ABUJA, NIGERIA.
It has been five torturous months since Maha slipped into a coma, an abyss that swallowed the vibrancy from Ayman's world. The pain he endured was palpable, an ache that transcended the boundaries of mere physical discomfort. It was a relentless throb, a constant reminder of the hollowness that now echoed through every facet of his existence.
Each day unfurled like a relentless tempest, the passage of time etching deeper lines of despair across Ayman's countenance. His eyes, once radiant with life, now mirrored the shadows of his tormented soul. The bedside vigil became an altar of his devotion, a sacred space where hope teetered on the precipice of desolation.
Maha's healing wounds, a slow symphony of regeneration, cast flickers of optimism into the cavern of Ayman's despair. The wounds were testament to her body's resilience, stitching together fragments of shattered hope. As the scars gradually yielded to the healing touch of time, Ayman found solace in the tangible evidence that life persisted beneath the surface.
Yet, hope, like a fragile ember, persisted in the haunting labyrinth of Ayman's heart. Each day spent by Maha's side was a pilgrimage, a communion with the dormant spirit encased within her fragile form. Her healing wounds became an allegory of endurance, whispering promises of a rekindled dawn that would herald her awakening.
Amidst the tapestry of his pain, Ayman relinquished the trappings of his once-thriving life. The sprawling empire he had meticulously built now lay in the capable hands of Ummita, his elder sister. She navigated the corridors of corporate responsibility with a tenacity born of familial duty, yet Ayman's absence cast a long shadow over the once-thriving business.
His world had constricted to the confines of Maha's room, where every breath became an homage to their shared existence. The business empire, now in Ummita's stewardship, reflected the dichotomy of Ayman's sacrifice—a testament to the lengths love would stretch in the face of adversity.
Days blurred into nights, but Ayman's gaze remained steadfast, fixated on the serene countenance of Maha. Her face, a canvas that bore the delicate strokes of convalescence, invited his unwavering scrutiny. The machines, entwined like silent sentinels, hummed with the pulse of life that coursed through her inert form.
As the world outside bustled with the ebb and flow of existence, Ayman's existence revolved around the silent ballet of hope and despair. Ummita's managerial prowess sustained Ayman's legacy, yet the void left by Ayman's absence echoed louder than the resounding success of his business ventures.
Hope, stubborn as a desert bloom, persisted against the backdrop of collective skepticism. Even as the familial entourage relinquished their belief in Maha's reawakening, Ayman clung to the belief that her eyelids would flutter open once more.
In the sanctuary of her room, the air pulsated with the unspoken vow—that even with the wearied passage of five months, even when the world around them had surrendered to the funeral dirge of hopelessness, Ayman's unwavering faith remained—a beacon in the endless night that she would, one day, awaken.
Ummita had a look of pity as she stared at her brother's face, he had eye bags under his eyes and he looked like a walking dead. All effort to make him leave the chair by Maha's bedside had prove futile for the past five months. Everyday, he would sit on that same chair keenly watching Maha's face, he only stood up if he needed to use the bathroom and even if he was to leave, he would make sure that someone he trusted is by her side.
It all felt like a déjà vu, it was as if Aisha's death was happening all over again. Only this time Ayman looked more shattered, he looked like he had given up all hopes on life. He talked to no one, everyday he would sit on the chair and keep staring at Maha's face, sometimes Ummita would wonder whether he didn't get tired of staring.
Blinking back her tears, Ummita forced a sad smile as she moved towards her brother. Seeing him in pain broke her in a way she couldn't even describe.
"Ayman, your company needs you." Ummita said.
"You should at least go today and I promise I will take care of Maha." She was met with silence, Ayman didn't even blink, it was as though he isn't the one she is speaking to.
It had always been that way, ever since Maha's coma he had ceased speaking. The last time she had heard his voice was five months ago, his voice had also slipped into a coma along with Maha's conciousness. He couldn't even speak to their mother when she had come to visit Maha four months ago.
She had tried her best to make him speak but no matter what she said, he would only blink his eyes and then his eyes would go back to watching Maha. Seeing him that way had been painful for Samira, at least when Aisha had died he was still able to continue with his daily activities. Now Maha was only in a long slumber that no one knew when she would wake up and he was acting like a walking dead, the pain was too much for Samira. She couldn't bear to see her son in so much pain, just when she had thought things were finally going well in his life.
"Hajiya babba is on her way." Again her words were met with silence and Ummita could only sigh as she continued speaking.
"I know she's coming for trouble, you should prepare." Ummita said, she wasn't exactly sure but from the whispers she had been hearing in the palace, hajiya babba wanted to use Maha's unconcious state to get Ayman married to Asma'u. She couldn't believe how wicked hajiya babba is, she is actually using Maha's condition to force Ayman to marry again.
