IN THE NAME OF DESIRE: a prayer unfinished
His eyes grow heavy, and then, in a voice so low it barely exists,
"I want you."
I freeze.
"Every bit of you. Naked and clothed. Vain and deep. Bratty and unsure. Every piece you have to offer."
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He told himself he shouldn't look at her. Shouldn't think about her. Shouldn't want her. But he did.
An Egyptian man, raised among women who valued modesty, where faith was unshaken and restraint was second nature. But here, in Nigeria, at one of its most prestigious universities, his convictions wavered.
Everything about this place was loud-the voices, the laughter, the confidence. But nothing unsettled him more than her.
A Nigerian Woman.
The way she dressed. The way she carried herself. The way she met his gaze without fear.
He had been taught that women like her were reckless, unrestrained. He had been warned against their kind. Yet, why couldn't he look away?
He needed focus. School. Graduation. Home. That was the plan. That was the only path.
But distraction had a name. And she was a fire in his veins.
Now, he had to choose-duty or desire.
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