SOTERIA’S POV
I had been drifting in and out of a shallow, fragmented sleep for hours, the kind of restless slumber where your mind refuses to fully drop its guard because your heart is heavy and anxious.
I shifted against the pillows, my long hair falling loosely across my face as I rolled onto my side.
I blinked, my long eyelashes heavy, trying to clear the fog from my vision.
My eyes drifted aimlessly toward the foot of the bed, a routine check to convince my subconscious that the shadows weren’t playing tricks on me.
But the shadow near the foot of the bed wasn’t uniform. It had a mass, a distinct, towering geometry that didn’t belong to the furniture.
My breathing completely hitched in my throat. I froze, my entire body going rigid beneath the duvet as my gaze traveled slowly upward.
A man was sitting on a low stool near the edge of the mattress, leaning slightly forward with his right hand resting flat against his knee.
I shook my head vigorously, closing my eyes tight for three agonizing seconds.
It’s another dream,
I told myself, a hot, desperate wave of frustration washing over me.
I opened my eyes again. He was still there. And this time, he was moving.
The shadow leaned closer, entering the direct shaft of moonlight.
The pale silver light caught the lines of his face, illuminating the faint, rugged roughness of a stubble along his jaw, the deep dark circles of profound exhaustion beneath his eyes, and then the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. A soft, incredibly tender smile that broke across his features.
“Babe...?” I whispered, my voice a tiny, fragile splinter of sound that didn’t even sound like my own.
It was thick with sleep, trembling with a terrifying, fragile hope.
I lifted my hand, my fingers shaking violently as I reached out through the dim light.
“Yes, Ziniya,” his voice rumbled through the quiet room.
It was low, rough, and laced with a deep, gravelly fatigue.
It was the sound of earth and iron, the sound that meant my airspace was completely clear.
“It’s me.”
The moment his voice vibrated against the walls of the room, something inside my brain simply snapped.
The composed spiritual fortress I had maintained for seven days disintegrated in a single, explosive microsecond.
“My babyyyyyy!”
The scream tore out of my throat, a high-pitched, ecstatic cry of pure, unadulterated joy that shattered the midnight silence of the entire house.
“My babyyyyyy! My babyyyy!”
I threw the duvet off my body like a wild whirlwind, my movements frantic and chaotic as I launched myself across the mattress.
I flew, my arms launching through the air to wrap around his neck with a desperate, terrifying force.
I gripped him so tight my fingers dug into his shirt, burying my face flat into the warm, solid hollow above his collarbone.
A loud, broken sob ripped from my chest, followed by another, and then the tears came – a violent, weeping torrent that soaked straight through his shirt within seconds.
I was shaking so hard my knees couldn’t find purchase on the edge of the bed, my entire frame vibrating with the sheer, overwhelming shock of his survival.
“Akila... Oh my God, Akila...” I wept hysterically, my voice cracking into jagged pieces as I squeezed him harder, trying to press my ribs through his chest wall.
“You’re real... you’re actually here... I’ve been dying, Akila... the silence was killing me...”
“I’m here, my queen. I’m right here,” he murmured into my hair, his right arm coming around my waist like an iron band, pulling my small frame up against his massive chest until there wasn’t a single millimeter of space left between us.
He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling in a rapid, frantic rhythm that matched the hammering of my own heart.
“I am here.”
I pulled my head back just an inch, my hands frantically framing his face, my thumbs tracking over his rough cheekbones, his eyelids, his nose, covering his skin with my wet palms.
My tears were getting into his eyes, mixing with the sweat on his skin, but he just kept smiling that beautiful, finished smile, his dark eyes locked onto mine with a fierce, unblinking devotion.
“You’re home,” I gasped, a fresh wave of sobs catching in my throat as I pressed my forehead against his lips.
“You’re actually out of that horrible bush. Thank You, Jesus... Oh God, thank You...”
For a few beautiful, intoxicating minutes, the world was perfect.
I held onto him.
But as the initial shock of the joy began to settle into a warm, heavy reality, my hands, which were still wandering to his left shoulders down to his torso.
My knuckles brushed against something rigid.
Something heavy, cold, and entirely synthetic.
I paused, my breathing catching in my throat.
I shifted my weight, my palms tracing the wide, textured strap of a black nylon webbed sling that was buckled securely across his chest, pinning his entire left arm flat and immobile against his ribs beneath the loose fabric of his pullover.
