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|A Million Sunsets by Orjiugo8803(f): 9:24pm On Jan 22|
So I wrote my first book titled A Million Sunsets and I really wanted to share it with you guys.
It is an endearing story about a troubled, materialistic aspiring actress and a kind and generous surgeon who is haunted by a friend’s suicide.
When they cross paths after she is stranded on a lonely road in the middle of the night, they both have a decision to make about the course of their lives especially when there is a near death experience involved.
I really hope you enjoy this story. And I look forward to your comments, reviews, criticisms and any other form of contributions you have.
I will upload the first part of the story soonest.
|Re: A Million Sunsets by Orjiugo8803(f): 10:14pm On Jan 22|
All rights reserved. No part of this book maybe reproduced, transmitted or used without the permission of the author.
A million sunsets are beautiful yet it hinders a much needed new dawn.
Like the forecast indicated, it was a rainy night. Flashes of lightning and rumbles of thunder occasionally drew Sara’s attention to the storm. With it came a breeze that gushed in through the windows. The breeze smelt earthy; felt cold against her skin, yet she loved it, especially when it fluttered her pink curtains. It had a tranquil effect on her; made her feel light, like the breeze carried away all the heaviness in her heart and left her free.
She was sitting on her bed, her back propped up against the wall. Between her index and middle right finger, she held a lit joint of weed which she occasionally took a drag of smoke from. She was thinking about the call that she received from her sister- Munachi- earlier. She wanted her to come over to her house the next day and spend the weekend, because her husband and kids were away, and she thought that it will be a good time for them to have some fun.
“Fun?” She scoffed as she said it out loud. There was no way that Munachi invited her over just for ‘fun’. She had an ulterior motive and she was sure that it was related to her lifestyle again.
Munachi was always critical of her. Around her, she felt inferior, uncertain about her choices and unworthy of her few achievements. She never took Munachi’s criticisms to heart; after all she was out of touch with her reality because she had gotten the fairy tale life that she always wanted.
She was married to a real estate mogul, lived in luxury, mingled with the rich and so she morphed from a low grade party girl to a classy wife that paraded around with an air of chasteness and reprimanded her for living exactly the same way she’d lived when she was single.
She wished that she could get away from the trip, maybe pretend that she had another important engagement that weekend but she decided against it because going against her sister meant that she will lose out on the monthly allowance she got from her, and considering how drained her account was, that wasn’t an option.
With a loud clap of thunder came a roaring bout of wind. It shook the trees violently and it was screeching like it was angry at something. She tossed the half smoked joint on the floor and pulled the pillow to her face as if the wind was aiming for her face. Such winds came with sand and debris and she didn’t want any of it to get into her eyes.
After the wind passed, she hissed at the state of her dressing table. Normally, it held the basic items that she used every morning- body creams; make up kits, combs, brushes and her jewelry box but right then, most of the items were knocked over each other while the rest lay scattered on the floor. She shut the windows before retrieving her things. Just then, the light went off.
“F*ck...” She cussed as her eyes adjusted to the darkness of her previously lit room. She was frustrated at the night’s event- the invitation from Munachi, the rain, the bad wind and now the darkness that crowded her space.
Everything was working against her, and her room which used to be her safe zone, felt dark and precarious.
She grabbed her phone, once she lay down on her bed. Still uncertain about what Munachi wanted from her; she wrote her a reply, told her that she would come over to her house later that day, then she rolled the duvet over her chest and closed her eyes.
The ringtone of Chuka’s phone disrupted his sleep again. The phone had been ringing for a while, but he didn’t want to pick it up because it was far from his grasp.
What if there is an emergency? He dismissed the thought. Even if there was an emergency, he shouldn’t be called in, except there was a shortage of doctors, which was highly unlikely at the Hospital.
No, it wasn’t an emergency; this was an annoying caller who didn’t realize that his refusal to pick the call meant that he was asleep. Whatever the caller wanted to tell him could wait till morning. He needed to rest; He had worked a twelve-hour shift at the hospital and he was exhausted.
