Morning.
Her head pounded. Her legs trembled. Her heart screamed.
She glanced at Lazarus sleeping peacefully.
“What was I thinking…?” she whispered, tears burning her eyes.
A man the age of my father…
A man who shouldn’t even see me this way…
A man whose son I like…
Shame swallowed her whole.
She quietly dressed.
Opened the door.
Left.
Lazarus woke minutes later.
He sat in silence.
“What have I done…?”
He poured whiskey at 7am. That said enough.
Instead of returning to Nakuru… he drove back to Nairobi.
Running from temptation.
Running from her.
Meanwhile…
Nasieku dragged herself into the Airbnb and collapsed into bed. Noon sun dragged her awake. Silence filled the house.
Until she heard groaning.
“Boaz?” she called.
She pushed open a door and found him sweating, shivering, shirtless, mumbling painfully.
“Oh my God…”
Instinct took over.
Cold towel.
Medication.
Checking his fever.
She stayed by him like a wife would — silently, carefully, lovingly.
Hours later, he woke.
He inhaled deeply and froze.
Her scent.
Soft perfume on his pillow.
His bare chest.
Her towel-wrapped body in the kitchen.
A dangerous misunderstanding bloomed.
He stared at her differently.