Jaha's Return
Back at
home, Sani’s mother began to worry. The news on the television had been
relentless—reports of rising political tensions and recent abductions made it
impossible for her to ignore the uneasy feeling in her chest. She had tried
calling Sani several times, but each attempt did not go through and each failed
call only heightened her concern.
She finally
decided to call Zola, hoping she might know where Sani was or if he was safe.
After a few rings, the line connected, but instead of the reassurance she
sought, she was greeted by Zola’s trembling voice.
“Zola? It’s
Sani’s mother,” she said, “Have you seen or heard from Sani? I’ve been trying
to call him, but his phone isn’t going through.”
Zola’s
response came in sobs, with each word filled with tears. “I... I haven’t spoken
to him,” she stammered. “I—I’m sorry... I’m dealing with something. My mom...
she’s gone.”
Sani’s
mother froze, the weight of Zola’s words sinking in. She knew Zola’s mother
well—a kind, hardworking woman who doted on her children. They had met in
church a week ago, how could that suddenly happen.
“Oh,
Zola... I’m so sorry,” she said softly, her worry for Sani momentarily giving
way to sympathy. “I didn’t know. I... Is there anything I can do?”
Zola’s
voice broke again. “No... no, thank you,” she replied, struggling to maintain
her composure. “I’ll... I’ll let Sani know you called if I hear from him.”
“Please
do,” Sani’s mother said, her heart heavy. “And if you need anything, don’t
hesitate to reach out, okay?”
Zola
murmured a quiet “thank you” before the call ended. Sani’s mother sat down, her
mind racing with worry. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was
wrong—Zola’s grief, Sani’s unresponsive phone, the dangers lurking in the city.
She clasped her hands tightly, silently praying that her son was safe.
The morning
sun cast a muted glow over a tent outside the house, its warmth contrasting with
the cold grief that filled it. The sound of murmurs rose as mourners arrived to
pay their respects. Zola sat numbly on a couch in the living room, her eyes red
and swollen from a night of crying and barely sleeping. Her father, seated
across from her, looked equally worn, the lines on his face deepened by the
weight of sorrow.
There was a
soft creak of the front door. Zola looked up, expecting another neighbour or
distant relative, but she was surprised to see who it was.
“Jaha?” she
said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Standing in
the doorway was Jaha, a childhood friend she hadn’t seen in years. Tall and
composed, his presence radiated the quiet confidence he had always carried, now
amplified by his recent return to prominence. Zola hadn’t expected to see
him—last she heard; he was still abroad.
“Zola,”
Jaha said, offering a faint, solemn smile as he stepped inside. His eyes
softened when they met hers. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Jaha,”
Zola’s father said, rising to his feet, equally surprised. “We didn’t know you
were back. When did you return?”
“Two weeks
ago,” Jaha replied, shaking hands with Zola’s father. “I came back to... well,
to pick up where my father left off. I’ve decided to run for the gubernatorial
seat.”
Both Zola
and her father exchanged glances, their surprise evident.
“That’s...
admirable,” her father said after a pause. “Your father would be proud.”
Jaha
nodded, his gaze drifting to Zola. “I heard about your mom and had to come. She
was like a second mother to me growing up.” His voice carried a genuine warmth,
and Zola felt a flicker of comfort in his words.
“Thank
you,” she said softly.
After the
initial greetings, the three of them moved to sit around the dining table. The
mourners’ voices and occasional wails from the other room created a subdued
background noise as they began discussing the burial plans.
“How are
the arrangements coming along?” Jaha asked, his tone careful.
“We’re
still figuring things out,” Zola’s father replied, his voice heavy. “It all
happened so suddenly.”
Jaha leaned
forward slightly. “If there’s anything I can do to help—anything at all—please
don’t hesitate to let me know.”
Zola shook
her head, a faint smile forming on her lips despite the sadness that clung to
her. “You’re too generous, Jaha. We’ll call if we need anything.”
Her father
nodded in agreement. “We appreciate the offer. Truly. But we’ll manage.”
Jaha didn’t
press further, respecting their wishes. Instead, he placed a comforting hand on
the table. “I’m here if you need me,” he said simply.
As the
conversation turned back to logistics, Zola found herself glancing at Jaha.
Seeing him again stirred a mix of emotions—nostalgia, gratitude, and curiosity
about the path he had chosen. His presence, though unexpected, brought a small
sense of relief during an otherwise unbearable day.
Sani
arrived at Zola’s home, his heart heavy with guilt and apprehension. He
approached cautiously, unsure of what reception awaited him after the events of
the previous night. From a distance, he spotted Jaha, a familiar figure from
their shared childhood. Jaha was standing by his car, speaking with Zola and
her father. The three of them seemed to be saying their goodbyes.
“Jaha!”
Sani called out just as Jaha reached for his car door.
Jaha
turned, his expression brightening. “Sani? Is that you?”
The two
friends embraced briefly, their smiles momentarily softening the sombre mood.
“It’s been too long,” Jaha said warmly.
“It has,”
Sani replied, though the heaviness in his heart lingered.
Zola and
her father walked over; their expressions more subdued. Sani’s eyes met Zola’s,
and he saw the mixture of grief and annoyance in her gaze. He felt the weight
of his guilt pressing harder—he hadn’t been there for her when she needed him
most. Worse, the memories of the chaotic night he had spent with Herina only
deepened his regret.
“I’m so
sorry, Zola,” Sani said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.
“Are you?”
Zola replied, her tone sharp. “Your phone was off when I needed you most. You
couldn’t even—” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “Never mind.”
Sani
started to explain, but the words caught in his throat. This wasn’t the time to
bring up excuses, no matter how valid they seemed in his head.
Sensing the
tension, Jaha interjected. “It’s been a tough time for everyone,” he said
diplomatically. He turned back to Sani. “Did you hear? I’ve decided to run for
the gubernatorial seat.”
Sani
blinked in surprise. “You’re serious?”
Jaha
nodded, his expression firm. “It’s time to continue my father’s legacy. After
his assassination, I couldn’t just stay away. The people need someone to stand
up for them.”
Though
surprised, Sani smiled faintly. “That’s... unexpected. But I’m proud of you,
Jaha. I know your dad would be too.”
“Thanks,
Sani,” Jaha replied.
Zola’s
father cleared his throat, breaking the moment. “I need to head into town to
make the death announcement on television,” he said, his voice weary but
resolute.
“I’m
heading that way myself,” Jaha offered. “Let me drop you off.”
Zola’s
father hesitated, then nodded. “That would be helpful, thank you.”
As Jaha and
Zola’s father walked toward the car, Jaha turned back to Sani and Zola. “You
two should take this time to talk,” he said meaningfully before getting into
the driver’s seat.
The car
pulled away, leaving Sani and Zola standing awkwardly in the yard. The tension
between them was palpable, but Sani knew this was his chance to make things
right.
“I am
sorry,” Sani began, his voice earnest. “I should’ve been here.”
Zola
crossed her arms, her expression softening slightly but still guarded. “You’re
right. You should’ve.”
Sani took a
deep breath, ready to face whatever came next.