SOTERIA’S POV
The village of my ancestors is a place of beautiful, terrifying shadows.
In Abuja, the grief felt like a sharp, cold glass. Modern and clinical.
Here, in the heart of Akwa Ibom, it feels ancient. It is in the dampness of the air, the scent of crushed palm fronds, and the rhythmic, low-pitched chanting of the elders that seems to rise from the very soil of our compound.
Normally, for a man of my father’s stature, the rites would stretch for twelve long, grueling days.
The tradition here is a hungry thing; it demands time, sacrifices of cattle, and endless cycles of mourning songs.
But we couldn’t do it. Mummy couldn’t do it.
We decided on a two-day ceremony.
A military “Laying in State” and the final interment the following day.
We wanted to honor the General, but we wanted to protect the man he was, a man of peace, not of endless spectacle.
I woke up this morning in my father’s village house, the one he built with such pride but rarely got to sleep in.
The ceiling fan whirred overhead, cutting through the humid air, but the silence in the room was deafening.
We arrived yesterday amidst a whirlwind of sirens and military escort, and in that chaos, I had caught only a glimpse of Akila’s beret as he coordinated the transfer of the casket.
He had promised to look for me, but since we settled into the family wing, he has been a ghost.
I reached for my phone on the nightstand, my fingers trembling slightly.
It’s a pathetic thing to admit, but in the last two months, Akila has become something like oxygen to me.
When the world starts to spin too fast, I look for his steady gaze.
When the weight of being “the strong daughter” becomes too much, I think of his quiet strength on my kitchen floor.
I need to hear his voice. Just once. Just to know that I haven’t lost everything.
I dialed his number.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Voice mail.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and slumped back against the headboard.
Maybe he’s in a briefing. Maybe the signal in this part of the village is as patchy as the elders’ memories.
I tried again ten minutes later.
Still nothing.
The disappointment felt like a physical weight, pressing down on my chest. I know he’s busy.
I know Effiom probably has him running a thousand errands, checking the perimeter, meeting with the Brigade Commander, ensuring the 21-gun salute is timed to perfection.
But my heart isn’t a soldier; it doesn’t understand protocol. It just feels lonely.
I was staring at the wall, tracing the patterns in the mahogany wardrobe, when my phone suddenly vibrated in my hand.
I didn’t even look at the caller ID. I swiped up so fast I nearly dropped the device.
“Akila?” I breathed into the receiver, my voice thick with a hope that was almost painful.
“Babe? It’s Zainab.”
The silence that followed was only a second long, but it felt like an eternity.
The air rushed out of me, leaving me feeling hollowed out and foolish.
“Oh... Zainab. Hey,” I said, forcing a tone that didn’t sound like a total collapse.
“I’m so sorry, babe,” Zainab’s voice came through, clear and warm, a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere of the village.
“I just... I had to call. I’ve been staring at my laptop all day, thinking about you in that big house. How are you holding up? How is the village?”
I sat up, rubbing my temples.
“It’s a lot, Zee. The air is different here. It’s like the trees are watching us mourn. Everything is so... traditional. But we’re okay. We’re managing.”
“I feel like such a terrible friend for not being there,” she sighed, and I could hear the genuine frustration in her voice.
“I begged my HR manager. I told them it was my best friend’s father, a national hero. But they have this ‘blackout period’ for leave because of the new project launch. I’m stuck in this cubicle while you’re going through all that.”
“Zainab, please stop,” I said, and for the first time today, a small, genuine smile touched my lips.
“I really understand. Truly. You’ve been on the phone with me every single day. You sent those care packages to Abuja. You’ve been my sister from across the ocean. Don’t add guilt to your plate. I’m just glad I can hear your voice.”
“Is everyone there? How is your mom?”
“She’s a rock. A tired rock, but a rock nonetheless. The aunts and uncles are already starting the ‘committee’ meetings in the parlor. You know how it is. They’re arguing about the size of the cows and who gets to sit in the front row. It’s a distraction, I guess.”
“And the Captain?” Zainab asked, her voice dropping an octave, teasing just enough to make my heart sting.
