Aisha has considered ending things more times than she cares to admit today. She wondered if perhaps she might have done it already if it wasn't an unpardonable sin. But even though her feet blistered from what had felt like endless miles and her stomach was howling like a hungry wolf with her throat burning with an almost blinding thirst, Aisha knew her choice. She couldn't do it. She couldn't kill herself. No matter how tempting. No matter how satisfying. Her faith, despite its fickleness, it would seem, was truly fearsome.

But she thought of it and relished in its temptations anyway. She found it strangely comforting; knowing there was a way even if it wasn't for her. She even allowed herself fantasize about how gloriously morbid it would be; like a giant middle finger at a world which was constantly denying her pains. But they were just thoughts she relished. They couldn't be more. How can they be? She wasn't foolish enough not to know that her death would be meaningless.

Death was, however, farthest from her mind as she cowered beside the flowers which surrounded the state of art mansion hidden behind the huge fence separating the flowers and the house whose designs had graced the cover of top architectural magazine throughout the world.

Midnight was almost upon her.The clock had struck five in the evening when she'd left the hospital but it has quickly became six, then seven and before she knew it, the night kept stretching and dragging much to her chagrin.

It might have not been productive but she'd spent these hours searching for a permanent solution; begging could only do so much. However, it were as if the sun hadn't set and the moon hadn't risen on her head as she grasps for straws of sanity in her continuously insane existence. It were as if she was partly sane and partly insane.

However her motions, though discordant, was not, it would seem, without order. She had walked from the government hospital in Mando, prayed Magrib and Isha at the mosque in Kawo motor park, and as if her legs and mind were synchronized, they had eventually brought her here. She doesn't need to look around to know she was in Malali. She doesn't need to look at any sign to recognise the house whose gates she darkened. She knew this particular place like the waves knew the sea. It was his house.

"Find me," his words still echoed. It would seem they were deeply ingrained within her. These words he'd muttered earnestly sinking those his ridiculously intense brown eyes on her person that awkward December morning exactly a month after her mother's death before like a cruel dream, she had been forced awake with his disappearance.

Junaid Basheer Joda.

She could still remember that day. It had been strange seeing him there. Golden and tall. He wasn't exactly a stranger but he wasn't exactly anything to her.

They had known each other since Kindergarten and yet Aisha couldn't remember anything they might have shared. But she knew him even though she had once suspected he knew nothing of her existence. He was hard to miss; Tall, smart, athletic—Junaid gives off this cold, standoffish vibes which she'd always thought were a major turnoff but apparently it was only her. The entire school had all but worshipped him. Which wasn't entirely strange. He has it all; the smarts, great body and a gorgeous face.

Why did he show up for her? Aisha was yet to understand. They weren't close. Truthfully, they weren't anything. But out of the 130 students of the graduating class of 2018 Best Start Academy, he alone had showed up for her. But why?

"I just found out yesterday," he'd breezed out as soon as the awkward greetings and condolences was over, "I've been out of the country."

She had managed an oh. . .What else was she supposed to say? And a silence whose wrist she felt vividly around her neck had settled between them. She wasn't entirely certain what it was she was feeling but she found his presence suffocated her. It made her realized how much she had starved for companionship. And until he showed up, she didn't realized how comforting the mere presence of a person was.

Now, she needed help and he had wanted her to find him. He said so. Yet she hesitated. She was at his doorstep. ARC. BASHIR JODA'S RESIDENCE. He had said to find him. Yet she was hesitant.

What if he wasn't home? What if he didn't want to see her? What if he had changed his mind? It was almost two years since that day. Was it right, coming here today? What are her expectations?

"Find me."

The headlights from a car which just made its way into the streets has her covering her eyes in discomfort suddenly full of fright and an impounding apprehension. She could imagine how odd her presence would look in this perfect neighborhood with its glamorous splendour especially since she was lurking in the shadow. Honestly, she hadn't given much thought about what would happen when someone sees her and now that it was happening, she was feeling smaller and smaller as the vehicle moves closer and closer exposing her vulnerabilities she wished she could desperately hide as she cowered there like a thief.

What would the person think of her? What if they call the police? How would she explain her presence? It was obvious she was loitering and this late at night, would her reason be valid considering the heightened cases of insecurity due to the Boko Haram insurgency. And wrapped in the cloak of her fears, she didn't hear the car stop or that its occupant had approached her until she heard that familiar yet unfamiliar voice grace her ears like a dream come true.

"Are you alright?" His soft yet masculine drawl asks again and slowly, she let her hands go until eventually, he graces her vision.

It was him. Junaid. He was here, in front of her, dressed casually in a grey sweatpants and white Polo shirt and staring attentively at her. And in those bizarre moments when their eyes met and held, she knew the exact moment he had recognized her. It was there in his eyes. It was there in his posture. It was there in the sudden current charging the air. But she couldn't read much into them and that wasn't for lack of trying.

It was almost like looking at someone you were supposed to know and realizing you know absolutely knowing; realizing they had changed. Or maybe it was you that had changed. But either way, something had shifted and not necessarily in a good way. Her mind skipped a beat as a truth suddenly dawned on her. She need to leave. It was a mistake coming here.

She made to stand but in her hurry lost a footing and was about to fall when his hands, swift like a reflex, helps steady her.

"Are you alright?" He asks for the third time tonight and she nodded fast, collecting herself from his hands.

She anticipated an awkward silence settling between them but the chance for that was stolen by a voice whom had just stepped out of the car.

It was a woman and from the way she's dressed; a black satin bralette and a high waisted denim bum short, Aisha suspected she must be a hooker and it wasn't because of some ingrained bias or something even more profane. It was the vibe she was getting from her, and strangely, from him.

"Is everything alright?" Her sultry voice steals sweetly into the night like the song of a siren as she glided towards them. She is a woman but even she lingered in the aftermath of her voice and how beautifully she moves.

"It's nothing," he croaked awkwardly evading both their gazes, "Just wait for me in the car."

She says nothing. She had simply done as she was told. Aisha watched her move until she disappears into the car.

"You're here," His voice reels in traces of incredulity which he doesn't mask. It would seem he had recovered from whatever it was that had held him in his entirety.

She looks at him only for a moment before she began backing away from him. "I'm sorry. It's a mistake. I didn't know what I was thinking."

"No! Aisha, please stop!" He followed, forcing her to stop by stepping in front of her.

She did stop but she finds herself tongue tied. He is here. Junaid is here. But her words were failing her. Where ought she begin? She wondered distractedly fiddling with her hands staring determinedly at the tarred ground as silence, and more silence, and even more silence covered the space between them until its claws grated on her nerves and forced her to look up.

He was looking at her in a way which made her feel conscious of herself for the very first time in twenty years. For some reason, it made her feel even smaller. Her stomach chose this exact moment to grumble and embarrassed beyond words, she clutched it protectively as if it could hide the truth it spelled.

"Wait here!" Junaid said urgently and before she could react, he fled to his car and like lightning, sped off into the night leaving her there wondering what in God's name had just happened.

However, she would later wonder. Did he really ask her to wait or was it something her mind had made up? And if he had truly said those words, what were they supposed to mean? Because, those words, 'wait here' like those words, 'find me' had inadvertently led to the coldest and longest night of her life .