During a business trip to Gulu City, I unexpectedly ran into my ex-girlfriend Anna. Anna and I had been separated for almost three years.There was no major scandal behind our breakup. No betrayal. No shouting. Just small arguments, work pressure, misunderstandings, and disappointments that slowly piled up until we both became tired of trying. Eventually, we decided to separate quietly. No tears. No begging each other to stay. Just silence. After that, we went our separate ways into the big world that had long been awaiting us.
I remained busy with work in Kampala, while Anna moved back to Gulu City, where she started working in the hospitality industry at a small but popular lodge that hosted tourists and NGO workers. Despite the distance, sometimes my close friends would mention her in our conversations. “She’s doing well,” they would say. But throughout those three years, other than via our nosy friends, Anna and I never spoke to each other until that work trip to Gulu.
My company sent me to Gulu City to meet some clients. I checked into a hotel not far from the city centre. After finishing my meetings on the first day, I decided to go out for a sunset walk and clear my mind. Gulu was calm that evening. Boda bodas moved through the streets, shopkeepers were beginning to close their shops and the smell of roasted meat from roadside stalls filled the air as music spread from a nearby bar. It was “Jamila,” a song sung by Jose Chameleon that talks about a girl named Jamila who was chased by her husband after getting another woman. Hearing its lyrics, the melody and Chameleon’s catchy voice made it hard for me to resist a drink. Just a sip before the sun fully sets, I thought. I walked in.
It was a small, cozy place with simple wooden tables and stools. Laughter filled the place as “Jamila” played in the background. I walked toward the counter and ordered a cold Pepsi. Grabbing my Pepsi, I leaned on the counter and faced the carefree folks in front of me. My eyes couldn’t believe what they saw: it was her, Anna. She was standing at the counter, five steps away from my spot with her back toward me. I knew it was her immediately. As someone who had loved her dearly, I knew everything about her: her pose, her butterfly-tied hair and her perfume. She still had that lovely scent that lingered every time we were together and I loved it.
My heart skipped. Three years down the line, yet seeing her felt like it was just yesterday we broke up. The DJ, acting as if he knew what was happening, played “Mbilombilo” by Eddy Kenzo. This was the song we loved listening to back in our romantic era. With the heart bond that had been made between us in the past three years, she got the pull force and turned around. Our eyes met and we both froze in surprise. A few seconds of silence, memories and time passed by until she smiled softly and shyly. This made me blush in return.
“Ocha, is that you?”
“Yes… it’s me.” I chuckled nervously. Moving from our spots, we walked towards each other and sat on two chairs close to each other, opposite the bartender’s seat.
“You still drink Pepsi? I thought you grew out of it!”
“How could I?” I responded smilingly. “And you seem to still love mango juice?” I added.
At first, the conversation was awkward. Two people who had once loved each other deeply were now sitting facing each other like strangers. Even worse in a public bar with juice bottles in between.
But slowly, with each sip, the tension disappeared. We started talking about old memories, mutual friends, Kampala, work and life after our separation. Surprisingly, there was no anger anymore. Time had softened the wounds. Later that evening, Anna asked quietly, “Where are you staying?”
“I am resting at the Good Old Deals lodge!”
“I know that place.” She nodded. Then she paused for a moment. “Do you want to take a walk?”
With so much excitement, love and smiles, I didn’t refuse but nodded a big yes. We walked through the quiet streets of Gulu. The night breeze moved gently through the trees as we talked and laughed like we used to three years ago.
For a moment, it felt as though the years between our reunion had disappeared. Some feelings, perhaps, never completely die. Before I realized what was happening, Anna came back to the hotel with me and we shared the room.
That night, neither of us thought much about tomorrow. Maybe we both believed it was simply a moment. A lifetime moment we wished to last an eternity. Just one night and then we return back to our fates, we both thought.
The next morning, I woke up late. The sun’s rays penetrated the room through the white curtains. Anna was awake, standing quietly near the window, wearing my white shirt and admiring the landscapes. Seeing her like that felt strangely familiar. For a moment, it was as if the last three years had never happened, and neither had the Guru business trip.
But as I got out of bed, something caught my attention. I froze. My bedsheets were wet. It was impossible to ignore. And suddenly, a strange feeling came over me. Something about that night didn’t feel ordinary anymore. As the fear began to sink in… I woke up.
Anna was not there. I was in my room back in Kampala. Oh, it had all been a dream!