Her thoughts were broken when the door opened and hajiya babba stepped in, they both exchanged pleasantries and hajiya babba turned to face Ayman. He didn't even blink when she had opened the door, it was like he had become immune to the outside world and the only person he could hear and see is Maha, he would occasionally grab her hand and hold it in his and that was the only movement he has been making for the past five months apart from using the restroom.
"Ayman." Hajiya babba called out, she waited for his reply but none came.
"I know you can hear me." Hajiya babba said but again she was met with silence.
"Koda yake ai kune ke ji ba baki ba; anyways it's the ears that listen not the mouth." Hajiya babba said with a sigh.
"I know your wife is in coma for five months and I'm sorry about that..." Hajiya babba trailed off as she looked at his face trying to decipher his expression, his eyes were expressionless and unfathomable and so she couldn't decipher anything.
"Your wife is in coma for five months and so i want you to marry Asma'u, maybe she is the one meant for you and that is why your previous wives keep dying." Hajiya babba said nonchalantly as though she was talking about something as mudane as the weather.
Ummita was awestruck at how heartless hajiya babba could be but she did notice something, even though it was a little action she had still noticed it. Ayman had blinked when hajiya babba said, 'your wives keep dying'. Ummita waited to see what Ayman would do but he did nothing.
The room was eerily quiet until hajiya babba spoke again,
"I will take your silence as a yes then." Hajiya babba said as she stood up to leave, suddenly Ayman's voice rang in their ears, it was low and barely above a whisper.
"I will divorce her the moment she is annouced as my wife." His voice was hoarse from not talking for five good months and he looked broken as he turned to look at hajiya babba, he stood up and walked towards hajiya babba and stood in front of her.
"Stop interfering in my love life." Ayman said, he gritted his teeth so hard that it began to hurt but he he didn't care.
"You don't know what love is because your husband never showed it to you so let me show my wife love." Ayman shouted, what he said made both hajiya babba and Ummita's eyes to widen. Tears welled up in the older woman's eyes as she rememebered the trauma she went through in her husband house, she silently left the room without saying a word.
"That was mean but maybe she will leave you alone after this." Ummita said but Ayman completely ignored her and went back to his position and continued staring at Maha. After hajiya babba departed, leaving behind the lingering echoes of an unwelcome proposition, a wave of anguish enveloped his being. His heart, a tormented battleground of conflicting emotions, bore the weight of an unbearable pain. The mere suggestion of entering into a new marriage pierced through him like a dagger, each word resonating with the ache of a heart unwilling to entertain such a prospect.
In the solitude that followed, Ayman grappled with the intensity of his emotions. The rejection of his aunt's proposal was not a mere verbal exchange; it was a poignant expression of a soul unwilling to entertain the notion of a new union. The pain etched lines of sorrow on his countenance, transforming the room into a sanctuary of silent suffering.
The heaviness in Ayman's heart, palpable in the stillness of his contemplation, mirrored the battleground within. The prospect of moving forward in matrimony while Maha lay suspended in a realm of uncertainty seemed an insurmountable betrayal. The pain, a visceral presence, manifested as a force that resisted the encroachment of a future bereft of the woman who held the key to his heart.
In the aftermath of the conversation, Ayman's pain became an unspoken elegy, an ode to the love that refused to be overshadowed by societal expectations. The solitude he sought was not an escape but a refuge, a sacred space where the throbbing ache of a heart intertwined with another could unfold without judgment.
As Ayman faced the solitude that echoed with the resonance of his own heartache, he grappled with a reality that felt inconceivable. The pain, an indelible mark on his soul, encapsulated the depths of his commitment to Maha. It was a silent protest against a world that expected him to move on, a refusal to let go of a love that transcended the boundaries of tradition.
The room, once filled with the weight of familial expectations, now bore witness to Ayman's silent rebellion. The pain, a testament to the resilience of his devotion, lingered in the air—a poignant reminder that, despite the world's insistence on progress, some wounds ran too deep to heal with the passage of time.
Ayman sat quietly just like he had always done after Ummita left, the door was pushed opened and Mariam stepped in. A smile bloomed on her beautiful face when she saw Ayman, as much as she pitied the young man, she still felt happy that he was in so much pain because of Maha and that only prove the love he has for her.
Over the past five months, she would always come to visit Maha and she would stay for a long time. She and Ayman never spoke and they would both keep staring at Maha, today was no difference as she took her usaul position opposite Ayman and held Maha's hand. They sat in quietude until Mariam finally spoke.
"I guess I'm being punished for my crime." Mariam said in a sad voice as tears welled in her eyes.