A sharp, icy current of fear instantly cut through the warmth in my veins.
I pulled back abruptly, my hands dropping from his face to grip the edges of his dark grey shirt.
“Babe... what is this?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
He tried to give me that same reassuring, gentle smile, but I noticed it now.
The tiny, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his left eye, the way his jaw muscles went completely rigid, and the slight, shallow catch in his breath as my weight shifted away from his uninjured side.
“It’s nothing, baby,” he said smoothly, his voice dropping into that calm, flat military register he used when he wanted to de-escalate a tactical crisis.
“Just a minor logistical precaution. Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t tell me it’s nothing!” My voice flared, the lively energy turning sharp, defensive, and fiercely alert as I gripped the hem of his pullover with both hands.
“Take off this shirt. Right now.”
“Soteria, seriously, let’s just rest.”
“No. Take it off!” I demanded, my voice cracking with a sudden, rising panic.
I didn’t wait for his permission.
My fingers grabbed the lower hem of the shirt, and with a frantic, aggressive motion, I guided it up his torso.
Akila let out a low, involuntary hiss of pure agony.
A sound that made my heart stop completely, as he carefully tilted his head to let the fabric slide over his right shoulder, keeping his left arm perfectly still within the tight nylon constraints of the black tactical sling.
When the shirt cleared his chest and dropped onto the mattress, the sight in front of me made the remaining color drain completely from my face.
His entire left shoulder and upper chest were covered in a massive, thick layer of sterile white hospital gauze, held down by heavy strips of medical tape that cut deep into his dark skin.
Around the margins of the clean white dressing, the bruising had already begun to surface.
It was an ugly landscape of deep purple and angry crimson that stretched across his deltoid.
“You’re hurt!” I gasped, the anger instantly bubbling to the surface, overriding the relief.
My voice rose, lively and sharp with immediate frustration.
“Akila, you got shot! Look at this bandage! Why are you here? Why on earth aren’t you in the hospital right now?”
“Babe, calm down,” he said smoothly, reaching out his right hand to capture my frantic fingers.
“The base hospital already sorted it out. They cleaned it, put in the stitches, and gave me a full pharmacy of drugs. There’s no need to sit in a hospital room when I have a home to go back to.”
“Are you joking right now?” I threw my hands up, utterly upset, my voice cutting through the quiet room.
“You took a bullet, Akila! A real bullet! And instead of being admitted like a normal patient so they can monitor you and make sure you don’t get an infection, you just walked out? You didn’t even think to treat yourself first before rushing down here?”
“I wanted to see you,” he said simply, his eyes dark and steady under the silver light.
“No, don’t give me that!” I huffed, crossing my arms tight over my chest and actively pulling myself away from his reach.
“You need to take care of yourself first! If you don’t take care of your body, who will do it for you? You can’t just keep treating yourself like you’re made of iron. Please, you need to go back to the hospital. Let them admit you properly tomorrow morning.”
Akila let out a low, weary chuckle, shaking his head as he leaned back slightly against the stool.
“I’m not going back, baby. I hate hospitals. They do absolutely nothing but make you sit around in ugly gowns and eat tasteless food. I have seen far worse than this on the field, Ziniya, and I survived every single one of them without hiding in a ward. This is just a scratch compared to what we deal with.”
“A scratch? You call a bullet wound a scratch?” I turned away from him, my face twisted into an upset pout.
I actively avoided looking at his bare chest, completely annoyed by his stubbornness.
“You are unbelievable.”
“Look, if it will make you feel better,” he offered, his voice softening into a gentle, persuasive rumble as he leaned a bit closer to my side of the bed,
“I can have a private nurse come over to the house tomorrow. They can check the dressing, verify the stitches, and do whatever inspection makes your heart rest. But I am not going back to be admitted. That’s a total dead end.”
I didn’t answer him.
I just kept my face turned toward the window, my shoulder completely locked against him.
I was so mad that he was being this casual about his own life, yet my heart was simultaneously aching.
“Ziniya,” he murmured softly.
When I didn’t move, he reached out with his uninjured right arm, his large, warm hand gently gripping me to pull me back toward him.
I resisted for a second, but my body was too tired to put up a real fight. I let him slide me against his good side, my shoulder resting right under his chin.
