STAINS ON THE CROSS | PART FIVE
The morning broke gently over the compound, pale light stretching across the tiled ground as a cool breeze stirred the leaves of the mango tree near the fence.
Shadows lay thin and long, easing themselves away as daylight settled in.
The air carried the quiet sounds of waking life—distant footsteps along the street, the soft clatter of metal pots from a neighboring house.
Birds calling to one another from the rooftops, their notes rising and falling like a hymn beginning softly.
Jimmi rose quietly before anyone else stirred. She wrapped a shawl around herself and adjusted it carefully, her movements slow and deliberate.
Her feet barely made a sound as they brushed against the cold tiles; the chill grounded her as she stepped outside.
Her heart felt unusually alert—steady, awake—as though something unseen was guiding her steps, ordering her pace without command.
She walked across the compound toward the small sitting area where Jesh’s parents were already awake, seated on the sofa with their morning devotion books resting on a small table between them.
The pages lay open, sunlight kissing the margins like a blessing lingering after prayer.
Jimmi bent slightly to greet them, her hands folded respectfully, her voice settling into its place before it rose.
Jimmi (gently):
“Good morning, sir—ma'am.”
The sound of her greeting softened the space. Jesh’s parents looked up, their expressions warming instantly, smiles spreading as they responded kindly, asking after her night.
The breeze shifted again, leaves whispering overhead, the compound breathing with quiet approval as Jimmi straightened.
As she lifted her head, a soft creak sounded behind her.
The door to the inner house opened.
Jesh stepped out.
He had come only to pick something up quickly, his thoughts already arranged around the day’s preparations, but the moment his eyes lifted, they met hers.
The air shifted.
The breeze paused. The birds hushed mid-call. Sound thinned, as though the morning itself had stepped back.
Jimmi’s breath caught in her chest as their gazes locked—steady, searching, and unguarded.
Jesh stood still, one hand resting against the doorframe, his posture firm yet uncertain, his expression unreadable but deeply attentive.
It felt like time itself had drawn a deep breath and held it.
Something passed between them—quiet, weighty, undeniable—moving without words, settling somewhere beneath thought.
Jimmi felt heat bloom behind her ribs, unfamiliar and unsettling, as though something ancient had been stirred awake—something that recognized the moment before reason could intervene.
Neither of them spoke.
A full minute passed—long enough for awareness to deepen and for meaning to take shape without language. The compound stood frozen, sunlight hovering, shadows unmoving.
Then, almost at the same time, they looked away.
Jimmi inclined her head politely and turned, walking back across the compound. Her steps were calm, measured, but inside her chest, something had shifted—irreversible, unnamed.
She found Jemimah near the back, arranging clothes along a line that stretched between two poles. Fabric fluttered gently in the breeze, snapping softly as clothespins were pressed into place.
Jimmi stopped in front of her, one hand pressing lightly against her chest as if to steady what was racing beneath. Her lips parted, breath spilling out first, carrying urgency ahead of words.
Jimmi (breathless):
“Jemimah… you won’t believe what just happened.”
The breeze tugged at the hanging clothes as Jemimah lifted her head slowly, curiosity narrowing her eyes.
Somewhere nearby, a pot lid clanged, then fell silent, as though the compound leaned in to listen.
A faint hum of surprise crept into her voice as she spoke, light but alert.
Jemimah (curious):
“What again?”
Jimmi swallowed, her gaze drifting as the moment replayed itself. Her fingers moved against her shawl, searching for words that refused to stay still.
Her tone was slow and uneven, shaped by recollection rather than certainty.
Jimmi (conflicted):
“I went to greet your uncle and aunt… and then a young man came out. Tall. Neat. Peaceful-looking.”
The air thickened slightly, warmth rising with her confession. Her fingers tightened on the fabric of her shawl as though holding herself together.
She drew a shaky breath, voice catching even before it fully formed—soft, unguarded, trembling with feeling.
Jimmi (overwhelmed):
“Our eyes met, and… I don’t know how to explain it. My heart caught fire. I love him already. Tell me—is he the one?”
A laugh burst from Jemimah’s lips, sharp and sudden, breaking the tension like a clap of thunder.
She shook her head, leaning closer, studying Jimmi’s face as the clothes on the line fluttered harder, reacting to the shift.
