The murmurs around the compound grew louder, a wave of whispers swelling into full-blown chatter. The villagers, invited guests, and even distant relatives watched with unblinking eyes as Francis stood still in the middle of the Barasa homestead, his usually composed face struggling to mask the humiliation boiling beneath the surface.
The groom's family stood frozen behind him, their joy turned to disbelief.
Francis's father leaned toward him, whispering harshly, "You assured us this girl was ready. Do you know what this means to our name?"
Francis clenched his fists at his side. His dark brown kaftan—freshly pressed and embroidered with golden thread—suddenly felt like a mocking costume. A respected gentleman, known in town for his composure and prestige, now stood like a jilte
