living with HIV.

“Five years ago, the estimate was one in 167. In 2025, we recorded 2,060 new HIV diagnoses,” he said, adding that one in 50 pregnant women has HIV.

The emergency declaration followed on from a cabinet decision on September 9 and would require a coordinated response, he added.

Part 3: The Man Who Answered Every Wrong Number Honestly

Their coffee date stretched into a four-hour conversation, then into dinner neither had originally planned, both of them reluctant to properly end what had started as a simple, low-stakes first meeting.

"I have to admit something," Callum said, walking her back to her car afterward. "I've been slightly terrified this whole time that meeting in person would ruin whatever we built over text. That the version of you I knew would somehow feel different, less genuine, once actual awkward silences became possible."

"And?" Priya asked, curious.

"And I think I like you even more now," Callum admitted. "Which is considerably more terrifying, honestly, given how quickly this happened."

Priya felt warmth spreading through her chest at his genuine vulnerability. "I feel exactly the same, for what it's worth. Terrifying, but in the good way."

They continued seeing each other regularly over the following months, their relationship deepening naturally from wrong-number texts into something considerably more substantial weekend dates, meeting each other's friends, the comfortable, easy affection of two people who'd built genuine understanding before ever worrying about first impressions or careful presentation.

"I keep thinking about how we met," Priya said one evening, several months into their relationship, curled up together on Callum's couch. "If I'd simply double-checked the number before sending that text about Marcus's cologne, none of this would have happened."

"A truly tragic alternate timeline," Callum agreed solemnly. "One where I never learn about Marcus's aggressive Axe body spray application, and you never learn about PowerPoint girl's moon landing rebuttal presentation."

"We really did have spectacularly bad luck with dating before this," Priya said, laughing.

"Best bad luck of my entire life," Callum said, pulling her closer. "I wouldn't trade a single disastrous date, honestly, knowing it eventually led here."

Priya studied him, genuine affection evident in her warm expression. "I feel the same way. Even PowerPoint girl deserves a strange, indirect thank-you note, in a way."

"Let's not go quite that far," Callum said, laughing. "I don't need her thinking her lunar conspiracy theories actually worked in her favor somehow."

to be continued... 📱💛