WANTING

The next day, Mungu woke up to the harsh glare of his room fluorescent lights. The previous night's fight still lingered in his mind like a bad omen. He lost badly. The memories swirled, taunting him – the roar of the crowd, the impact of the knockout blow, the look of disappointment in his boss and coach's eyes. He reached for the mini-bar filled with wine, twisting open a bottle of whiskey. The burn was a welcome distraction. He took another swig, letting the numbness creep in. The phone by the bed rang, shrill and insistent. He ignored it, letting it fall silent. The knock at the door was soft at first, tentative. Mungu didn't move. It came again, louder and more urgent. He pulled the blanket over his head, willing them to go away. The voice on the other side was muffled, familiar – coach Adam, concerned and weary. "Open up, kid! We need to talk." Mungu didn't respond. The knock ceased, followed by an uneasy silence. He waited, breath held, until the sound of retreating footsteps faded away. Alone once more, he reached for the bottle, its familiar solace a reminder that he wasn't ready to face the world outside. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months. The room became his sanctuary, the bottle his confidant and lost track of time, lost in the haze of his own despair. The world outside receded, and he was content to let it fade away. As months where turning to a year in the isolation the wine got done and he didn’t want meet people, Mungu lived in the room for two days and he was uncomfortable without wine, he finally made the decision to venture out to the bar. He dressed in the same worn clothes that had become his second skin, his hair unkempt and his face gaunt from neglect. Mungu walked in, his eyes scanning the room before landing on the bar. He slid onto a stool, his movements economical and confident. "hey, sir, give me a glass of whiskey," he said, his voice low and smooth. The bartender raised an eyebrow, but obliged, pouring a generous measure into a glass. Mungu took a sip, his eyes closing in appreciation as the liquor hit his tongue. "Another one, please," Mungu said, his voice a little softer now. The bartender poured another whiskey, sliding it over with a practiced motion. "You want to take it easy, man," the bartender said his voice low. "You're gonna be here all night." Mungu chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Don't worry, I can handle it," he said, taking a sip. As he raised his glass to signal for another, a woman slid onto the stool next to him. She was a vision, her hair dark and her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Hi, mind if I join you?" she asked with a smile, her voice husky. Mungu shook his head. "I'm Fatima Bennani. I couldn't help but notice you're enjoying your drinks quite a bit tonight." Mungu ignored her, focusing on the bartender to order his third glass. Fatima tried again. "I'm Fatima Bennani. What's your name?" Mungu didn't respond, still looking away. Fatima persisted. "Come on, I'm buying you a drink if you tell me your name." Mungu turned to her, slightly annoyed. "It's Mungu William." Fatima beamed. "Nice to meet you, Will Son! What brings you here tonight?" Mungu shrugged. "Just having a drink." "Madam what can i get for you?" The bartender interrupted, and Fatima ordered a mojito. As the bartender handed it to her, she took a sip and continued. "You know, I love this resort. The ambiance is so cozy. Do you come here often?" Mungu sighed. "Not really." Fatima laughed. "Well, you're certainly making the most of it tonight! Are you celebrating something?" Mungu shook his head. "No, just drinking." Fatima took another sip of her drink. "Well, you're doing a great job of it. Are you going to pay for this drink, or am I going to have to step in?" Mungu pulled out his wallet and paid for Fatima’s drink. "I'll get it." Fatima smiled. "Thanks for the drink, will son. It was nice meeting you, even if you weren't exactly chatty." Mungu nodded slightly, and Fatima took her drink, joining her friends across the bar. "Maybe I'll see you around," she said with a wave before walking away. Mungu finished his third whiskey, the glass empty in front of him. "Sir, park for me five bottles of your best red and seven for whiskey, make it faster," he said, his voice confident. As Mungu wanted to leave the bar to go back to his room, he slipped toward the back door, hoping to avoid any unwanted encounters. But just as he reached for the handle, Fatima emerged from the shadows, a playful grin on her lips. “Where do you think you’re going?” she teased, then, with a quick shove, pulled him into one of the dimly lit resort rooms. The door clicked shut, and in an instant, the air