As long as she lives | ✔️

Exile talks

When Aairah awoke, it became glaringly clear to her, that her opportunity has slipped through her fingers. That's it.

There will be no wedding night, no virtue, nothing.

All the feelings she thought she had buried deep inside a valley in her heart, suddenly sprang free, climbing over the mountain of bitter anger and hurt. She has never felt a rage so potent, so overwhelmingly powerful. It feels as if it's growing tangible before her very eyes and she was helpless to stop it.

After all that wasted effort, he didn't have the decency to look like she tried. She didn't expect worry from him. But she at least thought he would try to look surprised she has a medical condition. That she fainted on his arms, while she was about to kiss him. The one act of bravery and courage she had practiced has turned out for nothing.

Asim was always trying to take advantage of her. He didn't care about anything but his needs. She didn't even know what he wanted from her. She was just too young to understand it. Raised as she was, at a place were shyness was everything in a woman, no one even wanted to try to give a name to the vulgar offenses Asim portrayed. Being a son of the Ardo had been one of his winning card. It made her so averse to intimacy that at some conscious level, she had begun to shut out that door. She didn't like friends who touched when they are excited or annoyed. If you wanted comfort, Aairah was only capable at some oral level. But despite all that. And the fact that he looks so like Asim, she had gone against every instinct she possessed to make it work.

He didn't know that what she offered him earlier wasn't her virginity. It was her dignity, pride and self esteem. It was blind trust, and hope that he would respect her decision. That he would feel compassion and understanding. She wanted him to prove to her he is different from his brother.

Nothing to do with love or affection. Just self preservation. Her ticket to restoring her honor.

She never thought that she would be thwarted by something so ridiculous. She never once thought that her virtue is a problem. She had always thought that virtue, is a sacred gift every groom demands from his wife. How was she to know that her own groom would not want her enough to want to take it?

After what seemed like forever, she looked over at him. She marveled at how simply human he seems. His shirt is unbuttoned at the top, his jean trousers were a stylish pencil that clung to his beautifully muscled thighs, making him seem like he is going through college for the very first time. Right now, he is holding a book as he reclined on a sofa that wasn't in the room before now. It must be nice to have things move about at leisure. Even though the room is big enough to accommodate many more sofas, he left it bare. And now he has a recliner matched inside when it struck his fancy.

She ascertained fully that it didn't matter what he wore. This man is made from pure sizzling grace anyway. Power isn't just a tool to him, it's his very core. He is at the top. He feels it. It has become a part of him. As easily as breathing. As normal as having two eyes. So even though he could give orders and make her do his bidding, he chose to make her know that he has all the cards. He would play them at his own leisure. The matter of her virtue is his territory. He didn't wish for anyone to dictate when he would have it. Including her.

It must be so hard being the center of goodwill from friends and enemies alike. When you are always being presented with gifts people only dream of, it stands to reason you will not value them as much. She was raised to believe that her virtue is her most important asset when she does get married. It will bring honor to her and brighten the future of her offspring. The tradition must've started out innocently enough. But along the way, decades, centuries past, it has ceased to matter if it is true or not-that the girl indeed is virtuous whether or not she bled on her wedding night.