Beyond

CONNECTIONS AND CONSPIRACIES

Lagos, Nigeria.

17th June, 2018.

Kamal stood on the pristine golf course, his golf club cutting through the crisp morning air with calculated precision. The lush greenery surrounded him as he focused on the perfect swing. The ball soared gracefully through the clear sky, and, satisfied with his performance, he turned to retrieve another golf ball, only to find himself unexpectedly face to face with Nabila.

Momentarily startled, Kamal quickly composed himself. "What are you doing here?" he inquired, his tone guarded.

"Attending a wedding, and then I decided to come say hi to my bestie," Nabila replied with a warm smile.

"Hm. How are you?" Kamal deflected, attempting to shift the focus away from himself.

"I should be asking you; you look terrible," Nabila remarked, her concern evident.

"Thanks for the observation," Kamal retorted sarcastically.

"No, I'm serious. What's going on, MK? Sa'ad's call had me worried," Nabila pressed.

"What are you guys now? Lovers? CEOs of the 'Let's Pity Kamal Foundation'?" Kamal quipped, frustration bubbling to the surface.

"MK..."

"No, I need to understand why you guys are staging an intervention. Did I tell you I had a problem?" Kamal's irritation was palpable.

"It's obvious, isn't it? You're selling your shares, and there's the issue with your wife," Nabila gently pointed out.

"My wife and our issues are none of your concern. Why are you guys discussing my wife, anyway?" Kamal's voice grew louder, anger taking hold.

"We're just worried about you," Nabila replied, trying to defuse the tension.

"And I can take care of myself, goddammit! I'm not leaving my business. I'm just trying out something new, and as for my wife, we'll sort it out," Kamal retorted, his frustration reaching its peak.

"When was the last time you saw Tiwa?" Nabila asked, her concern deepening.

"I'm not crazy, okay?! I don't need anybody telling me what to do with my damn life." Kamal hissed and walked away, leaving Nabila standing there, shaking her head.

She immediately placed a call, urgency in her voice. "He's struggling again. We need to do something ASAP.

---

Abuja, Nigeria.

6th March 2013.

Madina stood outside and dialed him again; this was the third time she had called, but he did not answer. Fortunately, this time around, he picked.

"What are you going to do?" she asked in a half-whisper.

"I don't see why you care." He responded.

"Look, I don't want to be a part of this anymore..."

He laughed, a deep one, "Too late, sweetheart."

"Madina!" Intisar yelled from the balcony, and Madina hurriedly ended the call, "What are you doing? It's time for pictures. Hurry!"

Madina nodded and headed inside, but not without the terrible feeling in her chest.

---

17th June, 2018.

The same terrible feeling had roused Madina from her sleep that morning, and she let out a low hiss. Her head was pounding, and she groaned in discomfort. This was why she detested road trips; they always gave her a headache.