When I Found You

Chapter 3

MALAYSIA

She had been in Malaysia for three months now.

Three long, fast, blurry months.
Alhamdulillah — everything was going smoothly. Her classes were engaging, her grades were great, and her culinary short course on the side was finally fulfilling the passion she'd always dreamt of.
But today... she missed home more than ever.
Especially now that Ya Fawaz was back.

Her big brother, her protector. She'd hoped she'd be the one to run into his arms at the airport. But instead, she had only watched his homecoming on her mum's WhatsApp status — smiling weakly through tears.

It was a Saturday — and like most weekends in Kuala Lumpur, the day felt both fast and calm.
Her house help had taken her annual leave, so Zaynab decided to spend her morning doing deep cleaning.
From scrubbing tiles to dusting frames, she did it all.
By noon, her apartment sparkled like bottled sunlight.
She prayed, then had a small lunch of shawarma and fries.

Later, she called Ya Fawaz.

"Hi, good afternoon, Ya Fawaz!" she said, her voice chipper but tired.

"Hello my love," his voice came warm, through the speaker. "How are you doing?"

"I'm good, Alhamdulillah... but I miss home. I miss all of you. I wish I was the one to welcome you when you returned."

"Don't worry, in three months, you'll be home again."

"In sha Allah. Please greet Daddy and Mummy for me."

She hung up and napped lightly. Just an hour — enough to recharge.
By 5:00 p.m., she was up and getting ready.

She slipped into a light floral summer gown with soft lilac and blush tones. Her hijab was pinned neatly, lips glossed, and she spritzed Roudat al Oud — the scent that felt like home. The kind that turned heads in silence. The one Bello couldn't stop remembering.

Grabbing her cream-colored sling bag and phone, she headed out.

Farah and Ashraf were already at the café when she arrived. The golden hour sun filtered through the glass, casting soft glows on their skin. She waved, side-hugged Farah, and gave Ashraf a shy nod before taking her seat.

The waiter came promptly, and they placed their orders — iced caramel macchiato, pistachio cake, and a new seasonal latte blend.

"So..." Zaynab narrowed her eyes, "What's the news you two dragged me here to break?"

Farah immediately covered her face, cheeks tinted pink.

Ashraf chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. "Well... erm... Farah and I — we've started dating."

Zaynab blinked. Then let out a dramatic gasp.
With exaggerated flair, she raised her cup.

"Alhamdulillah! I'm genuinely happy for you guys. May Allah keep you both in love and happiness always."

"Amin! And thank you for your support," they said in unison.

"No thank-yous, remember?" she smiled. "To Ashraf and Farah."

They all clinked cups. A gentle toast to young love.

But just as she was about to take a final sip, something made her pause.

There — across the café — at a corner booth near the window, sat two men.

One had his back turned to her.
Something about him... the way his hands moved as he gestured while talking... seemed oddly familiar.

She tilted her head slightly, hoping to get a better view, but he never turned.

Just hands.
Just that voice in her head whispering: I know him from somewhere.

She blinked the feeling away. "It's getting late," she said softly. "Let's go."

They gathered their things and exited the café — her perfume lingering behind like a love letter.

Same Time, Same Café: Bello
He had been in Malaysia for only a week now.

After months of project handling via emails and calls, Bello had flown down to supervise Al'amin's hard work himself.
And after a week of meetings, architecture models, long drives, and late-night adjustments, today — they decided to breathe. Even if it was just for an hour at a coffee shop.

"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," Al'amin had said, throwing a shirt at him that morning.

Bello woke up to the sound of running water — Al'amin was already in the bathroom.
He performed ablution, prayed, and got dressed in an army green shirt and dark jeans.

Their driver dropped them at a local café near their condo. Not fancy. Just cozy.

The moment he stepped inside, he froze.

His gaze instinctively landed on a table of three — a guy and two ladies. But one of the ladies sat with her back facing him. She was animated, expressive — her hands moved like she painted stories in the air as she spoke.

He narrowed his eyes.

There was something about her.

Al'amin noticed the stillness in Bello's posture and raised an eyebrow. Bello quickly looked away and found a seat — his back now facing them.

They ordered coffee and chocolate cake. Talked about work, possible investors, and the new designs for the Penang shoreline villa.

But something was off.

Bello kept sniffing subtly. That scent again. The one that haunted him for months.
It was here — in this coffee shop.
Through roasted beans, vanilla syrups, and caramel steam... it pierced everything else.

Al'amin, ever observant, leaned closer. "Baba, what's up?"

Bello looked around again, scanning subtly. "Since the day at the park... then the airport... and now here... that scent keeps following me."

He lowered his voice. "I don't know if I should ask Yasmin about that lady Hammad met that day — maybe ask what perfume she wears."

Al'amin chuckled. "You know how weird that'll sound, right? Imagine messaging your cousin: 'Hey, what scent was that lady in the abaya wearing?'"

Bello sighed. "You're right... I won't ask. If I'm meant to know... I will. In sha Allah."

They talked some more, but he kept glancing over his shoulder — always just missing her by a heartbeat.

A few moments later, she left — walking right past him — and he didn't even turn.
But the scent... oh, the scent lingered.

He closed his eyes for a brief second, gripping his cup. "Who are you?" he wondered.

That evening, they were invited to a networking party by one of their biggest Malaysian investors — Mr. Ahmad Khmer.

It was Bello's first time entering someone's home in Malaysia. He liked it. The art. The warm hosts. The ocean of opportunity that spoke every time a new architect or investor introduced themselves.

He even met two of his mentors from architectural school.
It was an evening of growth, gratitude, and grounding.

The Flight Home
Morning came.

His flight was at 8 a.m.
Bello packed up. Showered. Prayed. Took one last look at his Malaysian suite.
Al'amin accompanied him to the airport.

"Finish strong over here, bro," Bello said, pulling him in for a brief hug.
"In sha Allah," Al'amin smiled. "I'll see you in three months."

Five hours later, Bello landed in Nigeria — tired but stirred.

He didn't know that the girl with the scent that haunted him had been just five tables away from him — again.

He didn't know that fate had just postponed what it was carefully arranging.

Zaynab and Bello were in the same café. Same city. Same hour.
But fate... fate has a flair for delay.

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