He was tender. Protective. Proud.

But pregnancy changes everything.

As her body grew, so did his discomfort.

He’d look at her differently.

Less desire.
More irritation.

“Boaz… can you help me tie my shoes?” she asked softly one day.

He sighed loudly. “Sasa every small thing I must help you? You’re not disabled.”

His words stabbed.

She tried to smile. Pretend it didn’t hurt.

Grace started visiting more.

Laughing loudly.

Taking Boaz out at night.

He’d come home smelling of alcohol and perfume.

“Where were you?” she’d whisper.

“With friends,” he’d snap.

“At 3 a.m.?”

“Stop acting like my mother!”

The distance grew.

He stopped touching her belly.
Stopped attending clinic appointments.
Stopped being present.

And one evening…

Grace invited her over.

A “friendly” gesture.

To “talk”.

Nasieku walked in.

And saw Boaz.

In Grace’s bed.

Half-naked.

Laughing.

Alive.

Happy.

Her world burned.

“Boaz…?” she whispered, voice cracking.

He froze.

Grace smirked. “Oops.”

Everything shattered.

Pain consumed her.

Breath disappeared.

She collapsed.

The last thing she saw…

Was blood.

The land stretched wide and proud. The wind carried culture, tradition, unbending pride.

Her mother cried when she saw her belly.

Her father’s jaw tightened like stone.

“Entoki Muren?” he demanded. “Is it true?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

A heavy silence.

“You have brought shame to us,” he growled.

“Mama… Baba please—”

A slap cut through the air.

“You were raised as a daughter of dignity!” her mother cried. “Na sasa? Look at you!”

She fell to her knees.

“I’m sorry…”

Women gathered. Whispers spread.

“University corrupted her.”
“She slept around.”
“She forgot who she is.”
“No dowry. No honor.”

Her father turned away.

“From today… you are not my daughter.”

Her mother sobbed.

“Mama, please…”

Her father lifted his chin.

“Pack. Leave. Go to the man responsible.”

The sky felt heavier.

The land mourned her.

But tradition had spoken.

And so… Nasieku was exiled from her own blood.

Nasieku’s palms were sweaty. Her breath shaky.

“Relax,” Boaz whispered. “They’ll love you. Or at least… they better.”

He squeezed her fingers.

Inside, elegance whispered wealth. Photographs of achievements hung on the walls. A blend of silence and pressure lived inside this house.

Claire Njeri — Boaz’s mother — sat with crossed legs, expensive perfume filling the room. Her eyes scanned Nasieku like a security camera.

“And this is…?” Claire asked, forcing a tight smile.

“My girlfriend,” Boaz said proudly, tightening his arm around Nasieku.

Her eyebrow twitched. “Girlfriend?”

“And… she’s pregnant.”

Silence ripped through the room.

Claire’s face hardened. “Excuse me?”

Before she could speak further, Lazarus walked in from his study.

And the world stopped.

His eyes met Nasieku’s.

Shock.

Recognition.

Guilt.

Longing.

Pain.

Her fingers trembled.

His throat tightened.
He swallowed slowly, pretending nothing burned inside him.

Boaz continued, proudly. “Dad… meet Nasieku. She’s the one. I’m going to marry her.”

Silence.

Lazarus stared at her like she was the only storm that ever mattered.

Claire exploded.

“Boaz Njoroge! How can you bring shame to this family!? Pregnant before marriage? And with—” she paused, glaring at Nasieku, “—a campus girl you barely know?”

“Mum—”
“No! I warned you! You bring a woman here for marriage, I must approve!”

Boaz clenched his jaw. “I love her.”

“You don’t know what love is!” Claire spat. “Huyu ni gold digger. Trapper. Opportunist!”

Nasieku sank into herself.

Lazarus finally spoke.

“Claire. Enough.”

She turned sharply. “Excuse me?”

Lazarus didn’t look away from Nasieku.

“Boaz is an adult. His decisions are his.”

Boaz blinked. “Dad… you’re okay with this?”

Lazarus exhaled slowly.

“I have nothing to say.”

Nothing to say…
Yet everything to feel.

Boaz frowned. Claire mocked a bitter laugh.

“Fine. If this is what you want, then marry her. But don’t expect blessings from me.”

Boaz stormed out.

Nasieku followed.

Lazarus watched her leave.

Her eyes lingered on him. Just a second.

Enough to break both of them.

“It’s mine, right?”

She froze.

Silence.

Then he did something unexpected.

He pulled her closer.

“I’ll take responsibility. I’ll be your boyfriend officially. I’ll protect you. I’ll marry you if I have to. I won’t let my child grow up without a family.”

Her chest tightened.

He believed the lie she never told.

And she was too scared to correct him.

“Okay…” she whispered.

He kissed her forehead like a promise.

And that’s how a lie became destiny.

