In the heart of Nairobi, Kenya, he landed at about 10 pm. The bustling city welcomed him with its vibrant energy. Directly from the airport, he hailed a cab and off he went to the Kenyatta National Hospital (KNH). At the front desk of the hospital, he asked, "Monik Mary?" His eyes were filled with hope yet despair, a mix of emotions evident in his features. It was difficult to tell what he was hoping for - was it hope that he would find strength after this difficult phase or hope that his despair would not conquer him? That he would not give up on his love, his Monik, and the bond they shared.
"Room 402, Sir," the pretty receptionist responded innocently, oblivious to the heavy burden weighing on Maina's chest. Thanking her, he proceeded to room 402. With each step, he was transported back to his youthful days, his youthful love for Monik. He reminisced about the 80s when he first saw Monik, a village town girl - naive yet not, and undeniably beautiful.
He was 21 at that time, and Monik was 18, ripe and ready for the world. People called them the newest stock in the market. Upon first glance, he knew they were different from each other. Monik's presence was captivating, but she wasn't his kind of pretty. He preferred a tiny stature, and Monik was the opposite. Despite that, fate had its way, and on the 29th of April 1989, Monik enthusiastically said Hi to him, and little did he know that their lives would intertwine in ways only the gods could foresee.
Now, 17 years later, he found himself walking rapidly, faster than an ant escaping a human's foot, racing to his love's room, hoping he would not be too late.
"Late, late for what?" He pondered, unsure if he was prepared to face the outcome.
Perhaps he had not fully embraced the cruel hand fate had dealt them, or maybe he was preemptively jumping to conclusions. He didn't want to dwell on those thoughts for too long, fearing the weight they carried.
Into the elevator he stepped, pressing the button for the seventh floor. As the elevator ascended, he stood alone, and memories of his little angels in Eldoret came rushing back. Antony and Amara, 8 and 4 years old, were sleeping peacefully under the care of their grandmother. They were unaware of the struggles that crept through the night, one of which was the one he faced now. He thought of their lives two weeks from now, trying to cope with having a single parent. But he couldn't bear to pull that thread further; it was already too tight.
The elevator dinged, and he was brought back to the present - October 15th, 2006. He saw room 402 through the partially closed blinds, and a figure lay on the white bed. He couldn't bear to believe it was his Monik. His Monik was lively, not a body waiting for the Angel of Death. But reality struck hard, and he stepped into the room.
The woman on the bed turned to him, and for a moment, he struggled to recognize her. Monik's once vibrant eyes were now impossibly darker than he remembered. The light that once shone brightly within her was fading away into the darkness.
No words were exchanged; they didn't need them. They had shared a lifetime of unspoken understanding. Monik knew Maina would be a good father to Antony and Amara, and Maina knew she would always be with him in spirit. In that moment, Monik held out her hand, and Maina didn't hesitate to take it. It was a silent reassurance, a promise to stay strong even as her light faded.
As Monik's grip weakened, Maina felt her spirit slipping away. The inevitable was here - Monik was leaving him. He refused to accept the frail figure on the bed as his Monik; she was more than that. The doctor's announcement of her time of death only made it more real.
"Time of death, 11:55 pm," the doctor said gloomily.
Five more minutes, he thought, maybe she would have made it. The string had stretched to its limit. But he held onto his promise to Monik and his children, as painful as it was. With a heavy heart and a lifetime of memories, he walked out of room 402, leaving behind the darkness that had claimed his beloved Monik.
The African sky looked down on Maina as he made his way home. The stars above seemed to twinkle with both joy and sorrow, knowing that love, loss, and hope were woven together in the tapestry of life. Maina would carry the memories of his love and the unspoken promises they made forever in his heart, cherishing the time they had together, and staying strong for the children they created out of that love. For in the depths of Africa, the stories of love and resilience continued to unfold, echoing through the hearts of its people, carrying the legacy of those who had walked this earth before.
"Room 402, Sir," the pretty receptionist responded innocently, oblivious to the heavy burden weighing on Maina's chest. Thanking her, he proceeded to room 402. With each step, he was transported back to his youthful days, his youthful love for Monik. He reminisced about the 80s when he first saw Monik, a village town girl - naive yet not, and undeniably beautiful.
He was 21 at that time, and Monik was 18, ripe and ready for the world. People called them the newest stock in the market. Upon first glance, he knew they were different from each other. Monik's presence was captivating, but she wasn't his kind of pretty. He preferred a tiny stature, and Monik was the opposite. Despite that, fate had its way, and on the 29th of April 1989, Monik enthusiastically said Hi to him, and little did he know that their lives would intertwine in ways only the gods could foresee.
Now, 17 years later, he found himself walking rapidly, faster than an ant escaping a human's foot, racing to his love's room, hoping he would not be too late.
"Late, late for what?" He pondered, unsure if he was prepared to face the outcome.
Perhaps he had not fully embraced the cruel hand fate had dealt them, or maybe he was preemptively jumping to conclusions. He didn't want to dwell on those thoughts for too long, fearing the weight they carried.
Into the elevator he stepped, pressing the button for the seventh floor. As the elevator ascended, he stood alone, and memories of his little angels in Eldoret came rushing back. Antony and Amara, 8 and 4 years old, were sleeping peacefully under the care of their grandmother. They were unaware of the struggles that crept through the night, one of which was the one he faced now. He thought of their lives two weeks from now, trying to cope with having a single parent. But he couldn't bear to pull that thread further; it was already too tight.
The elevator dinged, and he was brought back to the present - October 15th, 2006. He saw room 402 through the partially closed blinds, and a figure lay on the white bed. He couldn't bear to believe it was his Monik. His Monik was lively, not a body waiting for the Angel of Death. But reality struck hard, and he stepped into the room.
The woman on the bed turned to him, and for a moment, he struggled to recognize her. Monik's once vibrant eyes were now impossibly darker than he remembered. The light that once shone brightly within her was fading away into the darkness.
No words were exchanged; they didn't need them. They had shared a lifetime of unspoken understanding. Monik knew Maina would be a good father to Antony and Amara, and Maina knew she would always be with him in spirit. In that moment, Monik held out her hand, and Maina didn't hesitate to take it. It was a silent reassurance, a promise to stay strong even as her light faded.
As Monik's grip weakened, Maina felt her spirit slipping away. The inevitable was here - Monik was leaving him. He refused to accept the frail figure on the bed as his Monik; she was more than that. The doctor's announcement of her time of death only made it more real.
"Time of death, 11:55 pm," the doctor said gloomily.
Five more minutes, he thought, maybe she would have made it. The string had stretched to its limit. But he held onto his promise to Monik and his children, as painful as it was. With a heavy heart and a lifetime of memories, he walked out of room 402, leaving behind the darkness that had claimed his beloved Monik.
The African sky looked down on Maina as he made his way home. The stars above seemed to twinkle with both joy and sorrow, knowing that love, loss, and hope were woven together in the tapestry of life. Maina would carry the memories of his love and the unspoken promises they made forever in his heart, cherishing the time they had together, and staying strong for the children they created out of that love. For in the depths of Africa, the stories of love and resilience continued to unfold, echoing through the hearts of its people, carrying the legacy of those who had walked this earth before.
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