Manifesting To Be The Rich Man's Wife

3

Amina's POV🩶

I went to the station to escort Zoya after I convinced her to return to her family for the holiday instead of dwelling sadly over the man who never wanted her. I advised her to go to her family, who would show her love and help her overcome her heartbreak. Bidding her goodbye, she said she would first go to Abuja to visit her aunt.

I was making my way towards the exit of the train station when I bumped into someone's strong yet tender chest. Without me even realising it, I found myself wrapped in his arms and overcome with butterflies. My body started to tremble, and my heartbeat was racing as I stared at his unique and handsome face. Something about him made me feel weak in the knees.

I tried to pull myself away, but his arms felt like a safe haven. Even though I was only near him for a moment because I escaped somehow, as it is wrong to be in someone's arms who isn't your relative or husband, his smell lingered on me, and his presence imprinted itself on my senses.

I rushed away, but something kept pulling me back to the moment, making me wonder to myself,

"Was that just a brief moment or the start of something special?"

His embrace, his presence, and the fragrance he exuded all made me feel giddy.

Looking up at the clear sky, I prayed,

"God, please send me someone like him, or better yet, the man himself."

He seemed wealthy and handsome, but it was his charming presence and intoxicating scent that really captured my heart.

I made my du'a with hope, praying that my wish would be granted and I would meet him again.

🖤

I've been trying to catch a tricycle, but to no avail. I've been standing outside, waving my hand and calling for them, but every one I've seen only sweeps past me like wind.

I even hissed at a few, cursing under my breath at their callousness.

It's not like I'm asking them to pick me up for free. I've got my money, damn it, and I'm willing to pay them, so why won't they stop?

"Brother, please stop!" I finally got the attention of one of them, an older man with grey hair.

"Where to?" he asked, and I answered, "The university."

We were not far from the station when we heard a constant horn blaring at us. It worried both of us, and the driver kept drifting left and right.

The horn just wouldn't stop, even after we pulled over by the side of the road.

I peeked out to see what was causing all the commotion, only to behold a convoy of black Mercedes cars with tinted windows speeding past us.

I sat in the tricycle that now stood stationary on the side of the road, and the constant horn continued as the convoy passed by us. My heart pounded in my chest with a strong sense of fear as I stared at the impressive parade.

I had never seen anything quite like it before, and I couldn't help but wonder who those people in the expensive cars were.

"This is unfair. Why should we park because they want to pass? The road is public property, not theirs." I mentioned.

"It's unfair, indeed," the driver grumbled, in a heavy breath. "The road is for public use, not for them to monopolize. But do you think the rich care about the poor?" He continued, "They don't. They take everything, even things that don't belong to them. They have so much wealth already, but they still want more. No matter how much they have, it's never enough."

I could see the rage and frustration in his eyes, and I agreed with him wholeheartedly. He then resumed driving, but my mind was still filled with thoughts about what he had just said.

I don't know if it is wrong, but I had imagined myself in one of those luxurious cars, and it brought a smile to my lips.

Imagine driving and having everyone pull over and stop just so I could pass.

"Oh Allah," I whispered to myself. "Send someone as rich as the one inside that car that passed us, or even better, the one in it, if he doesn't have a wife."

My heart was full of hope and excitement as I headed back to the university.

I had a goal to look forward to now, and my depression had disappeared. My heart feels more comfortable with this goal, of becoming a rich man's wife than with my previous goal of becoming a certified nurse.

I was certain I would achieve my dream.

I returned to our dorm room with a smile, and my roommates were all in shock.

They must've noticed the change in my behaviour, because I even volunteered to cook dinner, even though it wasn't my turn.

As I was stirring the rice, Basma came over and stood by my side.

"What got into you?" she asked, with a slight disbelief in her tone.

"Nothing," I replied, with a wide grin on my face.

"I'm just happy to be out of my dark era." I continued. I'm thrilled to have finally found a goal that inspires me and brings my heart peace.

I continued to smile, but then remembered that I had yet to congratulate her on her new phone.

She had started helping me cut the vegetables, when I spoke,

"I know it's coming late, but congratulations on your new phone," I blurted out, with genuine happiness and excitement in my voice.

"You're welcome," she said with a smile, clearly not offended by my late comment, and then asked again, "So, when will you go home?"

"Oh, you know how the holidays are. Families and such. The house chores, but are you tired of seeing me?" I replied, avoiding her question.

"Well, you have to return home eventually. I'm definitely not tired of seeing you, though," she continued, with a teasing tone. "I want you to remain happy. That's why I'm pushing you to go home and spend quality time with your family," she added.

"Should I tell you a secret?" I paused, looking away from the knife for a moment before meeting her gaze.

"Of course you can trust me with it. Spill it." Her voice turned into a hushed whisper, full of anticipation.

"I'll be going home during the last week of the break, but until then, I'm searching for someone rich like your boyfriend for myself." I shrugged, returning to my cutting task.

She let out a soft chuckle before her voice dropped even lower. "I'm glad you told me about this. My boyfriend has invited me to Abuja for a party this weekend. Care to join?"

"Will rich people be there?" I asked jokingly, but she seemed to take it seriously.

"You can't even attend without a pass. I'll have to ask him for it," she said, wanting to emphasise the exclusivity of the event.