Their complicated love story officially began…

Weeks later, something felt wrong.

Late period.

Fear crept in.

“No… no please no…” she whispered, shaking as she took the test.

Positive.

Her soul fell apart.

Tears poured. Breath vanished. Her life changed.

Whispers spread.

“Nasieku ako pregnant.”
“I heard it’s Boaz.”
“Huyo girl ni scandal.”

Campus turned cruel.

She never spoke.

Never named the father.

Her friends hugged her.

“We’re with you,” they promised.

Then Boaz found out.

And everything exploded.

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.

Nasieku watched from a distance.

“They look… close, don’t they?” her friend whispered.

“Too close,” Nasieku muttered, her chest tightening.

When a slow song played, she gathered courage.
“Boaz… dance?” she asked softly.

Grace’s laugh cut the air.
“Ahh no no, he promised me this one. Right, Boaz?”

Boaz hesitated. One second. Two seconds. The hesitation was enough to kill something in Nasieku.

“Yeah… we already agreed,” Boaz said, eyes not meeting hers.

Her heart burned. So I’m nothing. Just vibes.

“Haya basi, enjoy,” Nasieku forced a smile and walked away.

She didn’t cry. That would mean she cared too openly. Instead, she went to the bar.

“One tequila,” she told the bartender.

“Make it two. I’ll pay,” a familiar voice said.

She turned.

Lazarus.

Dressed in dark jeans, sleeves folded, masculinity in human form. Calm. Tall. Dangerous to the soul.

“You again…” she breathed.

“Looks like fate is stubborn,” he smirked.

They talked. About life. About expectations. About loneliness.

“You look like someone with too much heart for a world that doesn’t know how to use it,” Lazarus said softly.

Her throat tightened.

“Boaz is lucky, you know,” he added.

She laughed bitterly. “Hakujui. He doesn’t even see me.”

Lazarus watched her… really watched her.
And for the first time… someone saw the broken parts too.

“Come. This place is loud. I know somewhere better,” he said.

She hesitated — then looked toward Boaz.

He didn’t notice. Grace whispered into his ear, laughing.

Nasieku swallowed the ache.

“Okay,” she whispered.

They left.

He took her to his art studio. Soft jazz. Warm lighting. Wine. Paintings of life in broken strokes.

They laughed. Danced. He held her waist.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.

“I’m afraid of myself,” she whispered.

Then his lips were on hers.

One kiss turned into another. Then into sins painted between breaths.

And that night, Nasieku slept with Boaz’s father.

A sin sweet enough to damn heaven.

Tall.
Calm.
Commanding presence like a king who didn’t need to roar.
Voice warm like evening tea.

He wasn’t young and reckless.

He was a storm held together by discipline.

“Are you lost?” he asked.

“No,” she breathed. “Just thinking.”

He studied her as he could see beyond skin.
Beyond body.
Straight into her fears.

“You’re too young to carry pain that heavy,” he said softly.

She almost laughed.
Almost cried.

They sat down and talked.

About school.
About life.
About people.
About quiet pain.

He didn’t flirt.
He didn’t make it dirty.
He didn’t make it predatory.

He made it human.

When she laughed…
He looked at her like laughter were precious.

When she hesitated speaking…
He waited patiently.

When she spoke about fear of vulnerability…
He understood.

Truly understood.

“You remind me of someone,” he said quietly.
“A warrior who thinks hiding wounds makes her strong.”

She looked at him.
“A warrior?”

He nodded gently.
“Little warrior.”

Something deep in her heart softened.

No one had ever called her that.

Not in that tone.
Not with that softness.
Not with that kind of… reverence.

He checked his watch eventually.

“I must go,” he said.
But he lingered.

She waited for him to walk away.

He didn’t.

Instead, he looked at her for a long moment.
A moment too warm.
Too deep.
Too intimate.

“Goodnight… little warrior.”

He left.

And she stood there frozen.

Her heartbeat wasn’t calm.
Her mind wasn’t quiet.

Her soul had just recognized something dangerous.

Warmth.
Safety.
Understanding.

From a man she shouldn’t feel anything for.

A man who would ruin everything.

A man who would become the greatest mistake her heart would ever make.

She didn’t know his name.

Not yet.

But soon…
She would.

And when she did…
Her life would never be the same.

Because the man whose presence shook her heart…

Was the one man destiny had forbidden her from ever wanting?

Girls in bikinis.
Boys showing off.
Music playing too loudly.
Sunlight warm on skin.

Then he walked in.

Boaz.

Tall.
Relaxed.
Quiet confidence.
Eyes that noticed everything without shouting for attention.

He didn’t rush to impress.
Didn’t act loud.
Didn’t force himself to be seen.

Yet everyone noticed him.

Especially her.

Their eyes met.
Just once.
But something inside her chest quietly shifted.

Amina noticed immediately.

“Aaai, someone is staring,” she whispered like a devil.