He didn’t plan to spend the night at his parents’ house. After work, he was on his way home when his mother called to invite him over for dinner. He turned the offer down; he was exhausted, and he didn’t want a dose of his mother’s drama that evening. She bothered him about settling down, it came up every time that he came to see her; it was becoming embarrassing for him.
He was adamant about coming over when his mother interrupted him. “I’m cooking ofe onugbu with snail, okporoko and azuokpo; special style just the way you like it.” He paused.
Enticing him with the soup was a smart move; it was his favorite, his mum knew, and she had used it as bait to lure him home. The thought of eating the meal made him salivate. He imagined himself swallowing balls of eba with the soup and chewing the large snails, beef, stock fish and dried fish which she would use to garnish it. Certainly, it was better than the beans and potato that Bassey intended to serve him for dinner. There was no way he could turn that offer down.
“But mum, no marriage talks, please tell dad too.”
“Fine, we won’t talk about marriage.”
“I will be there soon.”
The meal was worth it; he savored it. Like his mum promised, she and his dad didn’t bring up the marriage topic that night. After the meal, he decided to stay back at his parent’s house since he had no one at home to go back to.
He shut his eyes after the ringing stopped with hopes that the phone wouldn’t ring again. Not quiet long after, the ring tone of his phone jerked him back into consciousness. He hissed as he looked at the dressing table. The phone was right there vibrating and screaming out a midi soundtrack. He decided to pick the call; there was no need for him to ignore it except he wanted to be awoken by his ringtone every minute. He stood up, dragged himself to the dressing table and picked it up.
“Who is this?” He intended to yell at the caller but was surprised that his voice rather sounded groggy.
“It’s Patricia.” A quiet voice replied. His eyes cleared as he heard her voice. It was a voice that he knew well. He had spoken to her many times and the accent just like her husband’s could not be mistaken.
“Pat?” He whispered surprisingly.
“I’m sorry I woke you.”
“It’s okay.” He lied. He wasn’t okay. She was calling him repeatedly, in the middle of the night and that got him very scared. “How is Parker?” He asked her. Pat was quiet for a few seconds and then she let loose. She was crying softly on the phone and it scared him more. “Pat what happened, talk to me.”
“I left him with his nanny and went to school. She called me two hours later and said Parker was at the hospital because he fell from the bed, landed on his head and he wouldn’t stop crying after the incident so she took him to the hospital. The doctors said it’s a minor concussion that he will be okay they gave him a mild sedative and he is asleep now. But I am so scared; I can’t take my eyes off him.”
“I’m very sorry about that Pat, but you should stop crying , Parker will be fine.”
“I know. It’s just hard for me raising these kids alone, without Andrew. I don’t know how he could do this to us. I mean if things were so bad, he should have told someone about it, not take his life the way he did.”
Her laments made him feel guilty. He didn’t like remembering Andrew Hartland because with his thoughts came a rush of memories and inner demons that plagued him. Now he was listening to his wife ask why Andrew took his life and he felt like it was his fault again.
“You have to stop crying, you have to be strong for your kids.”
“I don’t know if I can be that strong.”
“Of course you can. You are so much stronger than you think. Parker will be fine. And I am always here for you.”
He was tensed after the call ended. His hands were shaking; the thought of Andrew’s suicide fuelled a rush of guilt to his heart again.
They’d been friends since they met, during his first year in Medical school. After his internship, they worked together for a year on a medical outreach in Abot but now Andrew was dead, by suicide and he blamed himself for it. He felt heavy, he’d robbed his wife and kids of their chance of being with him and he didn’t know what to do to suit his conscience.
The tears which had formed in his eyes began dropping unto his cheeks. He wiped his eyes with his palms, inhaled and exhaled severally to calm his nerves and lay back on his bed.
