Chai, this one weak me. Wetin Ife no expect for this life done happen to am. This life no balance o
Thank you aunty Rosy for the update

The heart always know its owner ... Las Las Ife is back with Oghene.

I prophecy, that yellow pawpaw that is doing me shakara, angel of God will bring you back to me.

Madam Rosemary33, you're welcome ma. This is a beautiful story.

Really interesting. Thanks for the update Rosemary33.

happy new week @Rosemary33 trust you had a splendid weekend and Sunday, hope you had a sweet night rest
I say make I greet you ooo

do4luv14:
happy new week @Rosemary33
trust you had a splendid weekend and Sunday,
hope you had a sweet night rest

I say make I greet you ooo

Twenty
Oghene

One terrible thing about having a grievous accusation hanging around your neck in Nigeria was that you were sentenced before you were declared guilty. Worse still, you automatically became responsible for every other crime in the neighborhood. Even if you were dead at the time of the crime and got resurrected afterward, they’d say your ghost did it.

It had been three weeks since I got bailed out from the police. Twenty days of returning every evening to whispers, offensive, accusing stares, and pointed fingers that reminded me of how desperately I needed to get a new apartment so I could move out of this one. I was sure that if I spent another week here, having my neighbors look at me with eyes burning with judgment as I left for work in the morning, and as I returned, hearing their hushed conversations and murmurs that erupted into aproko—gossip as soon as I passed, I would fall and die.

I fit mud myself. But baba Godeh no go gree.

I’d rather beat one or two of them up instead. At least that would teach others to mind their business and free me. Make them allow me make I die first before them bury me.

Yesterday morning, when I stepped out to buy pap and some Akara balls—breakfast for Ife—from Mama Clara, I overheard my landlord’s daughter speaking to her friend while pointing at me. "That's him," she’d said, loud enough for me to hear. "The rapist. I don’t know why the police released him. Now he has another woman in his house. I saw when he brought her in. She’s not come out since then. I worry about her. Who knows if he is raping her inside there."

I had clenched my fist, my nails digging into my palms as I walked past, wondering how a reasonable man like her father could give birth to mushi like that. The more I overheard her voice, the more I wanted to turn and scream at her to shut her mouth, but I couldn’t. I had to get a grip on myself. They were still seated outside when I returned. Avoiding eye contact, I walked past them again, each step feeling like I was dragging a ball and chain.

This morning, loud knocks at my door woke me up. It wasn’t even 5:00 a.m.

A girl had gone to have her bath and, when she returned, her phone and laptop had been stolen. Of course, I was the major suspect. If I could rape a woman, I could equally steal from a woman. I was so embarrassed and almost went into fight mode when our overbearing caretaker—who I swear was close pals with his village deity, his face could make a pregnant woman give birth to a masquerade—some over-enthusiastic, search-everywhere-by-force neighbors, the victim, a guy who had friends over, a commercial bike rider, and two males with speech impairments barged in and began turning my house upside down, responding to Ife’s confused insistence to know what was going on with:

“You no get family? You no go go your mama house? Na so una dey carry una body give men way be wolves in sheep clothing.”

After they were gone, while I was tying up my sneakers’ laces, getting ready to go to work, Ife asked me again what the whole drama was about. When I looked up at her face, I also saw the unasked questions.

“Why are your neighbors so hostile to you?”

“Why do you hardly leave the house to interact with any of them once you come in?”

“What do they mean by ‘wolves in sheep clothing’? Were those words referring to you?”

I wished I could tell her all about it—Sarima and the rape accusation. But I was afraid. Obviously, she hadn’t heard, and that was good for me. These few days she’d been with me while I took care of her had been my happiest moments in a while, although she still hadn’t told me what happened to her, and it hurts to see her like this, her bruises like the marks of an angry man—the kind I saw on Onuwaje mama’s body when I was a kid. Bruises that became less painful than mine as I tended to them, as I kept calling Ezioma, Shukudi’s wife, for instructions.

It was Ezioma who told me, that morning I returned to my house with Ife, the type of sanitary pad to get, the drugs and ointment for her bruises, and where to get some underwear and lady’s casual clothes, after I had embarrassingly explained things to her. Two days later, she visited with Juoshi to see this woman who I had the mind to keep in my house. That was when I told her about my feelings for Ife. Not that I could hide it anyways—she had pointed it out a few hours after she arrived, and her sister-in-law kept teasing me with my restlessness, my inability to sit still for a long time without going to check on Ife.

“Would you want Juochi to stay over and take care of her for you?” Ezioma had asked, not only concerned that I’d not gotten out of the rape case and now had a helpless woman in my house, but also the fact that it was risky for a single Christian guy like me to harbor a woman in my house whom I admitted I had feelings for.

Although I shared her sentiment, I told her that I could handle the situation. Juoshi could always visit and go back home. What was a sick woman that I couldn’t handle? What kind of man was I if I couldn’t control my desire for Ife while taking care of her?

