STAINS ON THE CROSS | PART SIX
The sunlight stretched across the tiled ground as a cool breeze stirred the leaves of the mango tree near the fence.
The air carried a soft stillness, shadows lay long and calm, as though the day itself was holding its breath.
Dust swirled lightly across the tiles and the hush fractured; as Jesh’s hand nearly touched Jimmi’s head to remove the tiny insect, a voice tore through the stillness—sharp, heated, and cutting the air like drawn steel.
Raziel (angrily):
“Hey! Jesh, don’t touch her! Why are you trying to take advantage of her?”
The breeze faltered mid-breath. Jesh froze, his hand suspended between care and accusation. The compound tightened—tiles, walls, and leaves seemed to tense with him.
Raziel strode forward, sandals scraping hard against the ground, anger flashing as the distance collapsed.
Even the mango leaves rattled louder, stirred by the sudden heat pressing the air.
A brief silence followed, heavy and unstable. Raziel’s suspicion hardened, settling into something he believed was truth.
His tone cut through the quiet again—low, sharp, and unwavering.
Raziel (sternly):
“So it’s you, Jesh. Now I understand.”
His finger shot forward, the gesture slicing through space—an accusation thick enough to bend the moment itself.
Jimmi’s breath caught. The wind pressed low, unseen weight brushing skin and spirit. He drew in a sharp, ragged breath, voice raw and trembling before it even left his lips.
Raziel (pained):
“Because of you… she rejected me. Jesh… why?”
The words trembled with wounded pride. The atmosphere thickened further, like an invisible hand pressing down. Birds stilled. The compound felt watched.
He drew a slow, shuddering breath, jaw tightening, fingers curling slightly as if gripping the air itself. His tone thundered through the tension—laced with bitter resolve.
Raziel (bitterly):
“I loved her with all my heart, but she never saw me. We shall see.”
Jesh lowered his hand slowly. Calm returned to him like a steady tide resisting the storm. The air shifted as his voice gathered itself—measured, unshaken, refusing to feed the fire.
Jesh (restrained):
“Raziel…”
Silence followed—brief, charged, stretching thin. The compound seemed to lean inward, the tiles cold beneath the weight of the pause.
Light glinted again in the insect’s shell as Jesh’s tone came, steady and clear, carrying explanation rather than defense.
Jesh (calmly):
“I wasn’t touching her out of affection. There’s an insect in her hair—I was only trying to remove it.”
Raziel’s eyes flickered. He leaned closer despite himself, the accusation loosening as truth revealed itself.
The tiny intruder clung stubbornly in the strands. His hand lifted instinctively to help—then stalled. The moment wavered.
Jimmi stepped back, quiet but firm, sunlight catching the seriousness settling in her eyes. The breeze lifted a few loose strands of her hair as though yielding to her resolve.
She drew a slow, controlled breath, letting it steady her. When her voice finally came, it was calm, even, carrying the weight of unshakable composure.
Jimmi (composed):
“Please, don’t bother about it.”
Her gaze turned to Jesh. The compound held its breath again, waiting. She inhaled quietly, letting a calm, measured tone settle before she spoke, her words carrying a steady, quiet authority.
Jimmi (steady):
“Jesh, can you please help me remove it?”
Carefully—reverently—Jesh removed the insect. His movements were precise, respectful, untouched by haste. When it was done, he stepped back.
The air shifted, calmer now yet heavier, as though truth itself were preparing to speak aloud. Jesh’s voice came firm, carrying authority without cruelty.
Jesh (firmly):
“Raziel, my belief is different from yours.”
The words carried weight beyond sound. Something unseen pressed gently into Jimmi’s chest, like light searching the hidden chambers of the heart.
Jesh inhaled deeply, letting the conviction settle in his bones before his tone broke the silence—low, firm, and unwavering.
Jesh (convicted):
“I can never marry a woman who isn’t holy—inside and outside. Holiness of heart and modesty of body must go together.”
The breeze slowed. The compound dimmed at the edges of Jimmi’s sight. The words struck her like thunder—clean, unavoidable.
Holiness… inward and outward.
Jesh gestured lightly between them, neither condemning nor boasting—only concluding, as one who had settled the matter before God.
He exhaled softly, letting the weight of the moment rest on his words, his voice calm and steady as it reached them.
Jesh (solemn):
“From what I see, you and she look good together. May God bless you both.”
Sound dulled. The world narrowed. Conviction pierced through the defenses Jimmi had rehearsed and justified; shame and clarity collided, stripping compromise away like old garments.
Memories surged—Jemimah, laughter, influence, the slow drift from the Cross.
Voices called from behind. Jesh’s parents beckoned from the far side of the compound.