“Is he being the hero we know he is?”
I looked down at my lap, picking at a loose thread on the bedspread.
“He’s busy, Zee. He’s with the military delegation. I haven’t seen him since we landed. I tried calling, but... nothing.”
“He’ll show up, Soso. He’s probably just making sure no one messes up the General’s honors. Give him grace.”
“I am. I’m trying. It’s just... everything feels more real here. In Abuja, I could pretend. Here, his grave is being dug just a few yards away. It makes me want to cling to whatever is familiar.”
We talked for another twenty minutes.
She told me about the mundane chaos of her office, a deliberate attempt to pull me out of the funeral fog, and I let her.
I needed the distraction.
When we hung up, the room felt a little less oppressive, but the underlying ache was still there.
I stood up and walked to the window. From here, I could see the edge of the large white canopy they were erecting for the guests.
Men were moving chairs, and the sound of hammers hitting nails echoed through the trees.
Tomorrow, the official rites begin. Tomorrow, the “General” returns to the earth, and the “Father” leaves us forever.
My family was downstairs, embroiled in the logistics of grief.
My brothers were being men of action, and my mother was being a woman of grace.
I felt like I was floating somewhere in between. I wanted to be helpful, I wanted to be the “Unwana” they needed, but I felt so small.
I missed the way Akila’s presence made the room feel smaller and safer.
I picked up my Bible from the nightstand, the leather soft and familiar under my palms. If I couldn’t find him, I knew where to find the Peace he had introduced me to. I sat by the window, opened to the Psalms, and began to read.
The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?
The words were steady. The Word was a rock. But as I read, my ears were still straining for the sound of a heavy boot on the stairs, or the vibration of a phone that would tell me my Captain was finally at the gate. I would wait. I would plan. I would seek the Father.
But I would keep my heart open for the man who had become the earthly reflection of that Father’s protection.
Next Day
Upstairs, in the spacious room that had been assigned to the three of us, the atmosphere was heavy with the smell of menthol and lavender.
Naya was lying flat on her back, her face pale and a damp towel draped across her forehead.
She had woken up with a severe fever, shivering despite the heat, her body finally giving in to the stress of the last two weeks of preparation.
Amara and I had spent the better part of the morning fussing over her, making her drink small sips of warm water and forcing her to swallow paracetamol.
I was sitting on the edge of the second bed, my fingers mindlessly folding the hem of my cotton shorts, my ears strained as they had been for the last twenty four hours.
Every single sound from downstairs, every heavy boot on the floorboards, every deep voice echoing from the courtyard made my chest tighten with a desperate, familiar hope.
I kept thinking it would be him.
He had promised he would look for me the moment they finished the honors handover on the tarmac, but it’s been two days and my phone remained stubbornly quiet.
Suddenly, the heavy mahogany door was pushed open with a loud bang.
My little cousin, Chidi, from my mother’s sister who married an igbo man, a hyperactive seven year old who had been running wild around the compound since we arrived, came bursting into the room.
He was panting, his forehead slick with sweat, his eyes wide with the importance of delivering a message.
“Auntie Wana! Auntie Wana!” he shouted, his little voice piercing the quiet of the room.
“Somebody is looking for you downstairs! He just entered the compound now now!”
My heart didn’t just skip; it felt like it leaped completely out of my chest.
A sudden, electric jolt of adrenaline rushed through my veins. It was him.
It had to be him.
Amara looked up from where she was squeezing out Naya’s towel, her face instantly lighting up with a matching expression of high excitement.
“Lover girl! It’s him! Go, go, go! Let me even follow you down, I need to stretch my legs anyway!”
“Chidi, who is it? Is it a soldier man?”
I asked, already throwing off my wrapper, my legs moving before my brain could even process the question.
“I don’t know, he is just a fine uncle that came with a big car!” Chidi yelled before turning around and sprinting back down the hallway.
“Amara, let’s go,” I breathed, my heart drumming a frantic, happy rhythm against my ribs. I looked back at the bed.
“Naya, please just rest, okay? We will be right back.”