But my gra-gra died last night when I walked into the room she was using without knocking and saw her in bed, wearing a subtly transparent nightgown. I was about to ask if I had bought that along with the other clothes when I remembered that I had. God, I didn’t know it was that...provocative. I could clearly make out several dark patches through the cloth: her bruises. One was a large mottling on her hip, another a bigger bruise on her ribs and stomach. But the others were not bruises at all. Her darker nìpples were clearly visible through the nightie, and the smoothness of her thighs was so evident.

A gasp of horror caught in my throat, but before I could grab a pillow and a blanket and leave, she called my name while drawing the duvet up to her stomach.

"Bro Oghene."

"Mh?"

“Can you...can you help me massage my shoulders with the Aboniki balm?” Her voice was low, pained. I had massaged her shoulders and back the first few days she was here, without this unholy desire, probably because I was so concerned about her getting better. By the sixth day, she was looking up, and my worries shifted into something else. Thank God she decided to relieve me of the task of massaging her. I doubted if I would have remained as aloof as I was in the previous days.

I looked distractedly down at the shoulder she’d turned slightly, at the bruises there that I’d seen and tended earlier, but that night, I was more concerned with other issues, like her near-nudity. When I moved the neckline of her wear to run my fingers across the bruises, she sucked in a startled gulp of air while my breath blew hot and rapid on her skin. I swore she felt it on her nìpple through the transparent nightie because the effect was almost shocking. She lay completely still, holding her breath as I examined her injury, taking an exceptionally long time doing so, much longer than I’d done in the previous days. And the whole time, I was inhaling and exhaling, deliberately sending warm puffs of air over her nipple, while my heart thundered with the guilt of this sweet immorality.

I knew it was wrong. My brain set off a warning alarm, urging me to quit this stupidity and leave immediately, but I couldn’t. I loved the feel of being near her, touching her skin, stroking her chest with my warm breath, watching an odd little tingle go through her each time my breath touched her skin. Then I lowered my hand to run a finger lightly around the discoloration on her arm, and my wrist brushed against her nìpple through the cloth.

She must have thought it was accidental, but the effect on her was startling. She closed her eyes, torn between telling me to stop and stay put to enjoy the astonishing effect I had on her.

I wanted her to do the former, to push me away as roughly as she could. Yet, I didn’t want that. I wanted to kiss her. Seriously, I must kiss her, or I would die of some sort of thirst. But then I had to heed the alarm in my head. This was a sin I wouldn’t want to bear the burden of its guilt. But God...it felt so damn good I could almost taste it—taste her.

She wanted it too. I knew she did because she was allowing me to do this, tilting her body slightly so her breast was near my face, her nìpples hardened and needy, daring me to stroke it, to lift her dress and run my tongue over them. Jesus! Her face, the corner of her bottom lip slightly trapped between her teeth.

I wanted to kiss her so badly that I felt the hunger swimming all over me. If she had just whispered, “Please, touch me, kiss me,” like she did that night in the Siena, I swear I would have thrown caution to the wind. The voice in my head said, ‘This is fleshly lust, the kind that would chop your wings off and make you spiritually lame,’ but the more I ran my fingers over her skin and watched her face melt with desire, the more my loins burned.

When I finally withdrew my hand from her arm and stood up, she opened her eyes. Before she could regain her senses to speak, I sat beside her again, tilted her face up, and brushed a shaky finger lightly in a circle along her left jaw.

"The bruise here is almost gone," I growled.

"Oh," she breathed, as my finger followed the edge of the bruise past the corner of her lips.

"You’ve beautiful eyes, Ife," I murmured, sounding in my ears like a stupid boy contemplating a naughty thing. I was shaking with fear and excitement.

"So do you," she whispered, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She knew I was scared, and unsure, and burning with desire. And she found it amusing.

When there was nothing else to say, and all that was left was to give in to the desire gnawing deep inside me, I stuttered an apology and hurried out, breathing heavily, like one who’d just escaped danger, when I got to the sitting room where I’d been sleeping since I brought her in.

Now, thinking about that night, I had to agree that the life of faith was nothing if not an unending struggle of the spirit against the flesh with every available weapon.

But I wouldn’t deny that I loved that night—the way she shivered at my touch, the hunger in her eyes. And I wouldn’t want to change that for any reason. That was why I couldn’t tell her about the deep kasala I was in. It was a good thing she hadn’t heard it from somewhere else. I hoped it stayed that way until the truth came out and I was vindicated.

I told her I had a fight some weeks ago with a neighbor who had sworn to make my life miserable. I felt she didn’t believe me. But she didn’t ask further.

“Waffi boy, how your babe na?” Shukudi said behind me, slapping the back of my head.

“Oghene get babe?” Agu asked, the toothpick dangling between his lips. They were just coming back from Nwanyi Calabar’s Kitchen where they had breakfast.