He inclined his head, with peace settled in his spirit, and walked away. His footsteps faded, leaving silence in their wake.
Raziel turned to Jimmi. The hardness drained from his face. His voice softened, exposed, almost fragile.
Raziel (tentatively):
“Dear… will you marry me?”
The question hung like smoke in the still air. Jimmi’s eyes flashed, pain and anger surging together, colliding violently in her chest.
Her breath came in sharp, ragged bursts, throat tightening as her pulse hammered. Her tone snapped out, raw and explosive.
Jimmi (angrily):
“Leave me alone!”
Her hand lifted sharply, finger pointing as though pushing confusion away from her soul. The breeze recoiled with her motion, carrying a faint hiss of tension.
Jimmi’s chest heaved; a strained exhale escaped before her words tumbled out, jagged and urgent, each one laced with disbelief.
Jimmi (shaken):
“You’re the reason I missed my chance. Who are you? Where do I even know you from? When did you propose? Why are you causing this confusion?”
Raziel raised his hands slightly, with surrender written into the moment. His tone dropped low, remorse heavy.
Raziel (apologetic):
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any harm. I was overwhelmed by your beauty. If you don’t want me, it’s fine. I’ll be happy if you and Jesh end up together.”
Jimmi’s finger trembled as she pointed away, pain cutting through her words. Her voice found its edge—tight, raw, and jagged with hurt.
Jimmi (wounded):
“Next time you see me, don’t come near me. You hear?”
She turned and hurried off. Her footsteps slapped against the tiles, breath uneven.
The compound echoed with her retreat, the air left exposed—as though something sacred had been disturbed and now cried out for restoration.
Jimmi reached Jemimah, chest heaving, eyes bright with tears, words igniting like fire.
Her jaw clenched, a sharp exhale escaping her as her voice tore through the air, trembling with anger and hurt.
Jimmi (accusing):
“Jemimah! Do you see what you’ve caused? I’ve been embarrassed. Heartbroken. Because of your games!”
Jemimah’s shoulders slumped. Truth bent her frame. Her throat tightened, a shaky breath escaping before her tone cracked under the weight.
Jemimah (broken):
“Jimmi… I know. I was foolish.”
Her hands clasped tightly, knuckles pale, as though holding herself together before collapse.
She drew another quivering breath, steadying herself just enough for the confession that clawed its way out.
Jemimah (confessing):
“It was never about marriage. Your holiness made me feel less. People mocked me, so I wanted to pull you down to feel normal. I admired you… but fear ruled me. I am sorry.”
Tears streamed down Jimmi’s face as she shook her head slowly. The breeze returned—cooler now—moving through the space like mercy.
She drew in a trembling breath, lips parted, voice emerged, raw and quivering.
Jimmi (repentant):
“God… have mercy.”
She wiped her face, eyes closing briefly as surrender settled in. A quiet exhale preceded her next words, tone lower now, steadier, threaded with humility and awe.
Jimmi (humbled):
“May Your purpose stand. Even in our foolishness, You waste nothing.”
Her breath deepened. Understanding sealed her heart. She leaned forward slightly, voice dropping to a hushed, trembling reverence before the words even formed.
Jimmi (reverent):
“Now… I understand what the old cross truly means.”
Jemimah swallowed hard, head bowed. The ground beneath them felt suddenly sacred. Her voice trembled before it formed, a fragile plea rising from the depths of her heart.
Jemimah (pleading):
“Jimmi… can you forgive me?”
Jimmi wiped her face again and stepped closer, resting a steady hand on Jemimah’s shoulder. Strength returned—quiet, immovable—her voice firm but gentle.
Jimmi (assured):
“Yes. I forgive you… and God does too.”
Her gaze lifted heavenward, light catching the tears clung to her lashes. The unseen tension loosened, chains falling without sound.
They embraced, their bodies shaking as tears flowed freely. The compound breathed again. Peace pressed gently into every corner.
After a moment, Jimmi released her and went inside the room, closing the door behind her. Outside sounds dimmed, leaving the hush of sacred privacy.
Inside, she fell to her knees. Tears flowed unchecked as her voice broke into song—trembling, resolute—rising like an offering laid on the altar of her heart.
Jimmi (worshipful):
“On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross…”
The melody lingered, mingling with distant birdsong and the soft hush of footsteps beyond the walls.
Conviction settled like dew—cleansing, rather than crushing. The breeze carried the final note into silence.
The morning continued—but the air was clearer, the weight lifted, and purity stood strengthened again.
Nothing was the same.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Written by Agbemawle Atsu Norvishi
© All Rights Reserved. Shared freely to bless and inspire.
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