Naya gave a weak, tired nod from under her blanket, her voice barely a whisper. “Go, my love. Tell him I said well done.”
Amara and I practically flew down the stairs.
My slippers were making a loud slapping sound against the terrazzo steps, my breathing shallow, my mind already imagining the relief I would feel the moment I saw that olive green uniform or even just his plain clothes.
I wanted to see his face.
We rounded the corner of the staircase, burst through the double doors of the main parlor, and ran out onto the shaded veranda.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
The excitement in my chest died so fast it felt like a physical blow to my stomach.
Standing by the silver car parked near the generator house was not Akila.
He wasn’t wearing a uniform. He was dressed in a well fitted linen shirt and expensive sunglasses tucked into his collar, looking completely out of place against the rustic background of my father’s ancestral home.
It was Ayo.
He turned around when he heard the door open, a soft, familiar smile spreading across his face as he took off his sunglasses.
He looked exactly the same as he did the day we broke up, polished, handsome, and entirely confident.
“Hi, baby,” he said, his voice smooth as silk as he took two long steps toward me.
Before I could even find my voice, before my brain could process the sheer absurdity of his presence in my father’s village, Ayo reached out and pulled me into a tight, firm hug.
He smelled of the expensive cologne he always imported, a scent that used to make me feel safe but now just made my stomach churn with a violent wave of confusion.
I froze for a split second, the sheer shock keeping my limbs heavy, and then a sudden flash of anger cleared the fog in my mind.
I pressed my palms against his chest and pushed him back with everything I had, breaking the embrace so forcefully that he had to take a step back to balance himself.
“Who is your baby?” I snapped, my voice shaking with a mixture of rage and disappointment.
“What the hell, Ayo? Like, what are you doing here? Are you insane?”
Ayo looked at me, his hands raised in a defensive gesture, his eyebrows furrowing in genuine confusion.
“Babe, I don’t understand. I came here to see you. Why are you acting like this?”
“You came here to see me?” I repeated, my voice rising, completely unbothered by the fact that two of my aunts were currently sitting under the mango tree nearby, watching us with sharp, curious eyes.
“Ayo, my dad has been dead for how long? Two months! For two whole months, my family has been in hell, and you just show up now in the middle of our village? What is wrong with you?”
Amara stepped up beside me, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her face hardened into a protective scowl.
“Ayo, seriously, what is the meaning of this? You just show up here like you belong here?”
Ayo looked around the compound, clearly uncomfortable with the attention we were drawing from the extended family members who were milling about.
He shifted from foot to foot, his polished leather shoes kicking up a small cloud of red dust.
“Babs, please,” he said, his voice dropping to a hurried whisper.
“Can we go outside the gate? Just to talk? Please, let’s just step outside for a minute.”
Amara barked out a short, bitter laugh.
“Go where, please? You can’t be seen outside with her. Do you know where you are?.”
I rubbed my temples, a massive headache suddenly blooming behind my eyes.
The disappointment of him not being Akila, combined with the sheer exhaustion of the last few weeks, was making me feel entirely lightheaded.
I looked at Ayo, and for the first time, I didn’t see the man who had broken my heart. I just saw a massive, unwanted distraction.
“Ayo, I am already so tired,” I sighed, my shoulders slumping as the anger began to drain out of me, leaving only a heavy, dry fatigue.
“Oh my God, Ayo, please, just go. Just enter your car and go back to wherever you came from. I don’t have the energy for this.”
“Soso, just listen to me for one minute, please,”
Ayo pleaded, taking a small step closer but keeping his hands to himself this time.
“I came all the way to your village because of the burial. I just heard about it. I swear to you, I have not been in the country.”
“The day after we broke up, I switched off my Nigerian line. I went on a vacation. I was not in the mood to talk to anybody after everything that happened between us. I needed space, babes. I promise you, I didn’t know.”
I stared at him, my brow furrowing.
“You didn’t know?”
“I didn’t,” he said, his eyes earnest.
“I blocked you on all my social media accounts right after the breakup because looking at your pictures was hurting me too much. I blocked your friends, I didn’t check any news from Nigeria. I was touring around Europe, just trying to clear my head. My family had been trying to reach me on my roaming line, but I barely looked at it. I just wanted to be completely off the grid.”