He just held me tightly for a long, quiet moment, his thumb rubbing soothing circles.
“I love you, Soteria,” he whispered into my hair, his voice deep, emotional, and thick with a week’s worth of unspoken longing.
“I missed you so much it felt like an actual weight in my chest.”
He leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering peck against my temple, the roughness of his stubble scraping gently against my skin.
“Now, get some sleep,” he said softly, slowly releasing his grip and standing up from the edge of the bed.
“I’m going to head to the other room to sleep. Effiom is crashed out in the guest room, so I’ll just use the second bed.”
My head snapped up instantly, my previous frustration momentarily vanished as I looked at him.
I widened my dark eyes, letting them look wet, heavy, and completely pathetic in the dim silver light, my lower lip pouting out as far as it could go in a classic, unvarnished display of my baby-eyes strategy.
“Why can’t you just stay here?” I pleaded, my voice dropping into a tiny, whiny
“The bed is huge, Akila. Just lie down on this side. I won’t touch your shoulder.”
Akila stopped dead in his tracks.
He looked down at my face, his gaze locking onto my wide eyes and my pouting lip, and I saw the immediate, agonizing conflict that flashed through his features.
A low, defeated groan rattled deep in his throat, and he closed his eyes for a brief second to fight back his own desires.
“No, ma’am,” he rasped, his voice dropping into a low, raw register that made a sudden thrill run straight down my spine.
He gently but firmly pried my fingers away.
“Though shalt not tempt the Lord thy God.”
My face went completely hot, a sudden, fierce blush spreading across my cheeks as his unvarnished honesty cut through the room.
I let go of him, pulling the white duvet all the way back up to my chin as my jaw practically dropped.
“You are a very annoying and stubborn man,” I muttered, hiding half my face under the sheet.
“I am a realistic man, my queen,” he smiled down at me, a beautiful, genuine warmth lighting up his dark eyes as he turned and quietly walked across the hardwood floor.
The bedroom door clicked shut silently behind him.
I was left sitting in the middle of the large bed, my lips pressed back into a heavy, dramatic pout.
I stared at the closed door, my mind a chaotic, tangled mess of emotions.
I couldn’t even tell if I was still genuinely upset with him for avoiding the hospital, or if I was just desperately missing his warmth on the empty mattress beside me.
The house felt too quiet again, the distant hum of the AC filling the space where his deep voice had just been.
I rolled over and tried to close my eyes, force my brain to sleep, but my mind kept replaying the sight of that thick white gauze and the angry purple bruising on his shoulder.
My heart felt incredibly small, weak, and exhausted from the sheer emotional whiplash of the night.
I shifted onto my back, staring up at the dark ceiling panels as the silver moonlight shifted across the room.
I let out a long, ragged sigh, my fingers lightly squeezing the edge of the duvet as I whispered a quiet, tired prayer into the dark.
“Lord... please just heal his shoulder. Teach that stubborn man how to care for himself... and keep him safe right here in this house. Thank You for bringing my baby home.”
As the final words left my lips, the heavy fog of the late-night fatigue finally won the battle.
My eyelids grew impossibly heavy, the tight knot of anxiety in my chest loosening just enough to let my breathing settle into a slow, rhythmic cadence, and I finally slid down into a deep, dreamless sleep.
AKILAHYEL’S POV
The silence of the early morning always felt like an interrogation after a week in the bush.
I sat on the edge of the mattress in the guest room, my right hand steadying my left wrist as I carefully rolled my shoulder.
The movement sent a sharp, hot wire of pain straight down into my pectoral muscle, lighting up the margins of the wound beneath the fresh hospital gauze.
We had been given a full, mandatory week by the headquarters to do absolutely nothing.
But by 4am, the air-conditioned quiet of her family house was suffocating me.
I grabbed my canvas kit bag from the floor with my right hand, hoisting it over my uninjured shoulder with a low, silent exhale.
I didn’t want to wake Soteria. If I stayed until she opened those cute, luminous eyes and reached out with her warm palms to trace my jawline, I wouldn’t leave.
I walked down the tiled corridor, my boots making no sound against the polished stone.
At the door of her bedroom, I paused.
Inside, she was sleeping.
“Old man, what are you doing?”
A low, gravelly whisper broke the quiet of the hallway.
I didn’t turn around.
Effiom was standing just a few feet behind me, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes bloodshot.