He couldn’t sleep; Andrew seemed to be everywhere, and his image haunted him. “Don’t think about him.” He whispered it repeatedly, but nothing changed. The image of his bloodied body lying on the floor plagued his mind.
He exited his room, walked down the stairs towards the sitting room, turned on the lights and took a sofa by the left side of the room. Adjacent to him was the bar which had assorted drinks lined up in it. His eyes lit up with excitement as he walked up to the bar. He could see the wine, spirits, whiskey, scotch and other brands of alcohol that he had missed taking. Suddenly he felt a strong urge to drink.
He picked up a bottle of Johnnie Walker and opened it. Don’t drink. You have been sober for almost a year. Don’t ruin your sobriety. The words rang in his head but he ignored it and gulped a mouthful straight from the bottle then shut his eyes as he swallowed it.
It tasted good, calmed his shaky nerves, his body had longed for it, and he had given it what it missed. Ignoring the sobriety caution of his inner conscience, he took the bottle back to his room.
To be continued.
|Re: A Million Sunsets by Orjiugo8803(f): 9:55am On Jan 23|
Chapter 1 continued.
His house was quiet; the absence of the usual domestic staff provided the discretion that she craved for. She’d pretended to be busy at work so that she could follow him home once their colleagues left the office. They’d agreed to spend the weekend at his house because his wife and kids were away on vacation.
It was wrong to have an affair with him- he was married with three kids. But he liked her because she took care of his sexual needs. And she liked him because he took care of her financial needs. The man was a generous giver and he’d blessed her with so much money that she was thinking of purchasing her dream car soon.
She was on top of him on his matrimonial bed, her hands gliding around his body in a sensual manner, muffled moans escaped from her lips as she rode him, when she heard a knock on the door.
She turned and saw someone that startled her. He was her ex-boyfriend and he was supposed to be in Abuja. What was he doing at her lover’s house, In Lagos that night? And why was he smirking as he looked at her?
She wanted to say something to him when she heard a sound that distracted her.
|Re: A Million Sunsets by LightQueen(f): 10:20am On Jan 23|
|Re: A Million Sunsets by Ann2012(f): 10:23am On Jan 23|
Thanks for the update
|Re: A Million Sunsets by Orjiugo8803(f): 11:20am On Jan 23|
Thanks LightQueen and Ann 2012, your comments means a lot to me. Will keep updating the story
|Re: A Million Sunsets by Orjiugo8803(f): 12:03pm On Jan 23|
Sara opened her eyes once she heard a creak and turned towards the door, electricity had returned so the room was bright. Amanda was standing behind it peering into her room. Without seeking her permission to enter, she pushed the door slightly with her elbow until it was almost ajar then; she took two steps forward before wedging herself at the door frame.
With her left hand, she clutched unto Fluffy; Sara’s large teddy bear which she usually cuddled when she slept while her right hand was hidden behind her back.
What is she hiding? Sara thought without taking her eyes off her. Amanda didn’t care about her questioning looks rather she was standing there, grinning and batting her eyelids which flickered excessively due to the lengthy eyelash extensions that she had on.
“I washed Fluffy for you.” She held the teddy bear out as she moved closer to her bed.
“Thank you.” Sara collected it from Amanda and caressed it.
Taking advantage of her distracted state, Amanda placed a plate on the bedside cupboard and climbed onto her bed. Sara chuckled as she saw the plate; it had slices of cake in them.
“What’s funny?” Amanda shot her frisky glance.
“You can eat eh after you will start complaining of weight gain.”
“My sister, leave me oh, you know I love cakes.” She picked up a slice and ate it before offering Sara the plate to pick hers. Sara shook her head.
“I can’t eat cakes, remember?”