“You no know?” Shukudi said, giving me a wink before returning his attention to Agu. “I no blame you. Me sef, I didn’t know. I overheard my sister saying it some months ago, but I dismissed it as children’s talk because if it was true, this big head here would have told me.”

“Then how you come know say na true?”

“From my wife o,” Shukudi said, sitting down on the only bench in front of Oga Cee-to-Cee’s spare parts shop. “It happens that our friend here is more comfortable with my wife than with me.” He cleared his throat and spat on the ground. “But I am not jealous o. When he marry him own, I go do him back.”

“Wait o, Igbo boy. Watin you mean? You think say...Chai, you dey crase. Waka.” I retorted as the three of us burst out laughing.

In a short while, Shukudi was already letting the whole gist out about Ife and me, adding some salt and pepper to make the story juicy. They would glance up at me and laugh.

“We dey here they plan how to save this fool from the winch girl way accuse am of rape, him dey busy dey take care of another babe for house. My sister said he cooks for her. E remain make him baff her sef.”

The two let out more bouts of laughter, then Agu looked up at me.

“My man! My man!” he hailed. “Oghene the sharp guy. So you too like woman, ehn? You. Spirikoko church boy.”

I gave them a stink eye, hissed, and started walking off, but they followed me.

“The babe get yansh?” Agu asked, poking my back. “You know say yansh is life.”

“Agu you no get sense,” I muttered while he and Shukudi laughed, “Abeg comot for my back. Go find work do.”

“Oghene, why you dey pretend like say this thing no dey sweet you. You get babe. It’s a good thing. No dey tight chest like new dreadlocks.”

That was the problem. They thought I was already in a relationship with Ife and didn’t want to tell them. But that wasn’t true. I didn’t have any part of Ife; not her heart, not her commitment, not even her body. I knew she wanted me, maybe for a moment, just to quench her thirst. But I wanted more, so much more that taking the little she was willing to offer would leave me dry and dehydrated.

“You don shag am?” Agu asked, shocking me to a stop. “Ehen? If you fit get babe, then I no go surprise if I hear say you dey chop her kele behind God’s back. Ah, all these church guys sef, una too much o.”

I didn’t know if I should get offended by his stupid comment or be amused. “Agu, I no be you. I don’t gbensh like that.”

“Swear say you be virgin. Idiot. Swear with your village ogun make e kill you nau-nau,” Agu challenged, while Shukudi kept laughing like a mad person.

“I no get your time,” I dismissed. “But so you know, God’s original plan is that we all marry as virgins.”

“Then why didn’t he wait till our wedding nights to give us genitals?”

Jesus! Oghene bikor! What kind of people had I been paroling with as friends like this? Was I not just cursed with the naughtiest and senseless guys as friends?

About four hours later, while I was working on a customer’s car’s oil filter, my phone rang, and I regretted answering it immediately I heard the voice at the other end. A surge of anger roared to life within me, scorching and relentless, burning from the depths of my soul. My hands trembled, each muscle in my body taut with barely restrained rage.

“Bro Oghene. Please...don’t cut the call. Hear me out. Please.” She was crying. “I’m sorry. Please. I am so sorry...I didn’t know what happened that night and... Please. Forgive...”

Her words were like gasoline poured on the fire burning inside me. How dare she call my number just to yan okpata? Forgive her? How nau? Why? My blood pounded in my ears.

“I want to make things right,” she continued. “Please, let me come to your house and—”

“You dey crase!” I gritted, my teeth grinding together as I struggled to keep my voice steady. "You wan come my house? Come nau. Come if you know say you don sign your death certificate. Orkpokorise."

I jabbed my finger on the screen to hang up, but the anger remained, simmering just below the surface while I tried to concentrate on my work.

Thanks auntyrose, its always good reading your stories. God bless you.

chaii this Sarima na baskard, why Oghene no call the guy wey give Sarima him number sef,

make thunder faya her left boobs there Ewu

[quote author=Rosemary33 post=130854055]Twenty
Oghene


“I want to make things right,” she continued. “Please, let me come to your house and—”

“You dey crase!” I gritted, my teeth grinding together as I struggled to keep my voice steady. "You wan come my house? Come nau. Come if you know say you don sign your death certificate. Orkpokorise."

Truth truth the girl dey crase.

Thanks for the update madam

After the public shame and ridicule, you now want to carry your apology enter through the back door? Ko possible. Daddy Falana is on the case presently. We shall meet in court.

Madam Rosemary33, you're weldone o. Biko, some of us are single and the weather dey somehow here.

True true Samira dey craze ,bro oghene neva comot from the wahala wey she put am she wan cause another okpata. Thank you auntie Rosy. You are the best 🥰🥰🥰

Twenty-one
Ife

Have you ever looked at someone and seen pure poetry? A vision so aesthetically pleasing, utterly intoxicating, and authentically irresistible. For me, that someone was Oghene. In these few weeks spent at his house, I watched the night sky bathe in the reflection of his glittering eyes and breathtaking smile—a sight more beautiful than anything else in the world.

