Bridge Between Hearts
Seven years ago, by the lagoon’s calm waters, she broke my heart and gave it purpose. As the sun painted the sky with hues of orange and pink, she gestured to a lone leaf, aimlessly floating. “See that leaf, Justin? That’s you, lost and directionless.” Her words, sharp and piercing, jolted me awake.
From that moment on, I transformed my life, becoming Nigeria’s youngest billionaire. At 37, my confident walk and distinct features turned heads, not just because of my success but my presence too. Fate has a curious way of moulding us. A memory danced in my eyes: a rain-soaked evening, my spirit crushed, and a stranger’s tale of falls and rises that ignited a spark within me.
Lost in memories, I shook my head, reminding myself of today’s importance. Emotions swirled within—regret, yearning, a touch of bitterness. As we reached my company’s headquarters, the vast underground garage swallowed us whole. Shadows danced over luxury cars, and the muted rumble of distant engines filled the air. Those past pains shaped today’s triumphs. I adjusted my pinstripe suit, feeling its texture, and headed towards the elevator’s hum.
In the lobby, I nodded to familiar faces, making my way to the receptionist. “Begin the interviews in five minutes,” I instructed. Today, I'll find Mrs. Nwali’s successor. Her move to the US left an emptiness; she was more than a secretary—she was family. From JusTech’s early days, she stood by me. During our toughest challenges, it was her wisdom and late-night strategies that guided us through.
Finding her equal would be no easy task, hence my personal involvement in the interviews. After a brief meal, I settled into my chair. My spacious office, filled with mahogany and walls boasting achievements, overlooked the lively city. With a nod to the receptionist, the search for JusTech’s next personal secretary began.
Interview after interview, candidates laid out their skills and answered my probing questions. Yet, two hours in, none seemed right for the role. My patience dwindled with every handshake, and I caught myself massaging my forehead, releasing weary sighs. The growing stack of resumes on my desk mirrored my mounting frustration. I signalled to my receptionist, deciding that after five more interviews, I’d call it a day. The remaining hopefuls would need to come back in a couple of days. I inhaled deeply, silently wishing the upcoming candidates would spark some hope.
The door opened, revealing a young woman whose features tugged at old heartstrings. Her face, a haunting mirror of someone I once knew, held a fragile beauty. Almond eyes, a dainty nose, and lips curving slightly upwards. Though she bore a striking resemblance to that figure from my memories, tiny differences stood out. I felt a jolt of recognition, but professionalism anchored me. I cleared my throat and began the interview.
“Good afternoon, sir,” she greeted.
“Good afternoon. Your name?”
”Nkechi Sylvia Ike.”
A knot tightened in my stomach. This interview would be challenging. I gestured for her credentials, scanning the impressive file she handed over. A first-class degree in Public Administration and two and a half years at a reputable law firm. But what truly caught my attention was her connection to my past. Ndidi, my ex-girlfriend, had often spoken of her younger sister, Nkechi. The same Ndidi who chose my wealthy best friend, Chuma, over me. It wasn’t just his wealth; Chuma provided a sense of security I couldn’t offer back then.
While her credentials were impressive, they didn’t paint the full picture. I sought a glimpse of her character. Lifting my gaze, I locked onto her dark brown eyes. In that moment, it wasn’t her face I saw, but Ndidi’s. Suddenly, the plush confines of my office melted away, replaced by the humble room of my university days. Memories I’d buried deep surged forward, refusing to be ignored.
“Sir? Are you okay?” She stood, dabbing my forehead with her handkerchief. My thoughts had drifted deep into memories, and I scrambled to pull myself back. I motioned for her to sit and offered a quick excuse.
“Apologies,” I started, “I’m just exhausted and battling a fierce migraine.”
“I get it. If you need a break, we can reschedule.” Her warm voice, genuine concern, and comforting smile eased my tension before the interview even began.
“So, why did you leave your position at the law firm?”
“I need to confess; I haven’t been completely truthful,” she admitted, shifting uneasily in her chair. Her evasive gaze and nervous tone raised my suspicions.
“Honesty is appreciated. Thanks for being upfront,” I responded.
“The truth is … I didn’t come for the job.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To see you.”
“You could’ve scheduled a meeting instead of this charade.”
“Why stick to the usual when it’s failed me?” Seeing my puzzled expression, she continued, “My requests were turned down repeatedly. So, I tried something different. And here I am.”
“I get it. But why seek me out?”
“Actually, my sister wants to see you. I’m just the messenger.”
“I’m swamped with work. Please, get to the point.”
“Seven years ago, you and my sister were together. She left you for your best friend. Now, she wants to say she’s sorry.”
