From Strangers to Soulmates

Chapter 3

The room was quiet, illuminated only by the soft silver glow of the moon filtering through thin curtains. Amna sat cross-legged on her bed, her fingers absentmindedly twisting the edge of her bedsheet as her thoughts wandered.

It was night, a time meant for rest and peace but sleep had long abandoned her. Instead, her mind wandered restlessly through memories, worries, and unanswered questions.

She sighed and leaned back against the cold wall. Why can’t I just stop thinking? she asked herself silently. But thinking had always been her comfort, the only thing she could control in a house where she had control over nothing.

Amna had always been a quiet soul not because she wanted to be, but because silence was the safest way to survive. Once upon a time, she was cheerful, talkative, full of life. When her mother was alive, the house used to ring with her laughter. But after her mother’s death, and especially after her father married Hajiya Fadimatu, her silence became her shield.

Her stepmother didn’t like the sound of her voice, didn’t like her smile, didn’t like anything about her. So, Amna learned to stay quiet, to make herself invisible when necessary. Yet, deep inside, a small part of her still dreamed — dreamed of freedom, of a life beyond the walls of this house.

She smiled faintly, remembering something beautiful, her graduation.

Just last week, she had walked across the stage in her school hall, dressed in her sky-blue gown, to collect her secondary school certificate. The principal had called her name among the best students of the year, and her father’s face had glowed with pride. For the first time in a long while, she had felt like she mattered.

She had always dreamed of studying abroad maybe in the U.K. or Canada, somewhere she could start anew. But every time she imagined it, her heart ached. She couldn’t leave Afaan behind. Her little brother was the only light left in her world, and she wouldn’t abandon him no matter how bright the opportunity.

Her father wanted the best for her, but she knew he wouldn’t let both of them go. Not when he didn’t even know what she endured when he wasn’t around.

She sighed again, resting her chin on her knees. The clock ticked softly.

Then, without warning, a face appeared in her mind, sharp, familiar, and unforgettable.

That man.

The one from the airport.

It had been three weeks since she’d bumped into him, yet his angry words still echoed in her ears:

“How could you see me when you’re busy looking at your phone, stupid fool.”

She didn’t know why she couldn’t forget him. She had been insulted before, even beaten, humiliated, yet this was different. Maybe it was his voice, his commanding presence, or perhaps it was the strange sting of his words that had imprinted themselves on her heart. She hated to admit it, but his face had a way of returning when she least expected it.

She frowned and shook her head. What’s wrong with me? she thought, exhaling sharply. He’s rude, arrogant, and a complete stranger. Forget him, Amna.

Her eyelids grew heavy. She didn’t realize when her thoughts blurred and her breathing slowed. Leaning against the wall, still sitting upright, she drifted into sleep, her head resting lightly on her knees.

The night embraced her at last, even if her dreams remained restless.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, Mubarak Abdullahi drove home through the brightly lit streets of Abuja. His car windows were rolled down slightly, letting in a cool evening breeze that carried the distant scent of suya and rain.

He was exhausted. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of meetings, phone calls, and paperwork. Ever since returning from Australia, he had thrown himself fully into work. Apart from managing his family’s company, he also ran his own private business, a network of luxury perfume and jewelry stores scattered across Abuja.

Perfumes and jewelry, two things he deeply loved. “They both define elegance,” he would always say. “One you wear to be seen, the other to be remembered.”

He had started small, just one boutique three years ago, but now he owned four branches, all doing well. He was proud of what he had built, even though he rarely had time to rest.

When he pulled into the family compound that night, the familiar scent of jasmine from his mother’s garden greeted him. The white mansion gleamed under the outdoor lights. He parked his car and walked straight into the main living room, still in his work clothes.

The sound of laughter and a TV show filled the space. His father, Alhaji Faruq, sat comfortably on the couch, flipping channels, while Aisha leaned against their mother, Hajiya Binta, scrolling through her phone.

“Assalamu Alaikum,” Mubarak greeted as he entered.

“Wa Alaikum Salam,” they chorused in unison.

“Good evening, Daddy. Mommy,” he said, sitting down beside his father.

“Evening, my son,” Alhaji Faruq said with a smile. “How was work today?”

“It was fine. Nothing new, really,” Mubarak said, loosening his tie. “The new project is moving smoothly. We should be able to finalize everything with our partners before the end of the month.”

“That’s good,” his father replied proudly. “Keep it up.”

But Mubarak noticed something, his mother hadn’t said a single word to him. Her eyes were glued to the television, lips pursed in mock anger. He smiled knowingly.

He already knew why.

Earlier that morning, she had packed food for him to take to the office, her famous jollof rice and grilled chicken, but he had left it behind, rushing out in a hurry. He had expected this silent treatment.

Before he could say anything, his father asked, “And what did you do to my sweetheart to make her this angry?”

Mubarak raised both hands. “I didn’t do anything, I swear,” he said with mock innocence.

“You dare lie in front of me, huh?” his mother suddenly snapped, eyes narrowing. “You are indeed a shameless, stupid boy.”

His father chuckled softly, shaking his head. Aisha covered her mouth to hide her laughter.

Mubarak stood up, walked over to his mother, and knelt down before her. “Okay, fine,” he said dramatically. “I know what I did was wrong. I’m sorry, Mommy. It won’t happen again.” He clasped his hands together, widening his eyes into the most pitiful puppy look he could manage. “Please forgive this baby boy of yours.”

His mother exhaled sharply, trying to stay stern, but her lips curved into a smile. “Now tell me,” she said, pinching his cheek softly, “how can I stay angry at you when you look this cute?”

Aisha laughed out loud.

Hajiya Binta stood and pulled him up. “Come on, let’s go. I know you haven’t eaten. I’ll feed you myself today.”

Mubarak grinned and let her drag him toward the dining room while his father shook his head, amused. “No one can come between those two,” he murmured to Aisha.

At the dining table, Hajiya Binta dished out rice and chicken, fussing over him like a child. “Eat well,” she said. “You’re getting too thin.”

“I’m not thin, Mommy. I’m fit,” he said with his mouth full, making her laugh.

When he was finally full, he kissed her cheek and stood up. “Thank you, my queen. I’m off to rest now.”

“Good night, my prince,” she replied with mock royalty, earning another round of laughter from the family.

Mubarak waved to his father and sister before heading upstairs to his private apartment.

Inside, he dropped his keys, removed his wristwatch, and began unbuttoning his shirt. The day’s fatigue weighed heavily on his shoulders. He walked into his bathroom, letting his clothes fall one by one before stepping under the warm shower.

The water cascaded down his body, washing away the exhaustion. He leaned his head against the tiled wall, closing his eyes in peace. But then, uninvited, that face appeared in his mind, the same one that had annoyed him weeks ago.

That girl from the airport.

Her wide, startled eyes. The nervous apology. The way her voice trembled slightly.

He frowned and hissed under his breath. “Why the hell am I thinking about her again?”

He shook his head, rinsing off the last of the soap. “Must be because she was so clumsy. Probably doesn’t even remember me.”

But even as he tried to dismiss her, a small, annoying curiosity lingered in his chest.

He wrapped himself in a towel, walked to his bed, and stretched out with a sigh. The room was dark, silent except for the hum of the AC.

Within minutes, his eyes closed. The day had been long, and sleep came easily though somewhere deep in his subconscious, the memory of a girl’s startled eyes refused to fade.