Around him, shedding my shame and embarrassment was effortless. His love made it easy: kind, caring, and considerate. A love that gently said, “We don’t have to talk about what happened if you’re not ready.” A love that checked on me constantly, ensuring I felt safe. His laughter at my lame jokes turned me into a comedian in his eyes.

These days, Oghene’s love made me question if I had ever truly been loved before. It was so wonderfully terrifying, this kind of love. Sometimes, I’d watch him, wondering if I deserved this love, if I was meant to be here, with him, in his home, receiving his kindness while offering nothing in return. Often, I fought back tears because all he seemed to want from me was my mere existence. His heart was full simply watching me.

And when he wasn’t around for my eyes to feast on, for he was so sexy that my body always went all hot whenever I saw him shirtless—initially, he wasn’t comfortable walking around bare torso, or his sweatpants drawn a little lower below his waist and he was sweating in the kitchen or while doing something else. I always felt like I was having an erection only I was a female. I’d lie in bed, thinking about us, feeling inadequate. He cooked his own meals, kept his place spotless, did his laundry impeccably—I couldn’t see where I fit into his life.

I feared he didn’t need me, and that thought tore at my soul.

I loved him.

Oh, how I had fallen—shattered the ground and plunged deep into the core of the earth in love with this delicate Warri boy. I didn’t know what to do, feeling like a fraud. Why hadn’t I chosen him when he first wanted me, before Preye led me to pain? Why hadn’t I realized sooner that the man I’d been waiting for was right in front of me all along, wearing a work coverall and an unsure, sexy smile?

Yes, he was sexy. Brother Oghene was a sexy son of God-knows-what. Shy, a little fearful when it came to sensuality, and cute. These few weeks revealed he was also a bad boy who loved Jesus. He didn’t know that side of him yet. He wasn’t aware of how disarming his lopsided smile was, or how his little gestures could make a daughter of Zion desire to UnCloth. He was everything I never knew I wanted.

Last night, when he walked into the room, it wasn’t my intention to make him uncomfortable. But when I half-opened my eyes and saw him staring at me, his chest rising and falling with desire, I couldn’t stop myself from drawing him in.

My cheeks flushed, my body came alive as he sat beside me, leaning closer, his forearm muscles flexing as he bent his elbow. He touched my bruises, his lips nearly grazing my nìpple. I was acutely aware of him: his scent, the heaving of his chest, the warmth of his breath. His wrist brushed my aching nìpple, making me fear my heart and essence might explode. I thought I would dissolve into the mattress when his wrist brushed against my nipple. But I didn’t. I opened my eyes slightly, breath caught in my throat as he looked at me from beneath his lashes. That simple look—one that said, “I respect you. I honor you. I care so much about you. But I also want to rip your clothes off and make love to you until you shatter beneath me”—ruined me completely.

I closed my eyes when he stroked my lips, his voice shaky, his fingers trembling. Then he pulled back, stood up, and I wished I knew how to capture moments like these and revisit them forever. Because that brief moment when his lust caught him off guard, and his desire for me became so visible, was everything.

But by morning, that moment was gone, rudely snatched away by neighbors who barged into the house in search of stolen items. When I asked Oghene about the commotion, hoping for more than a simple answer, he just said, "I had a fight with one of the tenants, and now they all don't like me."

His answer didn’t add up, but I let it go because he seemed to be avoiding a conversation. He made me breakfast as usual, smiling when I strolled into the kitchen, gently slapping my hands away when I reached for the bowl of tomatoes, guiding me to the corner where a plastic chair was and made me sit down. He even brought me my pills, carefully instructing me on how to take them.

"I know already, Oghene. I'm not a kid," I grumbled, but he insisted I listen and do nothing but bathe, eat, rest, and eat some more.

The sudden hum of the AC announced the restoration of power. I grabbed my phone and headed to the living room, hoping to find something interesting on the television.

As much as I loved this life, I feared I’d get too used to it. When it was time to leave and face reality, I worried I wouldn’t know how to be the alpha and omega of my own life again.

I turned on the TV and sat down to check my messages. There were a couple from work colleagues who I had told about my serious accident. Three were from Aleruchi, asking where I was and if she could visit.

"No, girlfriend. I wouldn't want you to see me in an oversized shirt at a man's house—the same man we both thought wasn’t good for me."

My brother had also left a message after calling me countless times. He wanted to know when I’d be returning home. "There’s something we need to talk about before your wedding."

I replied, mentally singing, "Satan, the number you are calling is not available," at the thought of the supposed wedding.

I also checked my email and responded to three messages from my HOD, reminding her that I’d return to work at the beginning of next month. This meant I had to leave this place by the weekend.

