THE BURDEN OF INNOCENCE

The rain that afternoon wasn't just heavy. It was angry.

It didn't pour-it attacked. Like the sky itself was trying to hide what was about to happen. Thunder roared like judgment, and lightning flashed like a warning. But no one in that room was listening.

Tobi showed up at the hostel gate around 4:38 p.m. His shoulders were hunched, eyes red-rimmed and tired, phone in hand. His grey hoodie clung to his frame, soaked along the sleeves. His slippers slapped loudly against the wet cement as he walked in.

"No light," he muttered to the security guard. "Just want to charge real quick."

He didn't wait for a response.

I wasn't around. But Stella was.

She had just stepped out of the bathroom. Her towel clung lazily to her damp skin, glistening under the steam that still lingered in the air. She had just used my pink bucket, my sponge, my towel-everything in that room belonged to me.

Everything... except her intentions.

She opened the door, brows lifting slightly in surprise. Not shocked. Just... amused.

"Oh... Jason," she said, drawing the towel closer to her chest.

He hesitated. "Is Sewa around?"

She shook her head. "She traveled. Garki."

He nodded slowly. "Just need to plug my phone for like thirty minutes. My battery's dead."

Stella smiled. Not the friendly kind. Not the I-know-your-girlfriend kind. This smile was warmer, slower. Intentional.

Like a flame licking at the edge of a curtain.

"Come in."

Jason stepped inside, wiping his feet before closing the door. The room was dimly lit, courtesy of the rechargeable lamp on the desk. Outside, the wind howled like a warning. Inside, silence fell-heavy and thick.

He walked over to the socket and plugged in his phone. The screen lit up: 1%. He sighed, sat on the edge of my bed, and looked around.

The room smelled like lavender and citrus-my signature scent.

Stella stood at the dresser, pretending to look for something. But her eyes kept drifting toward him in the mirror. She noticed the way he sat, the stiffness in his shoulders, the frustration on his face.

"You look tense," she said.

"I'm fine," he replied too quickly.

She turned around, tying her towel tighter, then walked toward him, slower now. Like a cat approaching a bird with a broken wing.

"You don't look fine," she whispered.

Tobi forced a smile. "Just tired. That's all."

"Because of Sewa?" she asked, kneeling beside him, her voice lower now.

He shifted slightly. "Not really."

"I'm not trying to talk bad about her," she said, placing her hand lightly on his knee. "But it must be hard... all that waiting."

Jason cleared his throat. "She's worth waiting for."

Stella chuckled. Low. Dangerous.

"She's a good girl. Pure. Holy." Her fingers traced invisible lines on the bedsheet. "But don't you ever feel... frustrated? Like she's asking you to pour out your heart, but keeping hers locked away?"

Tobi stayed silent.

"Almost a year of dating and she still won't let you touch her?" she continued.

"She has her reasons," he said. "She's trying to honour God."

"Or punish you," she snapped, still smiling. "She wants all the boyfriend benefits without the boyfriend closeness."

"That's not fair," Tobi said sharply.

"Isn't it?" she leaned closer. "Every time you try to hold her, she flinches. Every time you whisper how much you love her, she says, 'Let's pray.' That's not love, Jason. That's control."

"She's a virgin," he muttered.

"And you're a man," she replied. "A man with needs. A man who's been faithful, patient, devoted... and lonely."

He stood abruptly. "I should go."

Stella stood too. And dropped her towel.

It fell without a sound. Her body-bare, smooth, deliberate-stood bold under the dim light. She didn't flinch. Didn't cover herself. She just looked at him.

"I want you to see something," she said.

Jason turned away. "Don't do this."

"You want me, Jason," she whispered, stepping closer. "You've always wanted me. Stop pretending."

"This is wrong."

"No, what's wrong is her making you feel guilty for wanting love. For craving touch."

"She doesn't make me feel that way."

"She doesn't even see you anymore," Stella said. "She sees an assignment. A testimony. A project to complete. But I see you. I see your pain."

He didn't respond.

She reached out, touched his chest.

"You've waited. You've prayed. You've begged.

And all you've gotten is lectures and rejection."

"She has her convictions-"

"She has her excuses." Jason looked at her. Really looked. And for a brief second, his guard cracked.

That was all she needed.

Her lips brushed his.

Soft. Slow. Testing. He didn't move.

Then again, deeper.

His hands remained clenched at his sides. But when she placed his palm on her waist, he didn't pull back.

"You're not sinning," she whispered. "You're healing."

He closed his eyes. And the line blurred.

Their mouths collided again-this time with hunger. With ache. She guided him to the bed-my bed. My sacred space. The one place I laid down my dreams at night.

The sheets crumpled beneath them. The mattress squeaked as bodies tangled. Her breath caught. His voice low, hesitant.

"Stella..." "Hush," she whispered. "Let go."

And he did.

In that moment, he surrendered.

To temptation. To betrayal. To desire that overpowered conscience.

Afterward, silence. Breathing. Sweat. Guilt still far off.

They lay beside each other, her hand drawing circles on his chest.

"What if she finds out?" he asked.

"She will," Chiamaka said casually. "Eventually."

He looked at her. "She'll break."

"She'll survive."

He didn't answer.

"But when she does, you'll tell her the truth," she added, sitting up. "That you waited. You begged. You prayed. But she hid behind church and purity."

"That's not how it happened." "Isn't it?" she asked, standing up, wrapping the towel around herself again. "You'll tell her the pressure got too much. That you're human. That her 'no' became a prison."

Jason ran a hand down his face. "I don't even know what to say."

"Say nothing," she smiled, turning toward the door.

CLICK.

The doorknob turned.

The door creaked.

Lightning flashed.

And there she was.

Me.

Standing in the doorway. Wet. Breathless. Frozen.

Her eyes locked with his.

With mine.

Time stopped.

His mouth opened. "Adesewa..."

Too late. I saw everything.