The tape over the fresh shrapnel scratch on his cheek crinkled as he shook his head, a wry grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“You’re actually sneaking out?” Effiom muttered, stepping closer so his voice wouldn’t carry down the hall.
“Are you insane? Soteria is going to look for you, realize you bolted back to your bungalow, and she will personally hunt both of us down. We have a whole week off, Akila. Why are you running?”
“I need my own space to clear my head,” I said, my voice a flat, low rumble.
“Come give me a ride home.”
Effiom rolled his eyes, letting out a soft snort.
“Always the restless Captain. She’s your woman, and she’s my sister.
I promise you, the world won’t end if you stay with her. If we leave like this, she’s going to think I aided and abetted your escape. I’m the one who’ll face her tribunal.”
“I’ll take the heat,” I said, adjusting the strap of my kit bag.
“Let’s move.”
“Whatever you say, boss,” Effiom sighed, shaking his head in mock surrender.
“But when she comes looking for you, don’t call my name.”
SOTERIA’S POV
When I woke up to an empty guest room, my chest had tightened with a familiar, suffocating panic.
He left me again.
By the time I parked my car in his courtyard, a foul, heavy mood had settled over me.
I was exhausted, irritable, and running on two week’s worth of unspent anxiety.
I pushed the front door open, stepping into the living room.
Naya was sitting on the single armchair, her eyes widening as she saw my face.
Sensing the storm brewing, she gave me a sympathetic nod and quietly slipped down the hallway into her room, leaving us alone.
Akila was standing near the low wooden coffee table.
He was dressed in a simple black t-shirt, his massive frame completely still.
As his dark eyes lifted to mine, a soft, genuine smile broke across his rugged features.
“My love,” he murmured, his voice a low, warm rumble.
He stepped across the floorboards, reaching out with his right hand to gently cup the side of my face.
He pulled me into his uninjured right side, letting my forehead rest flat against his solid chest.
For a few seconds, I just held onto him, breathing in the familiar scent of woodsmoke and crisp cotton.
It was a miracle he was standing here.
I wanted to just melt into him, but as my hand shifted, my knuckles brushed against the rigid stiffness of his left shoulder.
He let out a tiny, sharp catch in his breath, his jaw muscles tightening.
A wave of frustration rose in my throat.
I pulled back, my palms flat against his chest, my lips pressing into a hard line.
“You snuck out,” I said, my voice tight, laced with the bitter edge of my foul mood.
“Before the sun was even up, babe. Why do you always do this? You take a bullet, you survive a brutal deployment, and the very first thing you do is run away from the people who want to look after you.”
Akila’s hand dropped, his expression flattening into that familiar, unreadable sheet of granite.
“I didn’t run away. I needed my own space.”
“Space?” I looked up at him, the anger threatening to spill over, but as I looked at the dark circles under his eyes, the exhaustion etched into his features, I forced the breath back down.
He just got back, I reminded myself.
Don’t fight him. Not today.
“I spent the whole time praying until my voice went dry, babe,” I whispered, the anger dissolving into a fragile, heavy vulnerability.
“Every time the phone rang, my heart stopped. I am terrified that one of these days, you won’t walk back through the door.”
Akila’s expression softened, the rigid military posture giving way to something deeply tender.
He stepped closer, closing the distance between us, and reached down to take both of my hands in his right palm.
“Nothing is going to happen to me, Ziniya,” he said, his tone perfectly level, carrying a quiet, absolute certainty that anchored the room.
“I am right here. I am a hard man to kill, and I have too much to live for to let a forest ridge take me away from you. Put the fear away. I’m home.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, looking at the subtle bulk of the gauze beneath his shirt.
“If you’re home, then prove it. Please, Akila. I am begging you. Let’s go to the hospital. Let a doctor properly check that shoulder.”
He sighed, a calm but unyielding refusal entering his eyes.
“No hospitals. You know how I feel about those wards. They are a waste of time, and I am not sitting in a hospital room.”
“Babe..”
“I’ll compromise,” he interrupted softly, his thumb sweeping over the back of my hand.
“I won’t go to the clinic, but I will have a private nurse come here. She can check the stitches and change the dressings right in this house. Deal?”
I looked at him, realizing this was the maximum ground the stubborn man I was in love with would ever yield.
The foul mood was still lingering, but the desire to keep the peace won.