The thought of leaving suddenly dampened my spirit. I thought of how it had been between Oghene and me these past weeks, and I missed it—missed him. I realized how much I hated being alone. If I left, I’d be alone, and that would make me sick with longing for him. It was weird, this fear that my body would stop functioning normally without him. My heart wouldn’t be steady, my soul would sing numb, my fingers would grow cold. I would die of longing.

The feelings that would hurt most, the emotions that would sting, would be those that were absurd: longing for impossible things because they are impossible, nostalgia for what never was, the desire for what could have been, regret over not saying yes to him when he offered himself to me, dissatisfaction with a world without him. To regain balance, I’d either have to shamefacedly plead with him to ask me out again or learn to live without him. I feared doing the former because I wouldn’t know what to say if he asked why I chose him now. The latter wasn’t a better option because I’d tasted him, a forever sweetness in my mouth, a flavor noble, manly, and sexy.

Done with my emails, I dropped my phone and fixed my gaze on the TV where Mercy Johnson played a street girl in an old Nollywood movie. It held me for a while, then I lost interest. I picked up my phone again, stared at the screen for a moment. Maybe I should call Oghene. It was already evening, and we hadn’t spoken since he left in the morning. But what would I say?

I could tell him I was craving suya, or that the pain in my shoulders had resurfaced. Or that I missed him and wanted to hear his voice. It might not sound as sexy as his waking-up voice, but it would still be beautiful.

Goodness, Oghene’s waking-up voice could make a woman’s essence squirm and drip. The first time I heard it, my heart had dropped into my stomach, which felt like it had horses galloping in it. It was a Saturday, and I had woken up before him, walking into the living room where he lay on the sofa, on his stomach, the blanket tossed aside, one leg on the floor, the other on the sofa.

I had watched him for a while, then called his name twice before he stirred, turning to look at me, rubbing his eyes. His voice had come out in a low growl when he replied to my morning greeting, shaking my very core. Was that sofa big enough for two adults, and did I have the nerve to act on the stupidity that flowed into my head—

A soft knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. It came again, louder this time.

When I answered it, I saw Sister Sarima standing outside, shock written on her face.

"I—I," she started.

"Sister Sarima. Long time," I interrupted, trying to hide my embarrassment. I hadn’t seen or heard from her since her rushed wedding. I didn’t owe her an explanation for being in a brother-in-the-Lord’s house, but I felt a little bothered she might misinterpret the situation. "Ah-ahn. After your wedding, you just disappeared. How far now?"

She nodded, looking down at her fingers. "I am fine. I thought...I am here to see Bro Oghene."

"Sorry, he’s not back yet," I checked the time on my phone. "He’ll be back any moment."

She nodded again, then looked up at my face. There was this fleeting look—like anger, distrust—that disappeared before I could put my finger on it.

"Can I come in and stay for a little while?" she asked.

Pls let's find this part for today, I take everything beg you @Hanty Rosemary

pls 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏


Make Oghene let the Akeni ahbi what's his name,
let him let that man loose on that demon called Sarima,

The Nerve of her to come, chaiii, ah dry para like dis

Ekwensu Samira, so you came after all the warnings. Where is my oraimo cord someone needs automatic deliverance

mostob:
After the public shame and ridicule, you now want to carry your apology enter through the back door? Ko possible. Daddy Falana is on the case presently. We shall meet in court.

Madam Rosemary33, you're weldone o. Biko, some of us are single and the weather dey somehow here.

hug pillow o

Rosemary33:
hug pillow o

Please add jara for us, the suspense is too much

Rosemary33:
hug pillow o

Hanty Rosie biko pity us, biko nwayi Oma, give us night food make we use am sleep biko,

I take Mostob and daddy falana beg you 🙏

You sure say this Sarima lady no get double personality disorder so. Because Wich one be this again...... Anyway sha "Men's Mount"

Sister Sarima in the lord...
Unna get nerves oooo..

Hanty Rosie, kokoma keee me with suspense biko @Rosemary33

Thank you Rosemary33 for this interesting update but this suspense is killing me.

Abeg try drop update this week.

Twenty-two
Oghene

My paleh would always say when he was alive and was loving my maleh scatter, that women would forever be big babies to their men. They didn’t suffer being single to come and be doing pass themselves in a man's house. Shuu? See Ife nau, small time wein she dey for my house and I pamper am small, she don turn baby. All those tough fronts she put up when we hadn't known each other so intimately seemed to have vanished. It almost felt like she was on the verge of asking for a Capri-Sun.

“I wan buy 2k own. Give me seven instead of five nau?” I said to the apple seller who was insisting on giving me five pieces of apple for two thousand naira.