“Right. Miss Anorexia.” Amanda added with a chuckle before returning the plate. “I don’t understand how you can be this strict with your diet. You are practically starving yourself of the sweetest, most amazing foods in the world. How can you ignore cakes, meat pie, pizza; how on earth are you going to live without those foods? Anyway, it is showing on your body; it’s the bomb, super hour glass shape. The other day, you were walking to the gate and Ahmed was just staring at your bumbum, his mouth open like one mumu. I had to smack him on his back before he realized himself.”
Sara was laughing hysterically not just because of Ahmed’s actions but because Amanda’s mannerisms were funny. She was comedic in everything that she did or said and that was why Sara loved staying with her. And Amanda was right; her appetite was shut to foods. It had taken her years to learn to suppress her appetite. It wasn’t an easy choice for her but she did it because she understood her body. She was prone to weight fluctuations and a consistent consumption of high carb foods in a month or less could put her three kg or more beyond her weight goal.
She aimed to start a career in acting and she knew that having a curvaceous body accompany her stunning face will bring more fans to her and that was all she wanted; fans especially men that will revel at the sight of her, masturbate with her sexy pictures at night. And the rich men too that will call her agent to demand for a date with her. She hadn’t decided on a price yet, but she was sure that it will go beyond a million naira per date and with a demand for sex... hmmm? She had sometimes wondered whether she would accept it if the offer came around. She might agree; especially if the man offering had enough money to spoil her. But she didn't need to worry about that yet for now she was focused on launching her career first.
“I want to tell you something, and you have to promise that you won’t be mad.” Amanda said distracting her thoughts. Sara nodded. “I am travelling to Lagos later today.
“Today?” Sara retorted in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I just found out two hours ago. Dare surprised me with a return ticket to Lagos. Flight is by 4.30pm. I will be back on Sunday night.”
“Ha, this one that he is surprising you with flight ticket all of a sudden, are you sure he doesn’t want to propose to you?”
“Propose ke? I love him oh but I don’t know if he wants our relationship to reach that level."
"You know the inter tribal thing- me being Igbo and he being Yoruba, my people are okay with him but I don’t think his people are okay with me. Sometimes I get this funny feeling that they don’t like me sef.”
“Nawaooh, You are always feeling like people don’t like you."
"It's true na. The other day, his elder sister, that one that has fine children was looking at me somehow. In fact I am suspecting..."
"Amanda." Sara interrupted her. "Stop suspecting anything. Dare loves you, he treats you like a queen. that is all that should matter to you, not his sister's attitude or his family. Anyway, it’s good that you are travelling because I will be going over to my sister’s house for the weekend.”
“Ah ah, I thought you don’t like going there?”
“I don’t oh, but she wants me to come over so that we will have some ‘fun’ not that I know that I can ever have fun with her.”
“What about the car? Will you go with it?”
“Won’t she be upset if she sees it?”
“She might be upset. But I can’t hide the car forever. If she asks how I got it, I will tell her the story that we formulated. And please if she calls you to verify, like she always does, do me a favour and tell her exactly what I told you. I don’t have strength for her wahala abeg.”
“Okay, I will do that.”
“So, do you have any improved plans for getting the bone?” Sara added with a naughty whisper that made Amanda squirm.
“Everything is not up for discussion Sara.”
“But you always whine about how he doesn’t want to touch you and f*ck y...”
“Jesus! Sara stop talking.”
“Come on. Open up to me, you know that you want to talk about it.” Sara merely stifled the laughter that escaped from her mouth. Amanda joined her for a while before they both stopped laughing.
“I want him so bad. He is so hot and cute and his kisses blow me away. Right now, my body feels like hot molten lava waiting to erupt like a volcano once I am touched. That’s how Hot I am. But I am frustrated because when I get close to him and touch him, he just retreats. You remember the last time I visited him; I stripped down to that sexy bikini that I bought from Kiki. He didn’t even look at me instead he turned away and said that I should put my clothes back on because he doesn’t want to have sex until he is sure that in his heart, he truly wants us to be together. What kind of man does that? I almost thought he was gay at that point. I went through his phone when he was asleep, looking for clues, but I found nothing to prove it, so I dropped that idea. But if I get there today and he doesn’t touch me eh, I will scream till he does...”
