I left him standing alone because his friends had already gone, and my own peers needed me—I had to attend their invitation. We took some time to sit down and reminisce about the good times we shared, though they occasionally teased me about how much they had missed me. I explained that my absence was due to work and studies, but assured them I would be more present since I had now finished school.
My friends left one by one until I was left with Mubaraka, my closest friend—a boy I grew up with and shared so much of life with. We were both passionate about our work, though he had graduated from university a year before I did. He was my assistant in my father's company. We chatted for a long time, until he glanced at my wrist, surprised to see me wearing a bracelet. He burst out laughing and asked, "What's this, Kalisa?"
In all the years we had known each other, it was the first time he'd seen me wearing it. He examined it closely, almost in disbelief. I told him it was a gift from a friend of Ayinkamiye. He laughed it off, dismissing it, and we continued our conversation. We could never end a day without discussing how work had gone. I knew he'd arrived late to my event because we had clients we needed to meet earlier that day. He gave me a report as he usually did, and I thanked him for helping keep my family's company successful. Mubaraka always had creative ideas in his work; although he was a friend, he was also my mentor in many ways. However, when it came to love, he knew nothing—though he sometimes told me, "I heard somewhere that love is the greatest thing in the world." But he didn't know much beyond that saying.
When everyone had left the house, Mubaraka was in high spirits as usual. I invited him to stay the night, and he accepted immediately—my mother adored him, always calling him her son whenever she saw him. When it was just our family left, my father called us together as he often did. Whenever we gathered at the table, he always reminded us of one rule above all others: "No one is allowed to use their phone." It was forbidden to have a phone at the table with my father, unless you received a truly important call.
We sat in our usual places: my mother on his left, me on his right, Ayinkamiye beside my mother, Migisha next to me, and our youngest, Ngoga, who had come home with our grandmother because they were inseparable. Father thanked my mother for her role in raising us and told us how difficult it would have been without her by his side. He also praised her for organizing my special day, and we applauded her, though she blushed and tried to stop us. Then he thanked each of us in turn, and we thanked him back for his dedication to us. He then asked everyone to go to bed so he and I could stay and talk business alone. As she stood up, my mother said, "No one meddles in businessmen's talk," knowing full well my father and I often spent hours discussing plans for the company.
My father began by praising me for following in his footsteps and never letting him down. He poured me a drink, then said, "Now is the time to think about your future." I looked at him curiously, and he continued: "You should start thinking about your own family. Your mother and I want grandchildren." I was stunned, as it was the first time he'd ever brought up marriage with me. I smiled sheepishly and replied, "I'm still young." He smiled back, saying, "I'm not telling you to do it tomorrow—but start thinking about it, and if you find it difficult, talk to me and we'll help you." I agreed, but he warned me that love must never interfere with work. I promised him it wouldn't, assuring him that in everything I did, the reputation of our company came first.
It had been a long day for the whole family. My father noted that it was past dinner time, and we said our goodnights. I went to bed and found Mubaraka already fast asleep, curled up. I helped him get comfortable, removed his shoes, and let him sleep.
As I lay there, I thought about what my father had said. I searched my mind for a girl I might love, but came up empty. Finally, I told myself, "Let me just sleep," and exhaustion took over—I didn't even realize when morning came.
Mubaraka woke me up, telling me he was heading to work. I looked at the clock: it was already 5:30 a.m. I asked him to wait and leave later, but he explained he had to get there early to prepare for a meeting my father was attending. I got up and went with him to our company's offices. Together, we prepared everything for the 8 a.m. meeting, making sure every detail was perfect.
When we finished, Mubaraka looked at me carefully and asked, "What's bothering you?" I denied there was anything wrong. He pointed out I'd sighed deeply several times that morning. I told him I didn't know why. He kept watching me and said, "Something is definitely on your mind." I searched myself but found nothing to hide—there was nothing I wasn't telling Mubaraka. He looked at me again and asked, "Could it be that girl who's distracting you?" I insisted it wasn't possible and asked him to join me for breakfast before we started work. He quickly agreed.