Her tone followed the laugh, light and playful, and edged with mischief.
Jemimah (teasing):
“Ah! So your eyes were lost in his?”
Her chuckle rolled out, light but knowing, echoing faintly against the compound walls.
She tilted her head slightly, eyes sparkling, and let her voice slip through the laughter—soft, teasing, carrying the warmth of mischief.
Jemimah (playful):
“Look at your life. So you too can fall in love!”
Jimmi shook her head quickly, brows drawing together as seriousness took hold. She leaned closer, lowering her voice, the moment tightening again.
Jimmi (firmly):
“Please stop. I’m serious. Is he the one you talk about?”
Jemimah shrugged, reaching for another cloth, her movements casual, almost careless. The breeze eased again, sunlight flashing across the white fabric as she clipped it into place.
A faint exhale escaped her lips, a subtle prelude to the words she let slip without much thought.
Jemimah (indifferent):
“Sure. That’s Jesh… but I did not say you should go and marry him.”
She glanced sideways, eyes sharp despite the casual tilt of her head. Her lips pressed together briefly, and a clipped exhale preceded her tone, carrying a quiet edge of finality.
Jemimah (cool):
“If you like him, go and propose to him yourself. I’ve done my part by bringing you here.”
Jimmi exhaled slowly, the sound leaving her like a surrender rather than relief.
She nodded once, resolve settling quietly in her posture as the compound seemed to widen again, giving her space to stand in her decision.
Her lips parted, and a soft, steady tone emerged before the words fully formed.
Jimmi (calmly):
“You don’t have to go far. I understand. Thank you.”
Later, the compound buzzed with activity. Chairs scraped against tiles, tables were dragged into position, voices overlapped in laughter and quick instructions.
The soundscape thickened—movement, purpose, life layered over life.
Jesh moved about quietly, adjusting a chair here, straightening a tablecloth there, his presence steady but understated.
Each time he tried to help, cousins waved him away with playful protest, laughter chasing him back.
A burst of giggles preceded one of his cousins' words, her voice bright and teasing, carrying the warmth of the moment before she even spoke.
Cousin (laughing):
“Ah! Jesh, rest now! You’re an honourable man. Allow us to do it.”
Reluctantly, he took a seat near the edge of the compound, hands resting on his knees, his gaze observing everything with calm attentiveness.
The mango leaves rustled above him, shadows dancing across his shoulders.
Moments later, Jimmi stepped out again, pausing near the doorway.
Sunlight brushed her face, warming her skin as she took in the scene—the colors, the movement, the sound of family filling the air.
As she crossed the compound, her gaze lifted without intention… and found Jesh.
Her heart jumped.
The noise around them softened, as though the compound made room again.
She slowed, drew in a steadying breath, and walked toward him. Her shoulders straightened, composure settling over her like a garment as a gentle smile rested on her face.
Her voice found him gently, threading through the air between them.
Jimmi (softly):
“Good morning, bro… Jesh.”
Jesh looked up. Recognition flickered across his face, surprise widening his eyes as sunlight caught them both, unshielded.
He cleared his throat softly, a gentle warmth threading through his words before they left him.
Jesh (polite):
“Good morning, please.”
A pause followed, heavy but not uncomfortable. His head tilted slightly as memory aligned with the present.
A soft exhale escaped him, voice tentative at first, as if testing the question on the air before letting it fully form.
Jesh (thoughtfully):
“Wait… are you not the same person I saw earlier with my parents?”
The breeze stirred again, light brushing against them as Jimmi nodded, her calm steadying the space. Her tone was composed, carrying the quiet authority of someone at peace with herself.
Jimmi (composed):
“Yes, please. My name is Jimmi.”
For a moment, words abandoned him. His gaze lingered, thoughtful, as the sounds of the compound faded into a distant hum.
Then something small caught his attention—a tiny insect threading its way through Jimmi’s hair, unaware of the gravity into which it had wandered into.
Without thinking, Jesh rose to his feet, the chair legs scraping softly against the tiles.
His hand lifted toward her head, instinct moving faster than caution, the air between them tightening as the moment poised itself—quiet, charged, and waiting.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Written by Agbemawle Atsu Norvishi
© All Rights Reserved. Shared freely to bless and inspire.
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