I let out a long, defeated breath and nodded.
“Fine,” I muttered, giving up the fight.
“A nurse. But she comes now, and you stay on that couch and rest.”
“Deal,” he rumbled, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.
AKILAHYEL’S POV
The quiet that followed was exactly what my frayed nerves had been begging for, but this time, I wasn’t facing it alone.
Soteria had taken total control of my house.
Within an hour, she had contacted a trusted family nurse from Maitama and had her driven down to my place.
I didn’t protest.
I sat heavily on the leather sofa, letting the familiar weight of exhaustion finally take over now that the argument hadn’t materialized.
I knew she was in a foul mood when she arrived, and the fact that she chose to extend grace instead of a lecture humbled me more than I cared to admit.
The nurse, a no-nonsense older woman, arrived with a professional kit bag.
She moved with an efficiency that reminded me of field medics, though her tongue was considerably sharper.
“You soldiers think you are made of iron,” she grumbled under her breath as she snipped away the old, blood-stiffened hospital gauze.
I kept my eyes fixed on the ceiling, my jaw clenched as the fresh air hit the raw margins of the wound.
Soteria stood beside mw, her arms crossed over her chest, watching the procedure with a sharp, hawk-like intensity.
Her hair was slightly messy, a few loose curls framing her face.
Even in her quiet, brooding state, her presence filled the spartan concrete room with a warmth it usually lacked.
The nurse pressed a digital thermometer against my ear, waited for the beep, and then wrapped a blood pressure cuff around my right arm.
Her brow furrowed as she pumped the bulb, listening intently.
She released the valve, shook her head, and pulled a small lancet from her kit to prick my finger, checking my hemoglobin levels on a handheld meter.
“Just as I thought,” the nurse said, looking up with a stern expression.
“Captain, your blood level is critically low. You’ve lost far more blood than the hospital discharge report indicates, and your blood pressure is scraping the floor. You are running on pure adrenaline and stubbornness, and it stops today.”
Soteria stepped forward, her voice tight with instant concern.
“Is it dangerous?”
“If he keeps walking around like he’s indestructible? Yes,” the nurse replied, already pulling out an IV starter kit and a bag of saline mixed with intravenous iron and high-potency vitamins.
“He needs immediate fluid resuscitation and specific drugs to boost his blood production. Captain, lie back. I am placing you on an IV drip right now.”
I frowned, shifting uncomfortably.
“I don’t need a line in my arm. Just give me the oral tablets.”
“You will take the tablets and you will take this fluid,” the nurse corrected firmly, her tone leaving absolutely no room for negotiation.
“This is necessary treatment if you want to recuperate properly. If you fight me on this, I will call your commanding officer myself.”
Soteria walked over, standing directly over me.
“Baby. Lie down. Please.”
Her voice had dropped that sharp edge from earlier; it was just soft, pleading, and heavy with an anxiety I knew all too well.
I looked at her for a long second, then let out a low sigh, shifting my weight to lie flat along the length of the sofa, resting my head against the armrest.
“Fine,” I muttered.
The nurse moved quickly, tying the tourniquet around my right arm, finding a vein, and sliding the cannula in.
The cool rush of the fluid entering my bloodstream sent a sudden chill through my arm, but almost immediately, a heavy, deeply rooted exhaustion began to pull at my eyelids.
“This fluid will take about two hours to run through,” the nurse explained to Soteria, adjusting the roller clamp on the IV tubing.
“I will stay here until the fluid is done to monitor his vitals. He needs to sleep. The medication I injected into the line will help him do exactly that.”
Soteria nodded, her fingers gently reaching down to brush my forehead.
“Thank you. I’ll be right here.”
As my eyes drifted shut, the last thing I saw was Soteria sitting quietly in the single armchair near the sofa, her gaze anchored to my chest, ensuring that I was still breathing.
SOTERIA’S POV
The rhythmic, steady drip... drip... drip... of the IV fluid was the only sound that broke the silence of the living room.
Akila was deeply asleep, his breathing heavy and even, his large chest rising and falling beneath the black fabric of his shirt.
The nurse sat quietly at the dining table, noting down chart details and keeping a watchful eye on the clear plastic bag hanging from the improvised stand.
I sat in the armchair, my hands clasped tightly in my lap, staring at nothing.
Now that the immediate panic had subsided, now that Akila was safe and sleeping, the silence allowed the darkness I had been running from to finally catch up with me.