Over breakfast, I told him about the conversation with my father the night before, about marriage. He laughed, saying marriage comes when it's time, not when people pressure you into it. Mubaraka was very observant. After a moment, he gave me a curious look and asked, "Are you sure your father hasn't already found a girl for you?" I thought about it but found it unlikely. We continued our meal, both of us unable to find an answer. Mubaraka urged me to take it slow, saying, "Love can ruin your life if you're not careful."
We returned to work in good spirits. My colleagues were surprised to see me back so soon, suggesting I should have taken a few days off—but I'd been raised to work hard, and taking time off felt impossible. The meeting went perfectly; my father thanked Mubaraka for his excellent preparation. One lesson my father instilled in me was to always thank those who contributed to any success.
That entire day, my father's words about marriage lingered in my mind, but I still couldn't find an answer. When it was time to go home, I found Irere waiting with Ayinkamiye. She asked me to return her bracelet, which she'd given me but had inherited from her grandmother. I refused, saying I couldn't give back her gift. Irere pleaded with me and offered another bracelet in exchange. I rejected it, asking her to have it blessed first before giving it to me. Ayinkamiye watched us, giggling at our back-and-forth. Eventually, I left them there—Irere was clearly upset that I wouldn't accept the new bracelet.
Days passed, and one day while I was at work, my phone rang from an unknown number. I answered, and it was Irere, asking to meet so she could give me the new bracelet after thinking it over. We arranged to meet at 6 p.m., and she wished me a good day at work—I wished her the same before we hung up. I couldn't keep this from Mubaraka, my assistant. He was excited and asked to see a photo of her, but I didn't have one on me, though I promised I'd bring it next time.
I was early to our meeting place, watching everyone who walked in, hoping it was Irere. Ten minutes passed; I called her, but she didn't answer. I waited until 7 p.m., but she never showed up. Furious—I hated wasting time—my father always told me, "Our time on earth is numbered and unknown; we must value it."
I ignored Irere's calls for days, still angry. Mubaraka urged me not to stay mad without understanding what happened. Months later, Irere managed to get in touch, and I agreed to see her. I warned her that if she lied to me again, I wouldn't give her another chance. When we met, she apologized and explained she'd received news on her way to see me that her grandmother had passed away, and she'd rushed back home. She said she'd sent me a message that night explaining everything, but I hadn't seen it. I forgave her, realizing my anger had been baseless.
She offered me the bracelet again. I refused, saying she should keep it as a memory of her grandmother. She replied softly that I, too, was important to her. Reluctantly, I let her put the bracelet on my wrist—and that's how our relationship began, with Ayinkamiye watching happily.
Years passed. I realized Irere was the right woman to marry. Three years after we started dating, during the inauguration of our company's new building, I introduced Irere to my family as the woman I loved. Ayinkamiye was thrilled; so were my parents, who supported us completely. Our love deepened, and we began planning our wedding together. I was happier than ever.
At the wedding, Mubaraka teased me, asking when he'd get married himself. That morning, he hugged me and said, "Congratulations, my friend." Our wedding was unforgettable. Irere and I were overjoyed, and before leaving, she thanked Ayinkamiye profusely for bringing us together, promising to cherish me forever.
As Irere and I prepared to leave in the car, Mubaraka—drunk from celebrating—insisted on driving us. I refused firmly, arranging another car to take him home. He left unwillingly, but I couldn't risk our safety. Irere sat in the front seat as I drove, overwhelmed with happiness. I felt like the luckiest man alive.
We headed to the airport for our honeymoon by the ocean, everything paid for by my father. On the way, I got a call confirming that Mubaraka had made it home safely. I set the phone down, only to see Irere gazing at me intently. I asked why she was staring, and she said softly, "I love you so much," words she'd repeated since the day she agreed to be mine.
She leaned in to kiss my cheek; I hesitated, lost control of the car, swerved off the road—and that's how Irere and I had an accident on the night of our wedding.