Amara snorted from behind me.
“Off the grid while a whole Major General died? Very convenient.”
“Amara, I am telling the truth!” Ayo said, turning to her for a second before looking back at me with desperation in his eyes.
“Babe, I decided to come back online just two days ago when I arrived in Lagos. I put my Nigerian SIM card back in, and my eldest sister had sent me a huge wall of messages, asking me where on earth I was and why my phone was off. That was when she told me.”
“She told me that General Idorenyin had passed away two months ago and that the burial was happening this week in the village. The moment I read it, I didn’t even think twice. I booked a flight to Uyo yesterday, rented this car, and drove down here today. I came to see you.”
I stood there on the veranda, the sound of the insects in the nearby bushes filling the silence between us. It was a lot to take in.
Part of me wanted to yell at him for being so childish as to go completely dark just because of a breakup, but another part of me, the part that had been spending the last month learning about grace and mercy, felt a sudden stillness.
“Wow,” I said softly, my voice barely carrying over the humid breeze.
“That is a lot, Ayo. I’m sorry we broke up the way we did, but right now, I don’t even think I’m in the mood to talk about our past or our breakup. My head is completely in another place.”
“No, Soso, you are getting it wrong,” Ayo said quickly, shaking his head.
“I didn’t come here to talk about our breakup. I didn’t come to force you to come back to me or to rehash the past. I came to see you because I knew you would be going through stuff. I know how much you loved your dad.”
“Even when we were together, you talked about him every single day. I just came here to be your friend, babes. I came to honor your dad because I feel really bad that I have not been around to be a source of support to you when everything happened.”
I looked at him, searching his face for any sign of the old selfishness, but his eyes were just filled with a quiet, genuine regret.
The anger in my heart died down completely, replaced by that steady, calm peace I had been cultivating during our nightly prayers in Abuja.
“It’s fine, Ayo,” I said, a faint, gentle smile appearing on my face.
“Life happens. It’s honestly fine. You didn’t know, and you’re here now. Thank you for coming.”
“Please,” Ayo said, his eyes scanning the compound again before settling on me.
“Can we just go out? Just a short stroll down the road? No cars, no noise, just a walk so we can talk properly without your whole family staring at us like we are doing a stage play.”
Amara instantly stepped forward, her eyes flashing with suspicion.
She looked at Ayo, then she turned her sharp gaze to me.
“Stroll where, please? Sote, you are not going anywhere outside this gate. If Effiom sees you walking on the village road with your ex boyfriend, do you know what will happen? The military boys are everywhere.”
I looked at Amara, seeing the fierce, protective love in her eyes.
She was just trying to guard me, just like Akila always did.
But the air inside the compound felt so heavy, so choked with the expectation of the funeral, and I realized that maybe a five minute walk outside the walls would actually give me a second to clear my own head.
“Amara, please,” I said, reaching out to touch her arm gently.
“Let me just... let me just stroll out with him for a while. Let’s just talk. I need to even get out of this compound for a bit, the air inside is too heavy. Please, Amara.”
Amara looked at my hand on her arm, then she looked at Ayo, letting out a long, dramatic Nigerian sigh, the kind that came from the depths of her stomach.
“Hmm. I shall be behind you guys, though. I don’t want to hear any stories. If I see any funny movement, I am calling Effiom immediately.”
Ayo smiled weakly, putting his hands up again.
“Amara, I am not going to hurt her. I just want to talk to her as a friend.”
“I am not saying you are going to hurt her,” Amara snapped back, her tone sharp as a razor.
“I am just being careful. You people think village life is like Lagos. Eyes are everywhere. Let’s go, but I am staying twenty steps behind you.”
“Okay, it’s fine,” Ayo said, clearly relieved that she had agreed.
We walked out of the heavy iron gates of the compound, the red dust of the village road immediately shifting under our feet.
The afternoon sun was beginning to drop, casting long, dramatic shadows through the high palm trees that lined the path.