"I never cared about my kids." She continued speaking, Ayman didn't say anything as his attention was solely focused on Maha.
"So now that Maha is not with me, I know her worth." She chuckled derisively to herself and then they sat in quietude again.
"You are not the only one being punished." Ayman said in a weak and hoarse voice.
"I didn't love her because I was still in love with my dead wife, I had hurt her." Mariam looked at Ayman and flashed him a sad smile.
"I wanted to confess my love to her on the day of her accident but..." Ayman trailed off as he broke into tears, Mariam stood up and went towards him as she consoled him.
"I'm sure Maha will soon wake up and she will forgive us both." Mariam said, Ayman nodded his head as he couldn't stop his tears.
Amidst the hushed corridors of Ayman's soul, the echoes of his own silence resounded, each reverberation a reminder of the emotional labyrinth he found himself ensnared within. The narrative of his heart was fraught with complexities, a tale intricately woven with threads of love and loss, hope and regret. As Ayman grappled with the complexities of emotions left unspoken, his journey became a pilgrimage through the sacred sanctums of his heart.
It all began with a marriage—a union not forged in the crucible of love but in the shadows cast by the lingering memory of a departed wife. Ayman, still entwined in the ethereal tendrils of his past, embarked on a new chapter with Maha. However, the union was haunted by the ghost of Aisha, the phantom limb of a love that refused to dissipate. The weight of Ayman's unexpressed emotions became an anchor, tethering him to the shores of perpetual mourning.
Within the embrace of Ayman's conflicted heart, a storm brewed. The tempest of guilt and longing clashed with the shores of his present reality. Maha, a woman of warmth and resilience, stood as a silent witness to the turbulence within her husband's soul. The words that Ayman dared not speak formed a reservoir of unshed tears, an emotional reservoir threatening to breach the walls of his stoicism.
Then, the precipice of revelation loomed—a moment where Ayman contemplated confessing his love, releasing the shackles that bound his heart. Fate, however, manifested in the form of a tragic accident, an event that unraveled the delicate tapestry of emotions. The accident became a crucible, not just for Maha's fragile body but for Ayman's unresolved sentiments. It was a catalyst that plunged him into a chasm of regret, a cavernous expanse where the unspoken became a haunting specter.
In the silent vigil by Maha's bedside, Ayman's pain was palpable. The ache of missed opportunities, the sting of words left unsaid, and the realization that time, once squandered, could never be reclaimed. The labyrinth of Ayman's emotions became a testament to the human condition—a canvas painted with hues of sorrow and remorse.
As the narrative unfolded, the belief that he was being punished for not fully embracing the love he had in the present crystallized. The accident metamorphosed into a symbolic reckoning, a manifestation of the cosmic order seeking to instill the gravity of unspoken affections. Ayman's pain became not just physical but a visceral embodiment of his internal strife.
Yet, amidst the bleak landscape of Ayman's heart, a flicker of hope endured. The pain wasn't a terminal sentence but a crucible from which resilience emerged. Hope became the resilient force that withstood the battering waves of despair. In Ayman's desolation, the belief that time, despite its cruelty, might one day mend what it had broken became a lifeline—a thread of optimism he clung to in the darkness.
The notion that he was being punished gradually evolved into a profound acknowledgment. The pain, now a companion rather than an adversary, became a testament to Ayman's capacity for growth and redemption. In the solitude of his suffering, Ayman found an unexpected ally—a version of himself unburdened by the shackles of the past.
As Ayman's journey unfolded, the crossroads of despair and hope became more defined. The pain of unvoiced sentiments wasn't just a narrative of loss but a canvas awaiting the brushstrokes of redemption. Hope emerged not as an ephemeral illusion but a commitment—a promise to wait, even if the sands of time stretched to an unfathomable million years.
In the quietude of Ayman's heart, the pain of unspoken love became a symphony of resilience. He stood as a guardian of both his pain and his enduring hope, a sentinel at the threshold of an uncertain future. As the chapters of his life unfolded, Ayman remained resolute in the belief that love, though delayed, could be eternal. In the recesses of his heart, where echoes of silence once reigned, the narrative shifted—an ode to enduring hope, an anthem of a love destined to transcend the eons of a million years.
The votes are getting lower, it's really discouraging🤧, plusit's not easy updating everyday while I'm preparing for an exam.
As I said before, I can always leave it untill I am done🤷♀️, I used to have at least 7 or 8 votes but yesterdays update was 5 votes with 20 views, maybe I should leave you guys until I am done with the exams, the choice is your to make with your votes.
So let's go back to the story.....
Mariam and Ayman have learn their lesson, should Maha wake up now?
❤❤❤