It had been months since my father passed away, but the trauma of his sudden absence still felt like a fresh, bleeding wound.
He had been the anchor of our family, the quiet strength we all relied on.
When he died, a massive portion of my world had simply collapsed into dust.
I was trying so hard not to be depressed.
Every single morning, I woke up and forced myself to smile, to be the lively, high-energy Soteria everyone expected me to be.
But lately, it felt like I was wading through deep, thick mud.
The grief wasn’t a sharp pain anymore; it was a slow, heavy, suffocating weight that was pulling me under.
I could feel myself slowly sinking into a dark depression, the edges of my mind turning gray and cold.
God had been merciful, though.
He had given me Akila, and He had given me my tight circle of friends and family.
They were the only sources of genuine happiness I had left.
The only bright lights that managed to pierce through the heavy fog of my grief.
When Akila was away in the forest, the fog became absolute.
The thought of losing him too, of having another vital piece of my heart violently ripped away, was a terrifying prospect that almost broke my resolve entirely.
A soft shadow fell over me.
I looked up to see Naya standing at the entrance of the corridor, her eyes filled with a deep, intuitive understanding.
She walked over smoothly, slipping her arms around my shoulders from behind, pulling me into a warm, fierce hug.
“He’s going to be fine, Soso,” Naya whispered into my hair, her voice vibrating with a sweet, sisterly comfort.
“He’s right here. He’s safe.”
A single, hot tear escaped my eye, rolling down my cheek before I could stop it.
I reached up, gripping Naya’s forearms.
“I feel like I’m sinking, Naya. Some days, the weight of everything... it just feels like it’s too much. If anything happens to him, I don’t think I can survive it.”
Naya squeezed me tighter, then walked around the chair to kneel right in front of me, taking both of my hands in hers.
Her expression was fiercely determined.
“Listen to me, baby girl,” Naya said, her voice dropping into a firm, absolute whisper.
“You are not going to sink into that fear. I won’t let you. God no go even gree. He did not bring you this far to let the darkness win. You are going to be completely fine. We are going to get through this together, okay?”
I managed a small, trembling nod, wiping my face with the back of my hand.
“Thank you, Naya.”
Naya looked over at her sleeping brother, a fond but exasperated expression crossing her features.
“You also need to give that big brother of mine a little bit of time, Soteria. You have to understand where he’s coming from. Akila has been fully independent since we were young. When my father died, he became the father, and the provider for me especially. He doesn’t know how to ask for help because he has spent his entire life being the one giving the help.”
She turned back to me, her eyes soft.
“He’s trying to be less independent around you, but it’s a muscle he has never used before. He feels like if he shows weakness, if he admits he’s in pain, he’s failing to protect us. It’s not that he’s pushing you away; he just literally doesn’t know how to let someone hold him.”
I let out a long breath, looking at Akila’s sleeping form, the rigid set of his jaw even in sleep.
“I understand, Naya. I really do. It just gets frustrating sometimes.”
“I know,” Naya laughed softly, standing up and tugging at my hand.
“Come on. Let’s leave the nurse to watch him. Let’s go into the kitchen, gist, and cook something for him to eat when he wakes up. He’s going to be starving.”
The kitchen in Akila’s bungalow was small, neat, and predictably spartan.
Naya immediately began pulling out ingredients — fresh tomatoes, peppers, onions, and a goat meat portion from the freezer — planning a rich, spicy pepper soup and some white rice.
“Alright, Captain’s lady,” Naya joked, handing me a knife and a wooden cutting board.
“Let’s see what you can do. Dicing the onions should be easy enough, right?”
I stared at the large purple onion like it was an unexploded ordnance.
“Naya, you know I don’t know how to cook. At my house, the staff handles everything. I am a complete novice.”
“Ah-ah!” Naya teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Don’t worry, just assist me. Follow my lead.”
What followed was an hour of pure, unadulterated chaos that did more to lift my spirits than any medication could have.
I was completely out of my depth. I held the knife awkwardly, my cuts uneven and thick.
At one point, when Naya asked me to add a tablespoon of salt, I mistakenly grabbed the cornstarch container, nearly ruining the base of the soup before she noticed.
“No, Soteeia! Stop!” Naya screamed with laughter, snatching the spoon away from me.