Amanda noticed that Sara looked lost, like her mind had wandered away from there. She felt bad. She knew that Sara’s feeling for Kenenna came back after his recent wedding. She never talked about it because she was too proud and strong to admit that she was hurting.
“Are you okay?” Amanda asked her.
Sara smiled. It was cute, Amanda was worried about her even though she wouldn’t admit it, her sad lingering gaze gave her inner feelings away. She admired her sincerity, how willing she was to bare her mind to her. She wished she could talk about her feelings without being scared or ashamed. But she couldn’t do it. She held it in, in a tiny box in her mind, eternally locked never to be opened because opening it meant that she would relive it and be hurt again.
“I had this dream before you came in.”
“That’s weird. Was it Kenenna you saw again?”
Yes it was Kenenna. That was what she should have said but she shut her mouth because she was ashamed. She’d hurt him and now he haunted her. He was appearing in her dreams, in situations that had happened years after they broke up and smirking at her eerily. It was like he was taunting her sub consciousness, driving her crazy with fear and guilt.
“You know that guy is messing with my mind. First he is the main reason why my sister and her husband can’t stand me. And now he is taunting me, appearing in my dreams, smirking at me. I really don’t know how to make him go away.”
“You can make him go away by not thinking about him.”
“I don’t think about him.”
“You do. You loved him, yet you hurt him and you feel bad about it so sometimes you project him in your mind and thoughts. Maybe it helps you feel better...”
“Don’t psycho analyse me Amanda, I’m not one of your deluded patients.”
“I'm not psychoanalyzing. I just think you should talk to him, tell him that you are sorry for everything.”
Sara scoffed. Talking to Kenenna was off the list of what she could do to appease him. He had been mad at her, he was still mad at her, and trying to get back on his good side by calling him was definitely a waste of her time.
“Kenenna is married to a doctor, he is f*cking rich, I mean the guy has every thing that he wants, while I have nothing. No boyfriend, no job, no money. The only thing, I have is my mind, yet he is constantly in it- plaguing me. I know you mean well when you tell me to apologize to him, but I can't because if I apologize, he will gloat and it will add to my misery, drive me f*cking insane and I can't afford that. You know what, forget I said anything. I have to get some sleep; Good night.” She turned away from Amanda and held Fluffy tight; as if it’s soft flurry body offered her the comfort that she needed.
Amanda felt sorry for her; for everything happening to her; the uneasy relationship that she had with her sister and especially her break up with Kenenna. Amanda knew that she still loved him, obviously, even though she dumped him. She had begged Sara then to reconsider her choices but she refused. Now, it bothered her that Sara hadn’t gotten over him.
On a Saturday, six weeks ago, the day Kenenna got married; Sara locked herself in a room and didn’t come out till the next day. When she eventually did, she looked pale and her eyes were red and swollen. Amanda knew that she’d been crying all day, she was probably regretful of her actions. She was living with the consequences of hurting him. It was her pain, her nightmare, a burden that had come to stay and it would haunt her for the rest of her life.
|Re: A Million Sunsets by Orjiugo8803(f): 12:21pm On Jan 23|
The atmosphere at Chuka’s flat was calm; its serenity heightened by its location at the thirty fifth floor of the Ivory tower. He stood by the window starring at everything he could see whilst sipping coffee. He loved the view of the neighborhood from that height; he marveled at how tiny the houses and cars looked from up there and the vast vegetation, hills and rocks that seemed endless.
The apartment was a gift from his parents, to celebrate his safe return from Abot.
After it was given to him, Michael, his immediate elder brother’s took him on a tour round the flat. He loved the electronics, the temperature regulatory systems, the steady electricity courtesy of the bio-gas power plant specifically constructed for the tower and the smell of the lavender, orchids and other varieties of fresh flowers that sat in pots and were positioned at different parts of the house.
