Manifesting To Be The Rich Man's Wife

14

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Ibrahim's POV🖤

I never would have believed that one day I would stand in the rain and just watch a woman revel in it without a care in the world. Her carefree laughter and energetic twirling brought a smile to my lips. Despite the discomfort of being soaked, I couldn't help but find beauty in the joyful moment we were sharing together. It didn't matter that we were getting drenched or that we would likely end up sick and shivering. All that mattered in the moment was the sound of her laughter and the sight of her playful spirit as she embraced the drizzle without a care in the world.

Her voice reached my ears over the pitter-patter of the rain, her words softly carrying her request, "Come and join me."

I hesitated, content with just watching her rejoice, but her insistence finally convinced me to take a step forward. As I approached her, the rain continued to fall around us, cool and refreshing, and her infectious laughter and carefree behaviour slowly began to seep into my being, freeing me from my limitations. I took a few more steps until I was standing right beside her. The rain fell upon us both, soaking our clothes and leaving them clinging to our bodies. But it didn't matter—all that mattered was the joy and exhilaration we shared as we stood together, laughing and allowing ourselves to let go of our worries and inhibitions.

When the rain continued to pour without a sign that it would stop anytime soon, I gently spoke to her. "It's getting late. We should head back to the car. You'll surely be sick tomorrow."

She hummed in agreement, and we laughed as we dashed back to the car, our wet clothes clinging to us. I unlocked the car, and we both jumped in. We sat there, still giggling from the delightful thrill of our spontaneous adventure. I quickly started the engine and adjusted the heater. The warm air began to fill the space, gradually restoring heat to our chilled bodies, though we were still rubbing our palms together. I also switched on the radio, and as the sounds of "Love in Portofino" by Dalida swirled around us, the atmosphere in the car grew even more enchanting.

She looked at me with a radiant smile, her face beaming with happiness. "This has been the best night I've had in ages, really! The kebabs and the rain... it's surreal," she began.

I became lost, mesmerised by her wet face and the water droplets accentuating her natural beauty.

She continued, her voice filled with pleasure, "I'm supposed to be furious with you, yet here we are, enjoying our time together."

I couldn't tear my eyes away from her face; the sight of her joyful smile made my heart radiate with warmth. "Well, it appears that our plans have taken a completely different turn," I replied, my voice having a relief.

"We've moved from ego and anger to finding ourselves sharing this incredible moment. Perhaps the moment in the rain was a reconciliation for us, turning strangers into friends." I added.

"Nop. Enemies. Also, buying me kebab or joining me in the rain won't make us friends, you know? I haven't forgotten that you fired my father."

I nodded, because it was understandable, and I took a deep breath while focusing ahead as I began to drive her home. Silence filled the car, each of us lost in our thoughts, though I had nothing in mind except the moment we spent earlier in the rain.

"This is my first experience being drenched in the rain intentionally," I said, not enthusiastic for the silence to be endless. I enjoy hearing her speak.

"It was evident. You rich people hide yourselves within your massive residences at the mere sight of a breeze. The very chance of falling ill scares you."

"Well, it's precaution, and you should do that too," I responded.

She laughed and mimicked my tone, replying, "It's a precaution, and you should do that too." Her attempt at mimicking my deep voice with her soft voice made us both laugh hard and loud.

After she composed herself, she explained, "The rain and I share a connection. I go inside whenever I can, and it rarely makes me sick because I'm used to it."

I smiled, and we arrived at her home.

"Ahh, we're here," she exclaimed.

I felt a sudden pang of reluctance to bid farewell just yet. "When can we meet again?" I inquired with eagerness, feeling an insatiable craving to spend more time with her.

"Why will you want to meet me?"

Noticing the quizzical look on her face, I realised she was seeking an explanation, but I was at a loss for words, unable to pinpoint a specific reason or justification for it.

With a nonchalant shrug, I replied honestly, "I don't know!"

The truth was that I simply wanted to prolong our time together, eager to create more moments of unexpected joy.

She locked eyes with me; her once warm and cheerful mood being replaced with neutral. Her gaze bore into me with sharp and scrutinising eyes. With a defiant yet soft voice, she proclaimed, "I don't want to meet you again. Don't forget, you fired my father. The man who gave me life. Goodbye."

Before I could utter a word in reply, she opened the car door and strode purposefully towards her gate, leaving me watching her exit silently.

With a satisfied smile on my face, I drove myself back home, the memories of our rainy adventure still fresh in my mind. The soft instrumental melody of "Love in Portofino" filled the air, a soothing and gentle soundtrack. As the car glided along the road, the beautiful piano notes and the tender harmonies enveloped me in a warm embrace. I sat back in my car, reminiscing about the events of the evening. Her laughter, her bright smile—it replayed in my mind without end, a constant loop of joy and warmth that filled me with pleasure.

My thoughts drifted to our first encounter, at the train station, and then to the night she arrived at the party at the Transcorp Hilton—the moment she appeared in that breathtaking blue dress. It was as if destiny had knitted itself into the very fabric of our lives, trying to bring us together.

"Maybe not in Portofino, but in Kano. I might find my love in Kano." I whispered.

***

"Send me Amina's contact," I instructed my manager, keeping my tone casual.

He gave me a puzzled look, like he was doubting my decision. He hesitated for a moment and then spoke up, saying, "Are you sure about this? I can pass on the message instead. You know how women can get crazy. When she receives a call or message from a man like you, she can share it with the world. Your reputation might.."

My voice turned firm, stating clearly, "I don't care. Send me her number."

I headed to the balcony in my bedroom, finally relaxing after the long drive home. I had taken a hot shower, put on warm clothes, and was just finishing a cup of ginger and lemon tea to prevent myself from getting a cold.

When my phone chimed with the message containing her number, an immediate urge to call her rose in me. I was curious to know if she had also taken a shower and if she had taken any precautions like me—drinking ginger and lemon tea.

Alas, I followed my heart and dialled the number; however, a recorded message informed me that her phone was switched off. Of course, I became disappointed, frustrated, and annoyed, and I let them out with a soft grumble. I really wanted to hear her voice again before I went to sleep.

My hand mindlessly ran through my hair while I began to contemplate the idea of returning her father's job. It would make her happy and also make her forget our bitter encounters, but the act might also raise questions and draw unwanted attention.

It was a tough decision to make.

...