The vibrant stalls of the Accra market assaulted Ama’s senses – the
cacophony of vendors calling out, the pungent aroma of spices, and the
kaleidoscope of colors. She navigated the crowded alleys with ease, her
eyes scanning the stalls for the perfect fabric.
Suddenly, a gentle collision halted her progress. Apologetic eyes met
hers, and Ama’s gaze locked onto the stranger’s warm smile.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” they chimed in unison.
As they laughed, Ama’s gaze lingered on the stranger’s face – the sharp
jawline, the bright eyes, and the sprinkle of freckles across his nose.
“No harm done,” Ama said, her voice barely above a whisper.
The stranger’s smile deepened, and Ama’s heart skipped a beat.
“Kofi,” he said, offering his hand.
“Ama,” she replied, her handshake firm.
In that fleeting moment, something sparked – a connection neither
could explain.
“Perhaps I’ll see you around?” Kofi asked, his eyes sparkling with hope.
Ama nodded, smiling, and continued her way, the memory of their
chance encounter etched in her mind like a promise.