Ife didn’t call to demand that she wanted apples. She never asked. I guessed she hadn’t gotten that comfortable to demand such extra care. There seemed to be that part of her that kept reminding her that we were not into anything serious. That this moment, no matter how awkwardly beautiful it was, would come to an end eventually. But the look on her face each time I did things for her; like the times I returned with snacks and roadside meat jerky and barbecue fish for her—thanks to Juoshi who hinted to me that ladies loved to receive those from their men when they were on their menses, the few days I stayed up late just to hold her hands and speak softly to her while she fought scary menstrual cramps together with the pains from her bruises, and would watch her sleep and my goshhhhhhh....

Her skin, her perfectly carved brows that I was sure she did herself when I was away, her lips, her waking up intermittently to the pain narrowing her gaze at me, and then smiling and relaxing back. It was so damn perfect.

And like Shukudi said this evening, in an attempt to pull me out of the foul mood Sarima’s call had induced, I was a finished man. Ife had taken over my entire being. There was no room left for anger over Sarima’s intrusion.

“Oga abeg nau,” the apple seller, a woman in her mid-thirties, pleaded. “Apple cost nau o. And you know say dollar don cost too. People no dey import again. We do even see Apple buy. Oya. Make I give you six pieces for two thousand.”

Six apples for two thousand naira seemed like daylight robbery, but what could I do? I remember when apples were sold at a thousand naira for seven pieces. Some boys hawking along the road even sold eight pieces for the same amount. Times had changed.

“Thank you, sir.” The seller handed me the nylon bag containing my purchase, and I left.

Stopping by the aboki’s shop three buildings away from my compound to pick up my shoe from Malam Faruq, my heart skipped a beat when I remembered Ife was waiting for me at home. I paused for a moment, imagining her with her hair plaited in cornrows, her jaw tilted up, her eyes soft and beautiful as she stood to welcome me. I still couldn't fathom why she always got up from the sofa each time I walked in, smiling so widely. Those moments made her even more desirable, and it was unfair that she continued to become more irresistible the longer she stayed in my house. Each time she welcomed me back, I felt a little more out of reach. Should I hold her, pull her into an embrace... what should I say when her smile transformed her face at the sight of me, and she greeted me with her first ‘Hi!’ after long hours apart?

As I approached my flat, the subtle smile tugging at my lips grew wider, and I fought to curb it because Papa Sempe, who was washing his car outside, was giving me a side-eye. His wife and her friend paused their gossip to stare at me. My caretaker, seated on his balcony, was fanning his shiny big stomach while glaring at me.

If I gave in to the grin, they would all conclude that I’d gone crazy. What kind of man grinned like a man who just picked a gold coin when he had a weighty accusation hanging over his head?

The answer was easy. A finished man who was hopelessly in love with a woman who he wasn’t sure felt the same way about him. There was a good chance I’d regret allowing this flame I once wanted to quench to bloom into a wildfire, but until then, I resolved to enjoy every second of this moment.

My neighbors could go to hell. In fact, Sarima, my pastor, and every church member who must have heard about this and was silently cursing me in their hearts, they all should get lost.

I climbed the low steps leading to my door, knocked once, and opened it. The sight that met my eyes froze me in disbelief. Sarima sat knee to knee with Ife. Their hands were locked together. Their heads whipped up when I entered, and I only needed one look at Ife’s face to know that the devil had once again succeeded in snatching the happiness rug from under my feet.

“Ife,” I said, taking a step closer but stopping midway as her face grew paler with every foot I placed before the other. The color drained from her as if she had been struck a physical blow. Her eyes held a mix of disbelief and horror, and for a moment, she seemed to shiver, as though a sudden cold had come upon her.

“Ife—”

"No," she said in a whisper so faint it was almost swallowed by the silence in the room. Her lips formed the word again, but no sound emerged this time. Her entire body was tense, her shoulders drawing up as though she were bracing for an impact that had already hit.

“Ife, abeg—”

Her eyes darted around the room, desperate and searching, as if looking for something or someone to anchor her in this moment of shock. Her breathing had become shallow and rapid, her chest rising and falling in quick, uneven bursts. She pulled her hands away from Sarima’s, wrapping her arms around herself, clutching her sides as if she was trying to hold herself together.

"I told her it’s not true," she said, her voice trembling, barely controlled. "You are a good man. You’d not hurt anyone. You can’t rape a woman.”

Right before me, her body flinched as if from a physical assault. Her eyes were clouded with tears, but she blinked them back, stubbornly refusing to let them fall as if saying to herself, “Not here. Not now.”

“You can’t do it.” She was convincing herself, but her gaze was on me, pleading, praying that I affirm her conviction. Yet I felt she wouldn’t believe me if I told her it wasn’t true. That she was right. I would never do such a horrible thing.

“Did you do it?” she asked. “Oghene, please. Tell me. Did you touch her?”

As the question left her mouth, the room tilted, and the walls began to close in around me. My heart thundered in my chest, each beat ringing in my ears like a drum, drowning out all other sounds—disappointment, pain, anger. How could she ask me that, like somewhere deep inside, she harbored a slight doubt about my innocence?