“That’s kind, but I don’t need an apology. I’ve moved on.”
“But she’s adamant about meeting you.”
“That’s on her, not me.” I let out a breath. “I’ve moved forward, Nkechi. The past stays in the past.”
“Can I call you Justin?”
“It’s my name, so sure.”
“What can I do to make you meet her, Justin?”
“Why can’t you grasp that I don’t want to see your sister?”
“Perhaps you’re still searching for closure?”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. Her words seemed so outlandish. Rising from my seat, I signalled the end of our chat. She let out a sigh, handed me a card, and headed for the door. Pausing, she left me with a final thought: “If you reconsider, that’s my number.” She hesitated. “Ndidi’s been hurting. She truly wants to set things right. It’s for both your sakes.”
Torn emotions tugged at me, making me question the wisdom of seeing her again. Memories of our shared history, the sting of betrayal, and the hurt lingered in my thoughts. Call me a coward or even a fool, and you wouldn’t be wrong. But something irresistible drew me to the city’s fanciest restaurant, about to face someone I promised myself I’d avoid forever.
As I entered, the scent of sizzling meat and aromatic spices greeted me. There she was, unmistakable. Her raven-black hair, elegant neck, and captivating eyes had always turned heads. Just like they did mine years ago. Time had changed Ndidi. The challenges she’d faced showed on her once-glowing face, now a shade paler, and her eyes, though enchanting, hinted at sadness.
Soft light bathed the restaurant, with shadows dancing on the walls to the gentle rhythm of jazz. Crystal chandeliers dangled above, illuminating polished tables and cosy velvet chairs. As I moved closer to where she sat with her sister, our eyes met. There was no turning back now. Settling into the chair, its velvet softness under my touch, the surrounding chatter became a distant murmur. Our shared past loomed between us, thickening the air and turning the restaurant’s usual warmth into a tense wait.
I ordered an Amstel Malt, not hungry and uninterested in stronger drinks. The malt’s cool bitterness was a sharp change from the room’s warmth, with the distant sound of clinking glasses setting the mood. They both chose Smirnoff Ice. The usually comforting atmosphere of the restaurant now felt tense, as if even the walls braced for our conversation.
“Hello, Justin." Ndidi’s voice broke the silence. Up close, something about her seemed different. Not her attire or her speech, but her eyes. They carried a sadness, deep and vast, like turbulent seas under grey skies. Soon, I’d learn just how right my instincts were.
She unfolded the story of her last seven years. As she spoke, I felt the ruins of our once-shattered bond mending, each word she uttered acting like a healing touch. With every tale of regret and yearning, the gap between us narrowed, replaced by a budding warmth. Her tales of love’s peaks and the valleys of loss and sickness were evident in the lines on her face and the stories her eyes told.
After graduation, her boyfriend set up a fashion shop for her. Side by side, they nurtured their shared dreams. But one fateful day, he never returned from a business trip in Abuja, taken by a cruel car crash. Their wedding plans, once filled with joy, were left unfulfilled. Heartbroken, she poured her sorrow into her work, and her clothing line flourished. Suitors came knocking, but she shut her heart until time slipped away.
But even as her business thrived, shadows crept into her life. A diagnosis last year revealed cervical cancer, advanced and leaving her with just a week. The room grew cold with her confession. The lively, spirited woman from my memories now grappled with her own fleeting time, yearning to mend what was once broken.
“Justin,” she began, her voice trembling, “I’m truly sorry. Back then, my heart had shifted to Chuma. Staying would’ve hurt us both, so I let go,” she concluded, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Why didn’t you tell me before shattering my belief in love?” I asked, my voice tight with pain.
“I was scared,” she admitted, eyes downcast.
“What do you want now?” My voice softened.
“Just your forgiveness.”
Reflecting on it, I understood I’d let go of the pain ages ago. “I forgave you long before this, Ndidi.” In the dim light of the restaurant, our eyes locked. Without words, past wounds and misunderstandings dissolved. Fate had brought us to this healing moment.
An old friend’s words echoed in my mind: “Holding anger is like clutching a burning coal, hoping to harm another, but only scorching oneself.” Those words rang true now. Our bridge of forgiveness spanned the chasm of hurt. Gazing at her fragile form, I understood that forgiveness often begins in silence, long before it’s voiced.
Our eyes held—two souls bound by memories, finding peace in shared understanding. But the moment passed, and I knew it was time to go. The past was behind us. Soon, I found myself back home.
As the sun painted the sky two days later, Ndidi’s light dimmed forever. Memories lingered, but my heart found solace. I was grateful we had found peace before her end.
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