“That is not salt! Oh my God, you are going to poison my brother before the enemy even gets a chance!”
“They look exactly the same!” I defended myself, my cheeks burning as a genuine, bright laugh bubbled up from my chest.
“Why do you keep them in identical jars?”
“Because one is labeled ‘Salt’ and the other says ‘Cornstarch’!” Naya giggled, wiping a tear from her eye.
“Wow. You are officially banned from adding spices. Just wash the scent leaf for me. Please.”
We leaned against the counter, gisting about everything and nothing, the warmth of the boiling pepper soup filling the kitchen.
For the first time in weeks, the heavy, dark fog in my mind eased, replaced by the sweet, lighthearted joy of true sisterhood.
While we were finishing up the rice, the nurse walked into the kitchen, her kit bag fully packed over her shoulder.
“The fluid is completely done,” she announced, her expression satisfied.
“I have removed the cannula and placed a small bandage over the site. His blood pressure has stabilized to an extent, and his skin color looks much better. I have left the prescription for the iron boosters and the antibiotics on the table. Make sure he takes them with food.”
“Thank you so much,” I said, following her to the door to pay her and bid her goodbye, feeling an immense weight lift from my shoulders.
When I returned to the kitchen, Naya was just turning off the burner.
A moment later, a heavy, dragging footstep sounded in the corridor.
Akila appeared at the entrance of the kitchen, looking incredibly groggy, his eyes half-closed, his short hair completely tousled from the long sleep.
The color had returned to his face, the gray hue replaced by his usual healthy, dark complexion.
He didn’t say a word.
He walked straight past the counters, ignoring the pots, and moved directly toward Naya.
He wrapped his massive, right arm around Naya’s shoulders, pulling her into a tight, sleepy hug and planting a fond, loud peck on the side of her head.
“Thanks for the food, Naya,” he mumbled, his voice deep and raspy from sleep.
Naya patted his back, smiling up at him.
“Don’t thank me yet. Your woman nearly put cornstarch in your pepper soup.”
Akila let out a low, gravelly chuckle, his dark eyes slowly turning toward me.
The grogginess seemed to fade a little as he looked at my face, a soft, intense warmth settling into his gaze.
He stepped away from Naya, closing the small distance between us until he was standing right in front of me.
I turned to face him fully, my heart doing that familiar, rhythmic skip.
For a few long seconds, the rest of the world completely fell away.
We were entirely in our own bubble, the quiet intimacy between us so heavy and thick that the kitchen around us seemed to dissolve.
“Baby,” he murmured, his right hand reaching up, his thumb gently tracing the line of my jaw, his touch incredibly tender.
“Are you still mad at me?”
I looked up into his dark eyes, seeing the quiet vulnerability he usually kept so deeply hidden, and my heart completely melted.
“I can’t be mad at you for long, babe,” I whispered softly, my hands coming up to rest lightly against his waist.
“I just want you to rest well. I want you to take care of yourself. Can you do that for me?”
Akila looked down at me, his expression earnest, a small, genuine smile touching his lips.
“I don’t really know how to do that... but I will try. I promise.”
I smiled, a deep, profound sense of peace settling into my chest.
I nodded, stepping forward to wrap my arms around his waist, burying my face against his solid, warm chest, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart.
“Hey, look at me! Oh my God!”
Naya’s loud, dramatic voice suddenly shattered the silence of the kitchen.
She stood by the stove, her hands on her hips, her eyes rolled back so far they practically disappeared.
“This oppression is too much!” Naya shouted, shaking her head in mock disgust as she grabbed her phone from the counter.
“The single people are suffocating in this house! I cannot wait to leave and go to school. Biko, let me carry my rice and go to my room before the love chokes me!”
I burst out laughing, pulling back from Akila’s chest as he let out a loud, booming laugh that echoed beautifully against the concrete walls, the dark clouds of the past week finally completely gone.
Hi babiessss….
Do you think Akila is actually being too rigid or Soteria should give him grace??
Also, you guys deserve this extra long chapter for all the love you’ve shown me.
Thank you so much. Thank you for restacking, commenting and liking my posts.
Love itttt
Honestly, with Soteria's consistency, his rigidity will eventually melt. Every hard person is low-key a softie. They just need safety to unleash
Abi I should go and look for a solider to marry? 😭😭
Akila and my beautiful Soteria 🤗🤗