“Stop,” Nasieku muttered, looking away too quickly.

He didn’t approach her first.
He watched.
Measured.
Observed.

That was somehow even more dangerous.

Later, she swam too long and got tired. Her breathing uneven. Shoulders aching.

He noticed.

Of course he did.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

“Yes… just… tired.”

“Kuja hapa,” he said. “You’ll hurt your back like that.”

She hesitated.

Touch.
Closeness.
Intimacy.

Every fear pressed against her ribs.

But she nodded.

His hands on her shoulders felt… warm.
Gentle.
Respectful.
Careful, like she might break.

“You carry tension as it owes you debt,” he said softly.

She laughed weakly. “Maybe I don’t know how to relax.”

“Then someone needs to teach you.”

The words shouldn’t have meant anything…

But they did.

That sentence slipped inside her chest.
And stayed.

For the first time in years…

She didn’t feel scared of touch.

She felt safe.

She shouldn’t have.

Because safety was the most dangerous lie.

That evening, everyone laughed in the living room. Boaz leaned against the wall, talking to friends, smiling occasionally.

He was calm.
Grounded.
Mature.

Not like the loud boys she knew.

He looked at her again.
A small smirk tugged at his lips.

Like he knew.

Like he could already tell she was slowly… falling.

And the worst part?

That awareness fed his ego.

Night at the Library

Everyone slept.

She didn’t.

Loneliness sometimes screams louder in silence. So she slipped out quietly and walked to a nearby late-night library, needing peace.

The room was warm.
Quiet.
Books smelling like comfort.

She walked between the shelves slowly…

Then someone spoke gently.

“You again.”

She froze.

Turned.

And met a man’s eyes.

When the final exam bell rang, the campus exploded into chaos.

Girls screamed.
Boys whistled.
Lecturers pretended to be strict but smiled anyway.
Books closed. Stress dropped. Freedom tasted like sugar.

For Nasieku, it wasn’t just excitement.
It was relief.
It was survival.

“Weekend getaway?” Amina whispered like she was offering salvation.
“Nakuru Airbnb, baby!” “I’m in,” Nasieku said before fear could talk her out of it. Because lately, fear had been living in her chest.

Fear of loving.
Fear of being touched.
Fear of belonging to a generation that rushed into intimacy like it was a trend.

Her mother raised her, saying:
A woman’s heart is precious. Don’t give it to someone who sees love like a snack.

But the world around her didn’t believe that.
People kissed first.
Spoke later.
Gave their bodies before giving trust.

And sometimes, that made her feel like she didn’t belong.

They traveled early the next morning—bus packed with laughter and cheap snacks. Amina was talking loudly, Nyambu was recording TikToks, and Nasieku was quietly staring out the window as the yellow savannah rolled past like a painting.

“Earth to Maa princess?” Amina nudged.

Nasieku smiled. “Niko tu. Nakuru looks peaceful.”

“Peaceful enough to let loose?” Nyambu winked.

“Kidogo.” She laughed.

But deep down, she wondered:
Would she ever feel free like other girls?
Would she ever trust love?

The Airbnb was a dream.

Warm lights.
Wide windows.
Soft couches.
A swimming pool sparkling under the sun like a secret invitation.

“This is heaven!” Amina screamed.

“It’s giving wife material lifestyle preview,” Nyambu added.

“Speak for yourselves,” Nasieku laughed. “Mimi, I just want sleep.”

But when she smiled…
Something in her eyes still looked tired.

Cupid Duties

They weren’t alone.
A group of friends from Nairobi joined.

Among them:
Faith.
Kevin.

Both are hopelessly in love.
Both blind.

Amina whispered, “Hawa wawili… one of them needs courage.”

“Leave it to me,” Nasieku smirked.

She pulled Faith aside.
“Unafeel kitu for him, ama I’m hallucinating?”

Faith blushed. “We’re just friends.”

“Sure. And I’m the Speaker of Parliament.”

Faith giggled.

Then Kevin.

“If Faith liked you… Would you run or stay?”

Kevin froze. “S-she…?”

“Answer.”

He swallowed. “I’d stay. Always.”

Later that night, Faith and Kevin were on the balcony, talking softly, smiling like children who had finally found a safe place to land.

Amina slid beside Nasieku.
“Cupid, umefanya kazi.”

Nasieku smiled proudly.

Love was easier when it wasn’t hers.

Night Thoughts

They played games.
They laughed.
Music echoed.
Life felt lighter.

But when the night turned quiet…
So did she.

While everyone slept, she lay awake thinking about relationships.

About how she feared being touched.
About how she didn’t trust “I love you.
About how she didn’t know whether she could ever let anyone… in.

She sighed.

Maybe love wasn’t for girls like her.

She didn’t know fate was already laughing.

Because love?

Was already on its way.

And it wasn’t coming gently.