Dilemma 2

A fictional read

"Come to me in my dreams, and then By day I shall be well again! For so the night will more than pay The hopeless longing of the day…"

- Longing by Matthew Arnold

Roland's POV

The heavy downpour made visibility a challenge. I drove cautiously,avoiding portholes and potential hazards. As I gazed out my window, I spotted a woman huddled under a kiosk, drenched and shivering in the rain. Her arms were crossed, and her eyes seemed to plead for help. I hesitated, unsure whether to stop or keep driving. But the thought of her waiting alone for a cab, with no end in sight, was unbearable. The road was deserted, and few drivers would brave this downpour. It was getting pretty late, and with all the unfavorable circumstances taken into consideration, I decided to give her a ride. I drove close enough so that if I called her attention, she would hear me. She seemed so occupied with her thoughts that she didn't hear me, so I had to honk, which startled her - that wasn't my intention. Her expression showed that she questioned my motive for getting in, but she seemed like she didn't have a favorable choice, so she got in.

As she opened the door, she introduced the sharp smell of petrichor. "Thank you very much, sir. I'm so sorry about your car," she said, getting in and slamming the door as quickly as she could to stop the rain from coming in. Her eyes caught my attention - the perfect doe eyes, white and bright. Her wet face made her eyelashes cluster, and it was an enchanting sight to behold. Her eyes dared me to say no to requests she was yet to make. I caught myself immediately before she could notice I was staring at her. As I reached for the piece of cloth in the back seat, I caught a whiff of her perfume. It was a scent I could recognize anywhere.

She gratefully used the cloth to pat herself dry. As I watched, memories flooded back. That perfume – the one she wore – was etched in my memory. It was the scent that could guide me home even in darkness, the one scent I trusted implicitly. The subtle citrus scent didn't overwhelm the other ingredients in the perfume; you could still perceive the iris butter and lavender extract. It was at an airport department store, where I sought a gift for my wife. The sales lady assured me she'd love it, so I got it wrapped in the prettiest bag I could find, added a rose, and signed a note.

As I presented the gift to Susan, her eyes sparkled with delight. She unwrapped it layer by layer, and her squeal of joy filled my heart with warmth. In that moment, I vowed to always cherish and protect her happiness.

In a garden of flowers, she was the brightest and most dainty - not a type of flower you'd pluck and keep for yourself, but the type you'd nurture so it could bloom, and the world would behold its beauty. I knew it was going to be Susan for the rest of my life.

Back when we were in primary school, Susan always looked out for me, bringing extra lunch just in case my parents didn't pack enough. She saw me through my stages of puberty, and I saw her through hers - from being that geeky boy to the hot teenager, to a young gentleman. Everyone knew Susan and I would end up together, so her response to my marriage proposal was the most definite yes.

I got home late from work that day. The last time Susan responded to my messages was four hours ago, with no indication she was busy. I wondered why she wasn't responding. I tried calling, but no one answered. Panic set in - this had never happened before.

Susan's phone and purse lay on the table, but she was nowhere to be found. That was unlike her; she never left her phone behind. My mind raced, recalling how she was always glued to her screen, watching videos or texting friends. I called everyone I knew was connected to Susan, but nobody could tell me explicitly where my wife was. I asked our neighbors; I asked the security at the estate gate, but they said they hadn't seen my wife. I called every government security agency, every important personnel I could find on my contact list, but they couldn't tell me where Susan was. Nobody knew where Susan was.

I have spent six years searching for Susan through radio and newspaper ads, but to no avail. The silence was deafening. It's been six years of finding Susan, six years since I last heard her voice, six years of not seeing her, six years of missing her and six years of hoping she’d come home.

According to the map, I had arrived at Sade's house, but I was uncertain which gate was hers. I hesitated to disturb her, as she seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Reluctantly, I gently called out, 'Sade, is this your gate?' hoping not to startle her.

I wanted to see her again, but I didn't know how to ask. I hadn't spoken to another woman since Susan's disappearance. While I was contemplating whether I should get her number, she sprang up the question. "Can I get your contact? I would like to see you again," she asked politely. I hated that she beat me to it, but I liked that the feeling was mutual. If I wasn't such a coward, I would have asked first.

I seized the opportunity to salvage the moment, handing her my phone to enter her number. As she stepped out of the car, I watched her walk slowly towards her gate, the distance between us growing.

"Goodnight, Sade," I called out. "Night, Roland, and thank you," she replied, her voice fading as she closed the gate behind her.