He had a chef, a Calabar man called Bassey: and cleaners- courtesy of the building’s management, that came around to clean his apartment daily. He learnt that the apartment had a yearly rent of eleven million naira, but he was excluded from paying rent because the apartment was owned by their family. Like his brothers, he would get his own duplex once he got married.
Michael was reveling at the job he had done there and he used every opportunity to talk about the expensive and unique household items that he added to it.
“This is Ivory tower Bro; it has a certain ‘flamboyant’ reputation. Mum didn’t want your apartment to be left out, so she instructed me to make it perfect. The furniture was imported from Italy. The artworks in your sitting room were selected from dad’s art collection and the interiors decoration was done by Joanne decor- they are the best bro.” He added with a satisfactory laugh.
Michael always got the show off job because he was the brother with flair. It reflected in his lifestyle- the stylish clothes, the expensive cars he drove, his millions of followers on his social media handles and the celebrities that made up his inner circle.
His girlfriend- Sophia, the brothers unanimously agreed, was the most beautiful and stylish girl ever brought into their family. A former model turned fashion designer- she lit up everywhere she appeared in with her radiant skin and infectious smile that they couldn’t all help but commend her beauty. Yet, she behaved so warm and humbly around them that Chuka sometimes suspected that her niceness was more of an act than an innate attitude. Nobody was ever that nice, except they had an ulterior motive and what ulterior motive could beat being married into the Ezeaku family.
His neighbours were enlightened. Most of them were expatriates that worked in embassies, the United Nations, World Health Organizations or foreign vested interests under the oil, banking and telecoms sectors. They were fun to hang with; their conversations vast and exploratory. With them he talked at length about money, investments and the stock market, sometimes he deviated from such and rather regaled them with surgical tales.
It was strange for them that he was still studying while working at Graceland Teaching hospital. When he told them that despite being a second-year resident, he had to study for four more years before becoming a fellow in cardio-thoracic surgery, they were puzzled.
“How could you keep studying into your thirties, isn’t it exhausting?” Kofi- a Malawian who lived ten flats below his and worked at the headquarters of an oil company asked him.
“It’s interesting actually, we have surgical cases all the time and we learn from their experiences, so we look forward to new cases especially the complicated ones. That way we improve our surgical skills.”
He loved how clueless they were when he spoke- medicine. It made him feel important, like all the years that he spent in medical school studying and the years he will still spend studying at Graceland hospital were worth it. Medicine wasn’t easy; doctors deserved to brag because they worked harder than everyone else. So rather than tell a lay man that he assisted in a lung transplant surgery, he will rather say that he assisted in a pneumonectomy; because pneumonectomy was a big word that confused people.
His apartment reminded him of his flat in Stanford, the times he was holed up there with Charm and their other friends especially during the holidays- studying their medical books or watching their favorite TV shows or playing games or drinking and smoking or doing girls. They shared some good memories together- memories he wished will replace the ones he had now.
That morning, Andrew crowded his memory. He couldn’t sleep after Pat’s call and the fact that he had downed a bottle of Johnnie Walker made him slightly disoriented. His head was pounding; his eyes were heavy from lack of sleep and the whiskey too.
It was the major reason that he left his parents’ home early. He’d broken his sobriety and knowing how inquisitive his mother could be, he knew that she would find out that he drank, once she talked to him that morning. To avoid any confrontation with her, he left the house before 5a.m. and headed for his home.
The rain poured down rapidly making gurgled sounds as it landed on roof tops, yet the colourful light bulbs that littered across the area made the sight beautiful. He yawned; a sign that he needed more sleep. He blamed it on Pat’s call, the whiskey or maybe him.
He felt disgusted . After his therapy: he had learnt to be in control of his actions, always knowing when he’d slip and avoiding it. But last night, he let his emotions take a hold of him. He was losing control again, gradually, and at that moment, he was feeling like a loser who’d failed everyone around him.
