The soul i couldn't own

In my village, I was famous for one thing: Every girl wanted me, and every girl finally surrendered.

And it was not arrogance if it was true. At least, that’s what I told myself.

My name is Henry, and never have I encountered rejection. Not once. Not until Chioma.

She was different from all the other girls who laughed too loudly around me or pretended not to care when I touched their hands. Chioma did not flirt. Chioma did not smile at my jokes. Chioma did not even look at me. Chioma walked through the village with her head held high and a large Bible tucked under her arm as if she lived in a world I was not allowed to intrude on.

That was also the problem.

Her apathy wasn’t just an affront to my pride; it was the destruction of my pride as a whole. In a world in which my name commanded entry and my smile broke a man at his resolve, Chioma’s apathy was like a scream in my face. When she walked past me in public places as though I wasn’t there, her dismissal was like a brand of acid poured down my spine.

Right from the get-go, I could see that there was something about her, and right from the get-go, I knew it was her beauty; though she was fair-skinned, and I had just one connection: there were girls who were fair-skinned that I was drawn to. Still, the dark side of my attraction for Chioma undermined my attraction for her based on her beauty and her being fair-skinned simply because there was just something about her that attracted my attention to her, something about her that repulsed my interest in her, and something about her that put her far away in a place that no girl dared be.

But before one knows it, this curiosity will become an obsession.

I mentioned her name, and my friends burst out laughing. I was being told I was only joking, but who was around to witness such an impossibility around me? I think of all the girls I had conquered, all the reputation I established, and all the power I held in my village, and I laughed even harder because I had to prove my superiority over Chioma.

In my village, I was famous for one thing: Every girl wanted me, and every girl finally surrendered.

And it was not arrogance if it was true. At least, that’s what I told myself.

My name is Henry, and never have I encountered rejection. Not once. Not until Chioma.

She was different from all the other girls who laughed too loudly around me or pretended not to care when I touched their hands. Chioma did not flirt. Chioma did not smile at my jokes. Chioma did not even look at me. Chioma walked through the village with her head held high and a large Bible tucked under her arm as if she lived in a world I was not allowed to intrude on.

That was also the problem.

Her apathy wasn’t just an affront to my pride; it was the destruction of my pride as a whole. In a world in which my name commanded entry and my smile broke a man at his resolve, Chioma’s apathy was like a scream in my face. When she walked past me in public places as though I wasn’t there, her dismissal was like a brand of acid poured down my spine.

Right from the get-go, I could see that there was something about her, and right from the get-go, I knew it was her beauty; though she was fair-skinned, and I had just one connection: there were girls who were fair-skinned that I was drawn to. Still, the dark side of my attraction for Chioma undermined my attraction for her based on her beauty and her being fair-skinned simply because there was just something about her that attracted my attention to her, something about her that repulsed my interest in her, and something about her that put her far away in a place that no girl dared be.

But before one knows it, this curiosity will become an obsession.

I mentioned her name, and my friends burst out laughing. I was being told I was only joking, but who was around to witness such an impossibility around me? I think of all the girls I had conquered, all the reputation I established, and all the power I held in my village, and I laughed even harder because I had to prove my superiority over chioma.