You must have heard stories. I mean stories of love or better put love stories. May be to some it could be the love story of prince charming and Snow White or the love story of Romeo and Juliet or perhaps that of Belle and Rumblesteinskin. But this particular love story isn’t fictional. Its a kind of love story that no amount of ink would be able to write even if one wanted to.
I know a man of a noble character, everly smiling face and from his lips were the funniest of all jokes, in his smiles were the best of all smiles. He was called Saleh. And then its the wife. A woman even though she had given birth thrice, she looked as though she were below 30 years of age.
You see! Talking about her or describing her is something I wouldn’t be able to, not even 40 percent her being. She was moderate in height, her hair was long and she hardly plait them. (May be because I was a close family friend I was opportuned to see the hair on rare occasions), and she was one of the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Her eyes were like something indescribable and her lips were as though two w were stressed joined together. Each time she speaks it was one of the best music to the ear. She was Khadizat. It will be without any sense to talk about how Saleh and Khadizat met….

Saleh and Khadizat’s kind of love have never been portrayed in any fiction. Not even in a movie. Saleh no matter how hungry he is, he never eats without the wife eating with him. Because their children were at a boarding school, they both cook together as old as Saleh was. They wash their clothes in the same water, help her loosen her hair on rare occasions and read to one another newspapers and books by taking turns.

To tell you about Saleh and Khadizat I wouldn’t be able to perfectly. Even at the old age of 54 and 41 they were still the cutest lovers I have ever seen, until one hot afternoon. I had just returned from the mosque when I saw them together under their neem tree. Aunty Khadizat rested her head on Uncle Saleh’s shoulder as they both were joking when I passed them by greeting them. Even though I didn’t wanted to, I was called upon to pick one of the oranges they were both enjoying. Reluctantly, I picked one and I went my way thanking them.

Very early in the morning the next day, very weird of Aunty Khadizat, she was dressed as though were going to an occasion but all she came to do was to greet us and went back home. Towards 12noon that day, uncle Saleh came knocking at our door with tears all over his face.

“Where is Mallam (he calls  my dad that)”
He is inside I said staring at him. 

I stood where I was wondering what exactly was going on as if I were no longer in my senses.

In a split seconds, my dad and mum followed and soon his house was becoming filled up with people.

I went there and went inside the sitting where the wife sat up on their sofa and eyes fixed to their family picture. It was clear enough to tell she had given up the ghost.
From afar, Saleh stood with a big plank in his hand and shouting
If you say she is dead, I will hit you! His eye balls became bigger and he was crying and laughing but in deep pain. He went and sat with her and no one dare to come nearer. Even when the doctor confirmed she was dead, he didn’t accept or believe it either. It took him a complete day to accept the news. Its almost five years now but each time I see how his everly smiling face has changed otherwise the memory of their past will but only play itself in my head. There is so much pain in love.

True love exist but we all tends to look for it in wrong places….

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