It began like a scene stolen from a quiet film, two strangers, drifting through the endless corridors of social media, until fate nudged their paths to cross.
Umar noticed her first.
Not in a grand way, no. Just a simple Facebook notification, Sadiya liked a post, commented somewhere, existed softly on his screen. But something about her lingered. Curious, he stepped into her world, her profile.
And there she was.
Radiant. Effortless. Her pictures told stories of beauty that felt almost unreal, each one more captivating than the last. Umar paused, stared, smiled… then stared again.
“This must be it,” he whispered to himself. “Jackpot.”
He couldn’t resist.
Salam, Hajiya Sadiya, he typed, his fingers betraying the rush in his chest. He hit send.
Then… silence.
One day passed.
Two days passed.
Each hour became a ritual, he opens Facebook, checks messages, closes it, repeats. His mind became a battlefield of doubt.
Maybe she’s too classy.
Maybe I’m not her type.
Maybe she saw me… and ignored me.
But hope is stubborn.
He sent another message.
Salam and good morning, Hajiya.
And then, like rain after drought, a reply.
Wasalam.
Umar froze. Then grinned like a man who had just heard good news from heaven.
Hajiya, my name is Umar… he began, nerves dancing between his words. Compliments followed: her name, her beauty, her presence.
She responded warmly.
Eyyah… thank you. But who is Umar?
He laughed, corrected himself, explained. She teased. He replied. And just like that, a spark became a flame.
What followed felt like magic.
Morning messages. Afternoon check-ins. Midnight conversations that refused to end.
Their laughter travelled through phone lines, their voices weaving familiarity into something deeper.
Umar was enchanted.
Her voice? Like music.
Her photos? Like poetry.
Her presence? Like perfection.
Each day, Sadiya appeared in a new outfit, a new glow, a new version of beauty that left Umar breathless.
He was convinced.
This is her. This is the one.
Sleep became optional. Thoughts of her became constant. Curiosity turned into obsession. He needed to see her, not pixels, not filtered frames, but real, breathing, standing before him.
So they planned it.
Kano.
Friday.
A meeting that would turn imagination into reality.
That week dragged like a stubborn shadow. Umar counted days, then hours, then minutes. He told his friends, laughed nervously, replayed her voice in his head like a favorite song.
Friday came.
He boarded the flight from Abuja, his heart racing faster than the plane.
He landed.
Called her immediately.
“Where are you, Hajiya?”
“I’m close. Almost at the airport,” she replied.
Umar stood still, scanning every face, every movement. His chest tightened with anticipation.
Then he saw her.
A lady, walking toward him, phone pressed to her ear.
Could it be her? he wondered.
No… it couldn’t be.
“Where are you?” he asked again.
“I’m in a red gown,” she said.
His heart skipped.
“I’m in white. I can see you,” he replied slowly.
But confusion crept in.
The girl in the photos… was fair. Radiant. Tall.
The one approaching him?
Different.
Very different.
Reality stood where imagination once lived.
“Hajiya… nice to meet you,” he said, forcing a smile that felt heavier than his luggage.
Up close, the truth settled in, uncomfortable, undeniable.
Something didn’t match.
Something wasn’t right.
Inside him, disappointment crashed like a silent storm.
I wasted my money.
This isn’t her… or maybe this is her.
His excitement drained, replaced by restlessness.
“Hajiya,… I actually have another appointment,” he muttered, already stepping back, already retreating.
She looked at him, perhaps confused, perhaps hurt, but he didn’t stay long enough to understand.
In less than a minute….
Eight months of laughter, connection, and late-night conversations collapsed into nothing.
As he walked away, one thought echoed louder than the rest:
Maybe… just maybe… the world we see online isn’t always the world that exists in reality.
And sometimes, the difference between the two… is enough to end everything.
Bagudu can be reached via bagudumohammed15197@gmail.com or 07034943575.