Amara kept her promise, walking several paces behind us, her eyes fixed on our backs like a hawk guarding its nest.
For the first few minutes, the only sound was the crunching of the dirt beneath our shoes and the distant sound of music playing from a local shop far down the main road.
“So,” Ayo started, his hands tucked into his linen trousers as he looked at the green foliage around us.
“How have you been, babes? Really?”
I drew in a long, slow breath, the scent of burning firewood and damp earth filling my nose.
“I’ve been okay, Ayo. It’s been the hardest two months of my entire life, I won’t lie to you. There were days I felt like I couldn’t even stand up from the bed. But... I found God, Ayo. Truly. Not the way we used to talk about it before. I found Him in the middle of the dark.”
Ayo stopped walking for a fraction of a second, looking at me with a surprise that he couldn’t quite mask.
“You found God? Like, church?”
“More than church,” I said, a soft, confident tone entering my voice.
“I found His peace. I’m healing, even though every single day is a battlefield. It’s tough. Some mornings I wake up and for a second, I forget he’s gone, and then it hits me all over again.
“My dad was my giant, Ayo. He was the one who made me feel like nothing in this world could ever touch me.”
As the words left my mouth, the memory of my father’s heavy hand resting on my shoulder flashed behind my eyes.
The image of his uniform, his deep laugh that used to shake the whole living room, it all came rushing back with a violence that caught me completely off guard.
My throat suddenly constricted, that old, familiar stone lodging itself right back into my airway.
My chest began to heave, and my voice cracked down the middle as I tried to say his name.
“He was... he was everything to me, Ayo, and now...”
Before I could even finish the sentence, before the first tear could even spill over my eyelashes,
Ayo moved. With a swift, instinctive gentleness, he reached out and pulled me into his arms.
He wrapped his arms securely around my shoulders, tucking my head under his chin just like he used to do when we were together.
I didn’t push him away this time. I was too weak, too overwhelmed by the sudden wave of memories.
I let out a long, ragged sigh against his chest, my eyes closing as the sheer weight of my father’s absence pressed down on me again.
I didn’t cry out loud, but my body was trembling, my hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as I anchored myself against the sorrow.
“I know, babes,” Ayo whispered into my hair, his grip steady and warm.
“I know how much you loved him. Just breathe. I’m right here.”
I stayed there for a moment, letting the comfort of a familiar past hold me up, completely unaware of the world around us.
AKILAHYEL’S POV
The heat in the village committee room had been suffocating, but it was nothing compared to the fire burning under my collar.
My knuckles were still white from how hard I had been clenching my fists inside my pockets.
For two solid days since the military jet touched down in Akwa Ibom, I had been running on less than four hours of sleep.
I was navigating the tight ropes of military honors with the brigade commanders by morning and dealing with the internal politics of the Idorenyin extended family by afternoon.
Because the boys and Mummy trusted me completely, I was ushered into rooms where even high ranking distant relatives were barred.
I had become an honorary son of the house, a protector of their peace. But today, one of the uncles from the village had pushed the boundary too far.
The elders had gathered in the outer lounge, chewing kola nuts and throwing around ridiculous, greedy demands.
They were shouting about ancient customs, demanding millions of naira for meaningless things, and then the head uncle had the audacity to suggest that Mummy and Soteria would need to undergo some archaic local widowhood rituals to “cleanse” the compound.
Effiom had stood up so fast his wooden chair flew backward and crashed against the wall.
His face was pure thunder. If he hadn’t walked out of that room right then, he would have forgotten his uniform and laid hands on an elder.
I followed him out immediately, my jaw clamped so tight my teeth were grinding. It took everything inside me, every ounce of the grace I had been learning in our Bible studies, not to deck the man where he sat.
They were vultures trying to feed on a family’s deepest pain, and it disgusted me to my core.
I needed to see Soteria.
My mind was a chaotic mess of anger and exhaustion, and over the past month, she had become the only person who could quiet the noise in my head.
Just a look from her, just the sound of her steady, faith filled voice, would be enough to anchor me.
I drove down to the main family wing, my fingers tapping a restless rhythm against the steering wheel.