"No," I whispered. "Everything she told you are lies."

“She said you spoke with her today,” she continued as if I hadn't replied to her first question. “You asked her to come over so you can settle with her.”

Was that what Sarima told her? That I invited her here for settlement, painting me as guilty and desperate to buy her silence? “Ife...” I couldn’t get myself to continue talking as my stomach churned, and nausea rose in my throat as if I had swallowed something vile.

Facing Sarima, who had been quiet all the while, I said, "Didn’t I tell you not to come near my house?" The words escaped through clenched teeth, laced with rising fury. Her uneasy demeanor grated against the memories that still haunted me—that night at the reverend’s house, the act she’d put up. How easily her tears had flowed and how fast they believed her. Now, she was doing it again. God! What did I even do to this lady other than take her in when she needed a place to lay her head for the night?

Now she was hell-bent on ruining me?

Every muscle tensed, hands balling into fists at my sides. My vision narrowed, focusing solely on her. How dare she step her foot into my house after I warned her? Rage erupted within me, and I advanced towards her.

“Oghene... Oghene!” Ife sprang up to restrict me from reaching Sarima, who also sprang up and ran to stand by the door, fear flickering in her eyes.

“You’ll not touch her!” Ife shouted. Her initial shock had given way to anger, hardening her features. Instantly, I realized that she would never look at me the same way again. She would never be that girl again. The girl who desired me and enjoyed being with me, even though she might not want something permanent. And it saddened me so much that, like the others, she had chosen to take Sarima’s side.

I felt anger, like a volcanic surge, threatening to consume me. I stared at Ife, the barrier between me and the target of my fury, desperate to see her face soften, to read understanding in her eyes. But I found none. Then my gaze shifted to Sarima, who was now huddled by the door, her sobs wracking her body just like they did the night I was summoned at the reverend’s house.

"Leave," I managed to say in a broken voice. "Both of you. Just leave."

Ife didn't move. She didn’t even turn her head when Sarima hurriedly slipped out the door and shut it behind her. Her eyes searched mine. And after a tense moment, she nodded and looked away. And I understood. We were over. Finished. Even if she wasn’t sure who was telling the truth between Sarima and me, she wouldn’t want to ally with someone who had such a strong accusation hanging over his head.

I didn’t wait for her to leave. I turned and bolted out of the sitting room, my movements frantic and uncoordinated, stumbling down the short passage to my bedroom. Collapsing on the bed, my body folded in on itself as the first anguished groan broke free. How do you wish away ugly situations like this one? You don't. You remember every word, every look. Even when it hurts, you still remember.

****
Ife

If there are moments in life I wish I could take back with all my heart. Moments I wish I could erase from existence. If I could, I'd erase myself right out of existence too, just to make that moment disappear. This was one such moment.

We stood there, looking at each other, saying nothing, the kind of nothing that spelled out the obvious. In his eyes, there was no trace of the softness I’d grown accustomed to in such a short time. He was angry. And he truly wanted me out. There was an ungodly determination on his face that shattered something inside me.

So that was that. Our unplanned but beautiful moment together was over. I had this flicker of doubt about Sarima’s story—a few things she said didn’t add up. But some things remained unclear, and that left me more confused, scared, and so incredibly sad. I was torn. A tiny part of my heart kept thumping with the question: ‘What if it was true?’ while the other part wanted to silence the doubt because Oghene wouldn’t lie to me. This little time spent with him had shown me how transparent and true he was.

Yet, right now, I didn’t know what to believe. So, I concluded that leaving like he ordered would be best for both of us. At least for now. There was too much to process. The thought of leaving his place now made me feel a familiar ache in the pit of my stomach, that lost, regretful feeling of not knowing someone as much as I thought I knew him.

I was the one to look away first.

I spent some more hours in the sitting room, pulling my thoughts together, before heading to the bedroom to pick up a few things to leave with.

He was there, standing by the window with his phone to his ear. He was speaking to someone on the other end. I watched him end the conversation and turn to face me fully.

He started to say something, maybe an apology, maybe not, and then he stopped. His demeanor had shifted to a much softer, calmer, and slightly helpless one. Once again, that part of me that believed so strongly that he wouldn’t do what he was accused of resurfaced, and I wanted to close the distance between us and pull him into a hug. But that unsure part of me hadn’t recovered from the shock of realizing that the decent-looking man I agreed to marry turned out to be the face of evil.

But that was Preye. Oghene was different...was he, really? God, how I wanted to believe him. The way he was looking back at me, one eyebrow raised, I knew he wanted me to believe him, to be by his side because it would ease his tension.

Abandoning the idea of picking up a few things, I turned towards the door.

“Wait!" he yelled.

I didn't turn around. Then I heard him slam his fist on the wall. It made me turn.

