At twenty-five, I thought I had finally figured out what love should feel like, soft, warm, and sure, and for a while, it did feel that way with Majid. Thirty-two, confident, a successful banker, and the proud owner of a sleek black Mercedes Benz. It seemed like I've made the best choice when I agreed to date him, he seemed like the perfect man—maybe even too perfect.
He had a rule which he seriously adhered to — "I don't give lift to strangers, ever."
At first, I thought it was a little too extreme, but he explained that due to an incident that happened in his past, it was a way of avoiding unnecessary drama. He never told me about it so I shrugged it off and accepted it.
Then one Sunday afternoon, came a knock on the door. I had gone to see him that weekend and so was just lazing around in the sitting room. Suddenly there was a confident rap on the door which echoed through the apartment. Majid was in the kitchen, humming to himself as he prepared a lunch of jollof rice. Hey, he didn't do that all the time, according to him, he wanted to spoil me on that Sunday by preparing for me, my best meal.
So expecting it to be one of his neighbours, I quickly opened the door.
But it was a woman. An extremely beautiful woman.
She was about my age, tall, fair-skinned, with a subtle shade of red lipstick and a very bold gaze. She looked me straight in the eye and smiled like she knew me. But I could bet that I didn’t know who she was.
“Hello, I am here to see Majid, I think I left my purse and scarf in his car.” she said cheerfully.
My heart stopped.
Majid froze as I turned slowly to face him, all colour drained from his face. He looked at me, then at her, then at the floor. At that moment, he looked like a child caught stealing meat from his mother's pot.
She stepped further into the house like she owned the place.
“You said they were safe with you when I called you, put them in the boot for safekeeping or something." she added with a playful giggle.
I didn't say a word, I just stared at him, my mouth dry, my chest tightening. Without a word to the stranger, he walked past us, and out through the side door, into the car park. A few moments later, he returned with a navy-blue scarf and a purse that screamed designers.
I watched him hand them over without looking up or without looking in my direction.
“Thank you very much” she said casually and walked off like nothing had happened.
There was silence, a deafening silence that followed.
"Who is she?" I managed to ask.
"Just...em..er...a stranger I gave a lift two days ago." He muttered.
“You gave a lift to a stranger?” I finally whispered.
He just kept looking down at his feet, without speaking another word. His action made me even more suspicious.
“You said you don’t give strangers lift.” I stated again.
“I—I don’t. It was just once. She was stranded and....."
“A stranger that knows where you live too?”
“I don’t know how she....look, it’s not what you think.”
“What am I supposed to think, Majid? That a stranger randomly ended up in your car, and then at your doorstep, and that you even hid her purse and scarf in the boot? And you didn't even bother to mention it?
He till kept mute!
“We’re not even talking anymore,” I said. “Because I want answers." I snapped at him.
Then I stood up, walked to the window, and stared out, my heart was aching, not just from jealousy, but from what seemed like the betrayal of trust. Majid wasn't talking but was acting rather so strangely.
At that instant I knew what I smelled.
I smelled a rat.
I didn’t sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her lips curled in that smug little smile, and of someone who knew what she was doing. I saw the deception in Majid’s eyes. I heard my own voice, quiet and broken, asking questions he refused to answer.
By the morning, I had made up my mind.
If he wouldn’t talk, I would find the answers myself.
I took his spare car keys while he was in the shower, walked to the Mercedes, and sat in the driver’s seat. I searched the glove compartment first, nothing but receipts, face masks, and old CDs.
Then I opened the centre console.
There lay a gold bracelet, a lady's. Beautiful and delicate. It wasn’t mine.
My chest tightened, but I kept searching. I found a slip of paper folded neatly behind it, it was a receipt from a fancy restaurant two Fridays ago. A date night, but not with me.
I remembered that Friday clearly, he had told me that he was working late, trying to finalize an account for a client overseas.
Lies! I gripped the steering wheel because by then, my hands were shaking.
That evening, I confronted him. I placed the bracelet and receipt on the table like evidence at a crime scene.
“Majid I want you to tell me the truth now, all of it.”
He swallowed hard. She's Busayo." And stopped
"Yes, continue.”
Silence again but this time I felt like screaming and scratching but I held my cool.
“You took her to dinner, you bought her this expensive bracelet and you lied to me so you could be with her. You let me believe I was the only one.”
He couldn’t meet my eyes.
“That night you said you were working late... You were out with her right?"
He didn’t deny it.
He tried to speak, but I held up my hand.
Something inside me snapped, not with anger, but with clarity. I remembered that I was the girl with dreams, who believed in love but who would never ever settle for crumbs.
“No more lies, Majid."
I packed my things that night and set myself free.
