CHAPTER ELEVEN — What They Don’t Know
921 Words
We hadn’t even had s*x yet — and the whole world already hated us.
They acted like we were out here burning Bibles and seducing angels.
Like we were demons in disguise.
But the truth?
We hadn’t even gone that far.
We were just two girls who found something soft in each other — something that felt like home.
And even that was too much.
—
The days grew slightly better.
I worked at the buka from morning till late afternoon. Lani spent her hours learning how to sew, running errands and threading needles. The tailor aunty liked her, even though she pretended to be harsh. She’d say things like, “You this girl, your eyes are sharp o” — but she’d still give her free puff-puff at the end of the day.
We were still broke.
Still tired.
Still uncertain.
But we were building something.
One day at a time.
One tiny brick of hope on top of another.
—
It was on a Sunday.
No buka. No sewing work. Just silence.
Rain clouds hovered, and thunder rumbled in the distance, the kind that made people stay indoors and hug themselves.
Lani and I stayed in bed.
We had nothing to do — and nowhere else to go.
The mattress was small, so we lay close. Legs touching. Fingers brushing now and then. And that tension? It had been there for weeks. Quiet. Loud. Unspoken.
I don’t know who leaned in first.
Maybe it was her. Maybe it was me.
But suddenly, our mouths met — slow, unsure, hungry.
Not the kind of kiss you give in public.
Not the behind-the-tank kind.
This one was different.
It was deeper.
Slower.
Made of all the things we couldn’t say.
Her lips were soft, and I tasted mint and leftover chin-chin. I moaned into her mouth without meaning to, and she froze — just for a second.
“You okay?” I whispered.
She nodded, voice barely audible. “More than okay.”
Her fingers slid under my shirt, resting on my waist. Skin to skin.
My breath hitched.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t reckless.
It was like we were discovering a new language — one only the two of us could speak.
I shifted, gently lowering myself on top of her.
Our legs tangled.
Our hands explored.
Our breaths mixed like smoke.
She kissed the side of my neck, her lips trailing down slowly, carefully, like she was memorizing every inch of me.
A soft moan escaped me again, and this time, I didn’t hold it back.
We weren’t just kissing anymore.
We were feeling.
Burning.
Trembling.
And yet — it was still soft.
Still safe.
Still sacred.
I pulled back for a second, panting.
“Lani…”
She looked up at me, eyes wide, vulnerable. “Hmm?”
“Are we sure?”
She reached up, brushed a thumb across my lip.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
I bent to kiss her again, this time slower.
Her shirt came off first.
Then mine.
And we just… took our time.
Touch by touch.
Moan by moan.
Breath by breath.
It wasn’t perfect.
Our hands shook.
Our bodies hesitated.
There was laughter. Fumbling. Nervous giggles between kisses.
But it was ours.
And by the time it was over, we lay there tangled together, skin warm, lips swollen, hearts beating like war drums.
I buried my face in her neck.
“I love you,” I whispered.
She held me tighter. “I’ve loved you for longer than I’ve known how to say it.”
We stayed like that for a long time.
Naked.
Safe.
Unapologetic.
—
Later, when the rain finally began, it felt like the world was washing itself clean.
We wrapped ourselves in one old wrapper, skin to skin, heart to heart.
“I don’t regret anything,” I said.
She smiled, eyes closed. “Not even the madness?”
“Especially the madness.”
Lani rolled onto her side, her leg slipping between mine. “You’re my madness.”
I grinned. “And you’re my soft place.”
We kissed again.
Not the hungry kind this time.
The kind that says: I’m here.
I’m staying.
The kind that makes you forget the world is outside, sharpening knives.
—
That night, we didn’t need food.
We fed on something deeper.
Something wild.
Something holy.
And I thought about all the people who hated us.
Who called us sinners.
Who said we were cursed.
Let them say what they want.
Because if this was sin — then it was the only thing that had ever made me feel clean.
If this was a curse — then I’d gladly carry it.
Because that night, under leaking zinc and one thin wrapper…
I finally understood the meaning of home.
It wasn’t a place.
It was a heartbeat.
And mine was lying right beside me.
—
The next morning, I caught Lani sketching something in the tailor’s old jotter.
It looked like a wedding dress.
I raised a brow. “You’re already planning our future?”
She blushed. “Maybe.”
I flopped beside her. “You think the world will ever let us?”
She smiled and said, “The world doesn’t have to let us. We’ll take it.”
And in that moment, even with nothing to our name…
We felt rich.
Because love — our kind of love — didn’t need permission.
It just needed courage.
And we were slowly learning how to be brave.
Together.
- Writer