When I walked into the compound, the house felt strangely empty of her presence.
I scanned the veranda, the parlor, and the kitchen hallway, but there was no sign of her neat black gown. I spotted little Chidi playing with a plastic car near the garage.
“Chidi,” I called out, wiping the sweat from my forehead. “Where is Auntie Wana?”
The boy didn’t even look up from his toy, he just pointed his small finger toward the massive iron gates.
“She went outside the gate with one fine uncle.”
Outside the gate? With an uncle? My brow furrowed.
None of the uncles from the meeting had left.
I turned on my heel and walked out of the compound, my pace quickening with an uneasy, restless energy.
I rounded the corner of the red dust road, the high palm trees throwing long shadows across the path.
I spotted Amara first, standing several paces away, her arms folded tightly across her chest like a sentinel.
My eyes immediately traveled past her, searching the road.
Then, my heart stopped.
Soteria was there.
But she wasn’t alone. A man in a crisp linen shirt was holding her.
Not just holding her, she was tucked completely against his chest, her head under his chin, her hands gripping his shirt as if he were her lifeline.
A sudden, violent wave of jealousy hit me like a physical blow to the solar plexus.
It was a completely primitive, territorial feeling that ripped through my military discipline before I could even try to stop it.
My blood went from freezing cold to boiling hot in a fraction of a second.
Who the hell was this?
Who was touching my Soteria like he had the right to her grief?
I ground my teeth so hard a sharp pain shot up into my temples.
My fists clenched inside my pockets again, my boots hitting the dirt with a heavy, aggressive stride as I bypassed Amara without even acknowledging her.
I didn’t stop until I was standing right in front of them.
The air between us instantly turned to ice.
“Ahem,” I cleared my throat, the sound sharp, dry, and cutting through the quiet village air like a gunshot.
They broke apart instantly.
Soteria looked up, her eyes wide and startled, a sudden flash of worry crossing her face the moment she saw the rigid, unyielding expression on my face.
She looked almost guilty, her breath catching in her throat.
The man stepped back, quickly adjusting his collar. I recognized him.
It was Ayo, her ex boyfriend.
He looked at my uniform, my rank, and the sheer hostility radiating from my posture. He tried to play it cool, offering his hand with a smooth Lagos confidence that only made me want to squeeze it until his bones popped.
“Hi,” he said, forcing a polite smile.
“I’m Ayo. I’m a very good friend of Soteria... almost like her...” He caught himself, the word boyfriend dying on his tongue as he saw the dangerous glint in my eyes.
He cleared his throat. “I am her friend.”
Before I could even open my mouth to demand what he was doing in this village, Soteria stepped between us.
Her voice was hurried, desperate to clear the air.
“Akila, this is Ayo. You know him right? He’s my ex. He just arrived from Lagos after hearing about my dad.”
The title didn’t make the fire in my chest die down; it only poured kerosene on it.
I reached out and took his hand, gripping it with a firm, crushing pressure that let him know exactly where he stood.
I didn’t break eye contact with him for a single second.
“Captain Akila Hyel,” I said, my voice dangerously low.
I released his hand and immediately turned my back on him, completely dismissing his existence.
I looked down at Soteria, my eyes scanning her wet eyelashes and her flushed cheeks.
The jealousy was making me act entirely out of character, driving me past the boundaries I had spent weeks carefully maintaining.
I didn’t care about “trauma bonding” right now. I didn’t care about her grief or my rules.
I was just a man seeing another man hold the woman he loved.
“I need to see you,” I said, my voice clipped and tight.
Soteria looked at me, her eyes flickering with a soft, hesitant fear.
She looked at Ayo, then back at me, entirely stunned by the sudden, weird energy I was bringing to the quiet road.
Before she could even say a word, I took her till we got a bit far from her so called ex.
Amara saw us and had this glint of excitement in her eyes.
When we got to a corner, I stepped forward, reached out, and pulled her into my arms.
I didn’t do it gently. I pulled her against my chest with a fierce, possessive tightness that completely locked her limbs against mine.