shifted; their bodies gravitated towards each other. Passion ignited, and in the haze of desire, Mungu allowed himself to forget everything but the moment. Unbeknownst to him, he left behind a seed of consequence—not in his mind but in Fatima. Hours Later, Mungu sprawled across the bed, lost in sleep. Fatima, eyes gleaming with ulterior motives, stealthily gathered his money from the wallet and his necklace. She slipped out, her laughter echoing softly as she made her escape, leaving no trace but a lingering scent of perfume. When Mungu finally awoke, the room felt strange and empty. He glanced around, puzzled. Realizing he was alone, putting on his clothes, he checked the wallet it was empty, the wine was there but didn’t notice the absence of the necklace around his neck. Instead, he headed to his room, thoughts already drifting to the next adventure. Little did he know, his night of escape had left a permanent mark, one that would change his life forever. Inside his room, he drank some more wine in the sitting room. Before he knew it, the room started spinning, and he fell asleep on the couch, later ending up on the floor. The early morning hours brought Mungu back to consciousness, and he found himself lying on the cold floor. Groggily, he got up and stumbled towards the bathroom to take a bath and clear his head. As he stepped into the bathroom, his heart sank. His necklace, the last remaining from his late mother, was missing. Panic set in as he frantically searched every nook and cranny. Memories of the previous night started flooding back, and his mind landed on Fatima, She had been overly friendly, and he recalled she had taken money from his wallet when he fell asleep. A suspicion crept in – could she have taken his necklace too? Without wasting another moment, Mungu rushed back to the bar, determined to find Fatima and retrieve his cherished necklace. As he entered the bar, the familiar sounds and smells hit him, but his focus was solely on finding Fatima and getting his necklace back. He stumbled into the dimly lit room desperation etched into his features as he scanned the room for any sign of the necklace. The lively chatter and clinking glasses did nothing to ease his rising panic. When he couldn't find Fatima too among the patrons, frustration boiled over. He stormed to the counter and confronted the bartender, demanding to know where Fatima was. The bartender, arms crossed, simply shrugged and replied, "I Don't know her, man." “What shit are you trying to say I was with her here yesterday!” Mungu said. That was enough to push Mungu over the edge. Words turned to fists as he launched himself at the unsuspecting bartender, igniting a chaotic brawl that sent patrons scrambling. Chairs toppled, glasses shattered, and before he knew it, a cacophony of sirens filled the air as the police arrived. Minutes later, with his hands cuffed and his heart racing, Mungu found himself in a stark holding cell. Youssef and Adam walked in at the police station, looking worried sick about their friend Mungu. As they approached the officer's desk, they were greeted by a stern-looking man with a file in front of him. "So, you're the friends of Mungu, huh?" he asked, eyeing them up and down. Youssef explained that they had just heard about the arrest and were there to sort things out. The officer explained that there friend. Had gotten into a fight at the bar, claiming a lady had stolen his necklace. Adam's face turned red with anger. "That necklace is the last remaining from his late mother!" he exclaimed. "I know Mungu wouldn't start a fight for no reason." The officer raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Uh-huh. Well, we've got witness statements saying he was the aggressor. But we can discuss the details later. You'll need to pay the fine for disturbing the peace." Youssef pulled out his wallet and asked how much the fine was. "50,000 shillings," the officer replied. They quickly handed over the cash, and the officer called out to the back, "Mungu, you're free to go!" A few moments later, Mungu walked out, looking sheepish. "Thanks, guys," he said, grinning. "Sorry to put in this trouble." Youssef shook his head, relieved. "Just be more careful next time, okay?" Adam chuckled. "Yeah, and maybe don't look for thieves in bars?" Mungu laughed, shrugging. "I'll try not to." After a brief stay, Mungu was released, disheveled and see things with regret. But as he stepped into the night, the realization hit him: he had to find Fatima, no matter the cost. With renewed determination, he set out to his room, the echo of Fatima's name fueling his resolve. He couldn't rest until they were together again.

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