You can’t think that way. He reprimanded himself. It was his mind; playing tricks on him and making him think that his actions were irredeemable. He was making efforts, he’d quit drinking before and last night’s drinking was a mistake. One that he would never indulge in again, he’d sworn to himself.
Yellow rays of sunlight slowly crept over the dark weepy skies and made outside clear. Cars were beginning to converge across the major intersections on the roads. He looked at the wall clock, it was 6.2.5.am; the doctors on morning duty were expected to resume by 7.30a.m. He entered the bathroom and spent twenty minutes brushing and showering. He scrubbed every inch of his body as if he wanted to eliminate any stench that gave him up as an alcoholic.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, his toned upper body bare and spotting tiny drops of water while his lower body was covered by the white towel that was always washed and ironed by the laundry man weekly, he felt brand new.
|Re: A Million Sunsets by Malawian(m): 2:19pm On Jan 23|
I hope i am not the reason everyone is always writing about "Malawians" Please why not Zambian or something else. These unnecessary mentions i get all the time.
|Re: A Million Sunsets by Orjiugo8803(f): 7:12pm On Jan 23|
You are hilarious . But on a serious note, I think it depends on context and it’s okay to use a Malawian if I am not insulting or demeaning them. However your point is taken. Next time, I will definitely use Zambians.
|Re: A Million Sunsets by LightQueen(f): 8:44pm On Jan 23|
Thanks for the update
|Re: A Million Sunsets by Orjiugo8803(f): 10:33am On Jan 24|
Kenenna was awakened by the voice of his wife singing whilst showering. The song was about a woman serenaded by the kisses of her lover. Her vocals, a mixture of more noise and less melody was tingly, so tingly that it made his ears itch, yet he loved it. In her voice, he felt the happiness that she felt at being married to him. And so, it made him happy that his wife was happy.
He loved her from the moment that she walked into his ward at Graceland hospital. He’d been in a car accident and sustained some serious injuries and was being treated at Graceland hospital. After efforts to save his left leg which was mangled and had become severely infected failed, the doctors decided that it was best to amputate it. He became miserable; his girlfriend, left him because she couldn’t cope with a handicapped man. His once lively family turned into a somber bunch. His mother and sisters were always crying whenever they visited him, he could feel the fear in their voice and their words and it scared him the more.
A day before the surgery, he was in his ward, studying his bible when a group of doctors walked in and began discussing his case. They were eight doctors; three of whom looked older and more experienced. The rest, he was sure were still in the learning process because they looked young, and barely spoke till they were asked to speak.
He knew two of the doctors’ well; they’d guided him through the course of his treatment at the hospital. The rest were unfamiliar but as he scanned their faces, hers struck him.
There was an aura about her that made her stand out. She stood at about 5 feet, 9 inches, had curves at the right places and a nut-brown complexion that made her look like a bronzed African beauty. Her perfectly sculpted face was barely made up, yet it captivated him. When another male doctor standing beside her whispered to her and she smiled; a soft inaudible chuckle that brightened her face, he felt a knot tighten in his stomach. She looked so stunning- an unadulterated beauty that deserved to be appreciated.
He wanted to tell her that she was beautiful, but he couldn’t because other doctors were there with her. Besides he was an about to be a one legged man and no one especially a beauty like her will take his compliments seriously. Yet he thought that there was no harm in trying.
So, he lay there, stealing a glance from her and hoping that she would notice his advances and acknowledge it. She only smiled at him once, the rest of the time; she kept a stern face pretending not to notice him or his advances. Eventually, he gave up because he thought that she didn’t like him.
On the day of the surgery, they wheeled him into the operating room and they wanted to anesthetize him. He was looking around the room, scared of the surgical equipment, the monitors, the light and the sea of doctors that crowded around him. She suddenly appeared by his side, held his hand and told him that he was going to be fine and that his surgeons were the best in the country. He believed her because her voice