I buried my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of vanilla and rain that had been haunting my dreams for two solid months.
I held her so tightly it probably hurt a little, my arms a heavy iron vice around her waist, letting the man behind us know exactly who she belonged to.
Soteria gasped against my shoulder, her body freezing in sheer, unadulterated shock.
She hadn’t expected this from the cold, professional Captain.
For a whole minute, I just held her there in the middle of the red road, letting my heartbeat roar against her ear, refusing to let go until the anger in my chest finally began to settle into a quiet warmth.
Then, as abruptly as I had grabbed her, I loosened my grip and stepped back.
I masked my face instantly, pulling the military shutter down over my eyes before she could see how much she had unraveled me.
“I’m going,” I said bluntly, turning on my heel.
Soteria stood there, completely stunned, her mouth slightly open as she stared at me like I had just dropped from Mars.
“Wait! Akila, what did you just do that for?” she called out, her voice full of confusion.
I stopped and looked back over my shoulder, shrugging with a casualness I didn’t feel.
“Nothing. I just missed you and I wanted a hug.”
She let out a soft gasp, her eyes widening in utter awe.
A sudden, playful light began to dance in her pupils, breaking through the sadness that had been there all morning.
“Ehhhh? Akila Hyel wants a hug keh? Since when did the Captain start begging for hugs on the road?”
I let out a soft, playful hiss, looking away as a sudden warmth crept up my neck.
“Why were you hugging Ayo then? If you can give out hugs to Lagos boys, why can’t I get one?”
Soteria opened her mouth to answer, her defensive words ready, but then she stopped.
She looked at the tight set of my jaw, the way I refused to look her in the eye, and the sheer protective awkwardness of my posture.
A sudden, beautiful realization crossed her face, and she burst into a loud, genuine laugh that echoed through the palm trees.
“Oh my God,” she giggled, stepping closer to me, completely ignoring Ayo who was standing like a statue behind.
“Akila, are you jealous? You are actually jealous!”
“What? Me? Jealous of what?” I snapped defensively, my voice rising an octave as my shyness completely took over.
“Please, I am an officer of the Nigerian Army. I don’t have time for such childish things. I have a briefing with the military police by 16:00. I am going.”
I turned to walk away, my face hot, but before I could take two steps, I felt a sharp, firm tug on my forearm.
Soteria dragged me back with a strength that caught me off guard.
Before I could protest, she threw her arms around my waist, leaning her entire body into mine.
She looked up into my eyes, her face just inches from mine, her smile fading into something deeply serious, deeply intense, and incredibly beautiful.
“You are the one I want, Akila,” she whispered, her voice a soft, steady vow that silenced every single doubt in my head.
“No man can ever take your place in my heart. Nobody.”
I froze, completely stunned into silence by the sheer honesty in her eyes.
My heart did a massive, chaotic flip against my ribs.
Before my brain could even form a response, she stood up on her tiptoes. Her soft lips pressed firmly against my cheek in a warm, lingering peck.
The next second, she broke the embrace, turned around, and went running down the red dust road toward the compound gates, her black gown fluttering behind her as she laughed.
Amara instantly followed her, throwing a triumphant, mocking look over her shoulder at Ayo.
I stood there in the middle of the village road, my hand slowly rising to touch the spot on my cheek where her lips had just been.
The jealousy was entirely gone, replaced by a sudden, dizzying happiness that made the red dirt feel like solid gold.
I looked over at Ayo, who was currently staring at his shoes, looking completely defeated.
I didn’t say a word to him. I just adjusted my beret, a small, triumphant smile finally breaking through my rigid expression, and began the walk back to my car.
She was mine.
And as I started the engine, I knew that no uncle, no village tradition, and definitely no Lagos ex could ever touch the light she had planted in my heart.
Urghhhh🥹🥹
My chest🥹🥹
Soteria is such a bold human😂
Enjoy the mushiness of this episode but prepare to cry in the next because it’s gonna be an emotional one 🥹🥹
Episode 19 pleasee not 20..
Ah ahnn. Akila is officially a loverboy. Who would have thought?😂😂😂