Perfumes and Prayers

Forgotten whispers

Their breath's heaved as they stared at each other with awestruck looks on their faces. Owoicho confessed his longing—the ache for something he couldn't name. Their vulnerability became a bridge—a path toward understanding. they talked—about lost kingdoms, stolen kisses, and the taste of mangoes. Their words were soft, like secrets exchanged between constellations. Uva listened, her heart echoing his. Owoicho traced her spine, mapping constellations of desire. Their whispers became promises. Owoicho cared for Uva—the way he cradled her, kissed her forehead, and whispered sweet nothings. His touch was a language—a dialect of tenderness and reassurance. Uva listened, her breaths a symphony of trust. In those moments, they wrote their own dictionary of love. The pendant—the azure gemstone—became their talisman. Uva wore it, and Owoicho traced its edges. Memories resurfaced—the taste of oranges, stolen glances, and laughter by the stream. Their shared past became a compass—a guide toward their future.  When they touched, it was more than skin meeting skin. It was a promise—a reminder that they weren't alone. Uva's fingers traced his jawline, and Owoicho held her close. Their bodies became maps—charted with kisses and whispered dreams.

The morning sun filtered through the woven curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. Owoicho stood frozen, a duster in one hand, as his gaze locked onto the framed photograph on the wooden shelf. There they were—the three of them—captured in a moment of forgotten joy.

Uva, her eyes wide with disbelief, approached him. "Owoicho," she whispered, her voice trembling, "what do you see?"

He tore his eyes away from the photograph, meeting her gaze. "Us," he said, his voice hoarse. "Together. But I don't remember..."

Uva's fingers brushed against the pendant hanging from her neck—a delicate silver crescent moon. She glanced at Little Owi, who lay on a blanket, chubby fingers reaching for the world. His pendant, identical to hers, nestled against his tiny chest.

"It's the same," Uva murmured. "The pendants. Yours, mine, and Owi's."

Owoicho's mind raced, memories like shards of glass trying to fit together. "Why?" he asked. "Why would we wear these?"

Uva's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "I don't know," she admitted. "But I've always felt a connection—a pull toward you both. As if our souls recognized each other."

Little Owi stirred, his coos a symphony of innocence. Uva knelt beside him, cradling his soft head. "Our son," she said, her voice breaking. "Owoicho, he's ours. And we've forgotten."

He sank to his knees, the weight of lost years crashing down. "How?" he whispered. "How could we forget?"