The rain outside poured like the sky itself had split open. Thunder rolled across the hills, shaking the ground. But inside Sola's hut, the storm was far worse.
Kunle stood at the doorway, rain dripping from his hair, his chest heaving. Ola sat rigid, his hand tight around his wooden staff, his eyes burning with fury. Sola was between them, trembling, her hands pressed against her chest as if trying to hold her heart inside.
For a long, heavy moment, no one moved.
Then Ola's voice cut through the storm. Low. Deadly.
"You dare stand in my house. You dare speak such words before me."
Kunle's jaw tightened. "I do not fear you, Ola. Not anymore."
Ola rose to his full height, his presence filling the room like a shadow. He pointed at the staff at Kunle. "You are nothing. A boy who does not know his place. You think you can take what is mine? My wife? My honor?"
Sola's breath hitched. "Husband, please—"
"Silence!" Ola roared, the word cracking like thunder. His eyes never left Kunle. "I should strike you down where you stand."
Kunle stepped forward, his voice steady despite the tremor in his body. "Then strike me. But know this—I will not deny my heart. I love her. No beating, no curse, no blade can take that from me."
The staff lifted. Sola screamed, rushing forward, catching Ola's arm.
"Please, stop! Don't do this!" she begged, tears streaming down her face.
Ola's chest heaved with rage, his eyes wild. For a moment, it seemed he would strike despite her grip. But then he wrenched his arm free and shoved her aside. She stumbled to the floor, her wrapper slipping loose.
"You shame me, woman," he spat, his voice shaking. "You shame this house. You shame this village."
Sola's sobs filled the hut, but Ola's fury drowned them. He turned to Kunle again, his knuckles white on the staff. "Leave. Now. Before I forget the laws of this land and end you here."
Kunle stood his ground, chest rising and falling. His eyes flicked to Sola, who lay trembling on the floor. For a long moment, he hesitated. Then, slowly, he lowered his head—not in defeat, but in silent promise.
He stepped backward, the rain swallowing him as he vanished into the storm.
The silence that followed was worse than the shouting. Ola paced the room like a lion caged, his breaths harsh, his eyes wild. Sola sat huddled in a corner, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
Finally, Ola spoke, his voice sharp and cold.
"From this day, you will not leave this hut unless I say so. You will not step to the stream. You will not go to the market. You are mine, Sola. Mine."
She lifted her tear-streaked face, her voice shaking. "I am not a thing to be owned."
Ola's eyes darkened. In one stride, he towered over her, his hand raised. But he froze, his fingers trembling in the air. Slowly, he lowered his hand, his voice trembling with rage he could barely contain.
"You will obey me. Or you will see what disobedience costs."
He turned, storming out into the rain, leaving her crumpled on the floor, broken.
The next morning, the village was buzzing. Whispers traveled faster than the river in flood.
"They fought."
"He almost killed him."
"She was seen weeping."
"It will end in blood."
Everywhere Sola's name was spoken. Children sang songs mocking her, women clicked their tongues, men shook their heads. Even Adeola, once her closest friend, now avoided her eyes.
Kunle did not appear in the market. He did not walk the paths. His absence was louder than words. But Sola knew—he was waiting. Watching.
That night, she sat alone in the hut, the small fire flickering low. Ola had not returned. The silence was heavy, pressing against her chest.
A soft knock came at the door. Her heart leapt. She rushed to open it, and there he was—Kunle, his face drawn, his eyes shadowed.
"Sola," he whispered, pulling her into his arms.
She clung to him, burying her face in his chest, her tears spilling freely. "He will kill you, Kunle. You must go. Please, go far away. Leave this village before it is too late."
His grip tightened. "And leave you here? With him? No, Sola. I cannot."
"You must," she begged. "If you stay, the village will turn against you. He will not stop until blood is spilled."
Kunle pulled back, cupping her face, his voice fierce. "Then let it spill. I will not lose you."
Their lips met, desperate and trembling, as if clinging to the last scraps of hope. The fire flickered, the shadows danced, and for a brief moment, they forgot the storm outside.
But storms cannot be ignored.
The following day, Ola stood before the village elders. His voice was sharp, his words heavy.
"She has brought shame to my house. She has lain with another man. I demand justice."
The elders murmured, their faces grim. Such matters could not be ignored. Adultery was not only the betrayal of a husband—it was a betrayal of tradition, of order.
The decision came swiftly: a gathering would be held. The truth would be spoken. Punishment would fall.
By evening, the news had spread. Children shouted it in the streets. Women whispered it at their fires. Men waited with eager eyes.
Sola sat in her hut, her body numb, her hands cold. Kunle came to her once more, his face pale.
"They will make us stand before everyone," he said, his voice heavy. "They will judge us like criminals."
Sola's tears fell silently. "What will we do?"
Kunle's hand found hers, squeezing tightly. "We will stand. Together.
The night before the gathering, Sola could not sleep. She lay awake, staring at the roof, listening to the rain tapping gently above. Every memory of Kunle burned in her chest—the first time his hand brushed hers, the first kiss, the first night they became one.
She turned and found him beside her, his eyes open, watching her in the dark.
"Whatever happens tomorrow," he whispered, "remember this—you are my heart. My soul. My only."
Her tears fell, but she smiled through them. "And you are mine."
They held each other tightly, as though the night itself might steal them apart.
Morning came with heavy skies. The village gathered in the square, eyes sharp, voices hushed with anticipation. The elders sat in a row, their faces carved from stone. Ola stood tall, his staff in hand, his eyes burning with pride and fury.
Sola and Kunle were led forward. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, some harsh, some pitying, all condemning.
Ola's voice rang out. "Here is my shame. Here is the betrayal I have suffered. Judge them! Judge them before the gods!"
The air grew heavy. All eyes turned to the elders. The judgment was about to fall.
And as Sola gripped Kunle's hand, trembling but unbroken, she knew their love was standing on the edge of fire.