“I didn’t do it. You hear me? I didn’t even touch her in any way! I don't have any plan to have sex with a woman until I am sure who she is to me. And if I have the plan..." He stopped abruptly, allowing me to speak.

“Oghene, I am confused right now. I-I don’t know what to believe. Why didn’t you tell me about this? And...and you were hiding it. Your neighbors knew.” Now it all made sense. The hostility, the remark one of them made the day they barged into his house to look for some missing items. I had asked him what that day was about, but he had lied.

“I didn’t do it,” he repeated. “I am not that kind of guy. If I am..." He broke off again.

I could feel it when the control he was trying to maintain snapped, and rage like a dark garment wrapped him like bandages. When he took steps towards me, an alarm jolted through me, and I lurched toward the door. Before I had even made a step, I found myself seized and pinned against the wall by his body and hands.

“Oghene...Oghene please...” I didn’t know what I was expecting, but I was scared of the animalistic rage exuding from him together with the smell of his sweat-dampened shirt. “Please...”

A million and one things ran through my mind as it flipped back to my ordeal with Preye. Was Oghene going to hurt me, beat me until I passed out like Preye did when he lost his patience?

But he pressed his parted lips against the skin of my temple, his breath snagged, and there was a moment of stillness.

Nothing prepared me for the tingle that started from within my chest and spread like wildfire throughout my body at the electrifying touch of his tongue at the very tip of my eyebrow. He breathed against the tiny wet spot, a waft of hellfire that sent chills through my entire body. Slowly, he brought his mouth to my ear and traced the intricate inner edges.

Was I supposed to be feeling this way now—with this uncertainty taunting me?

“I am not that kind of guy.” His whisper seemed to come from the deepest part of his heart. "If I am, Ife...then by now, I would have shredded your clothes with my hands and teeth until you were naked. By now, I would have lifted you and thrown you on the bed and put my hands beneath your breasts and lifted them to my mouth. I would be kissing them...licking them...until the tips were like hard little stones, and then I would bite them so gently..."

There was something wrong with me. Obviously, there was a part of my brain that needed a reset because why was I drifting into a slow half-swoon as he continued in a ragged murmur when the whole of me should have been alert and in flight mode because of what I heard he did?

"...I would kiss my way down to your thighs...inch by inch...and when I reached down between your legs, I would lick through it, deeper and deeper, until I found the little pearl of your clitoris...and I would rest my tongue on it until I felt it throb. I would circle it, and stroke it... I'd lick until you started to beg. And then I would suck you. But not hard. I wouldn't be that kind. I would do it so lightly, so tenderly, that you would start screaming with the need to come...I would put my tongue inside you...taste you...eat you. I wouldn't stop until your entire body was wet and shaking. And when I had tortured you enough, I would open your legs and come inside you, and take you...take you... But I am not that man, Ife. I am not unreasonable."

Then, as if the demon that had entered him a while ago left him abruptly, he stopped and leaned off me. His eyes widened in shock like he’d just realized what he had done and said to me. Then he slapped his forehead.

“Ife, I... Jesus Christ. I am sorry.”

When I didn’t speak, he grabbed a shirt that was hanging over the wardrobe's door, changed out of the old one, and left the room. Leaving me still leaning against the wall, frozen, aroused, panting.

It was some minutes past 10 p.m. when he returned.

“You didn’t leave?” he asked. It was a simple but loaded question.

The answer, like it could remove all tension from the past few hours, stood out in my head. “Yes.”

You are one hell of a writer. I wish I can express myself through writing like you do.
Keep it up Nne

Nice update
Thanks ma

Which kain sarima be dis na

Chaiii Sarima free Oghene for US oooo

bia where is Oga Mostob and DADDY Falana sef, una dey slack oooo

Chukwudi where at thou biko, gather Men wey Mount, it's time for operation coded

hanty @Rosemary33 thanks, buh no thanks 😁

I know say you go finish us with suspense again 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Wow....interesting update. You need to see how i am smiling right now. Thank you Rosemary33.

Bro Oghene is a better man than me because no force in this world would've stopped me from harming that Sarima girl, i swear. I hope the truth eventually comes out.

The pen goddess 😍😍😍 thank you very much for this wonderful update. Na karma go jam people like Samira

IkeIgboNiile:
Wow....interesting update. You need to see how i am smiling right now. Thank you Rosemary33.

Bro Oghene is a better man than me because no force in this world would've stopped me from harming that Sarima girl, i swear. I hope the truth eventually comes out.

I dey suspect you ooo

That time Sarima off clothes go tempt bro Oghene , If Na you, you go don dive enter gear 52 😁😁😁

do4luv14:
Chaiii Sarima free Oghene for US oooo

bia where is Oga Mostob and DADDY Falana sef, una dey slack oooo

Chukwudi where at thou biko, gather Men wey Mount, it's time for operation coded

hanty @Rosemary33 thanks, buh no thanks

I know say you go finish us with suspense again

Bro.. I just weak.