“How about you chose the movie, I’ll come with pizza.” She said.

“No, you think of the movie, I already ordered pizza.” He replied.

After the “I love you, I love you too,” Ken rushed to the bedroom to spread the red flower petals on the bed. He took the scented candles and arranged them into a love shape. He then plugged in the red bulbs – the bulbs that were a language to their love life.

The next call: was a call from the hospital informing him that his wife was involved in a car accident. She had slid her Mercedes-Benz S-class into an oncoming track. The docs tried all they could to save her life, but before even Ken had reached to the hospital, she had already popped her clogs.

In the labyrinth of life, Ken was having a bad year. He had just lost his mother to cancer earlier that year. They had invested all the effort; from medical trips to india, prescribed doses to traditional treatments but all turned a debacle. They let live to the course of life.

Ken never remarried. He gave respect to the ash of his cremated wife that he had stored in a fancy container. It symbolized her presence in his life. That had led him to face a million rejections from his relatives. None of them entertained his dire decision of switching religions from christianity to hinduism. It hurt her elder sister even more, since she’s the one who struggled to pay his fees in the theology school.

The balcony of his house in Nayli was his favourite chill spot ever since his wife left. He always sat there and stared into the waves of the ocean, thoughts swimming through his wits. His fingers always played with the Cigar, as he allowed his memory to give him a ride to where he left his lighter. Sometimes he’d sip on his cognac, the drink that costed him a dime – he preferred it shipped to his chateau from Remy Martin winery in france, whose cockage fees was equivalent to the cost of the drink.

He wished his wife and mom could be alive to see his wins. His chain of businesses were getting lucrative day by day. He could have built his mom the house he always promised, or maybe take his wife to the Maldives vacation they’d invariably talked about.

Loneliness was his best company. There was nothing else he could do to change the past – he could only stare at the ash of his wife as he prayed every night, or take a flower to his mom’s grave to spread happiness in her afterlife.

Mr. Ogonji is a highly professional and talented journalist with a solid experience in covering compelling stories, reporting facts, and engaging audiences. He is driven to uncover the truth behind today's most pressing issues and share stories that make a genuine impact.

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