The first light of dawn had not yet touched the sky when the drums began to beat.
Dum. Dum. Dum.
The sound rolled through the village like thunder, waking even the children from their dreams. Dogs barked. Babies cried. Men and women rose quickly from their mats, whispering to each other as they wrapped cloth around their waists and hurried toward the square.
It was not a market day. It was not a festival. The drums had only one meaning.
A trial.
And this time, everyone already knew the reason.
Sola sat inside her hut, her body trembling as the beats echoed in her chest. Her wrapper was clutched so tightly in her hands that her knuckles turned white. Her stomach twisted with dread.
Outside, voices were rising. She could hear women calling their neighbors. She could hear men laughing, others spitting curses. Every sound made her heart sink deeper.
Kunle stood near the door, his jaw set, his shoulders straight. He had not slept much the night before. His eyes were dark with both weariness and fire.
"They will gather," he said quietly, turning to her. "They will question us. They will threaten us. But remember this, Sola—our love is not dirt. It is not a curse. It is real."
Sola's lips trembled. "But if they cast me out? If they beat you? If my husband returns?"
He reached for her, pulling her hands into his. "Then I will stand. I will not run. Whatever they throw at us, I will not deny you."
Her eyes filled with tears. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that love was enough to silence the whispers, to blind the village's sharp eyes. But deep down, fear clawed at her.
The drums grew louder. The time had come.
---
The village square was already crowded when they arrived.
Men sat on wooden stools, some with staffs in their hands. Women clustered together, holding baskets they had not yet set down from the early morning chores. Children crouched near the front, wide-eyed, eager for the drama.
At the center of it all sat the elders, lined in a half-circle. Their wrappers were neat, their walking sticks polished. The oldest among them, Elder Taye, leaned heavily on his staff, his wrinkled face unreadable.
Beside him stood Ola, Sola's husband, who had returned only the night before. His eyes blazed with fury. His hands were fists at his sides. He looked like a storm that had been waiting too long to break.
When Sola and Kunle stepped into the square, a hush fell. All eyes turned.
Sola's breath caught. She felt naked under their gazes. Whispers rippled through the crowd.
"There she is."
"With him!"
"Shameless."
Her cheeks burned, but Kunle's hand brushed hers briefly—a silent promise.
Elder Taye's voice was slow but heavy as he spoke.
"People of the village, we are gathered because the peace of our land has been disturbed. A woman, wife of our brother Ola, has been accused of lying with another man. This man stands before us too. Their secret has become the talk of every mouth."
The crowd murmured. Ola stepped forward, pointing at Sola. His voice rang out like a blade.
"She dishonored me! While I worked in the city, while I sweated to send food and money home, she opened her hut to another man. This boy! This farm hand! This thief of hearts!"
He turned to the elders, his chest heaving. "I demand justice. If we let this stand, every woman will break her home, every man will be mocked. She must be punished. He must be cast out!"
The crowd shouted in agreement. Some slapped their thighs. Some spat on the ground.
Sola lowered her head, her heart beating so loudly she thought it would burst.
But then Kunle stepped forward. His voice was strong, clear, not shaking even once.
"I am no thief. What we share is not dirt. It is not a shame. I love her. She loves me. While Ola abandoned her, while he left her to sleep alone and cry in silence, I was here. I saw her pain. I gave her comfort. If that is a crime, then let your stones fall on me first."
The crowd gasped. No man had ever spoken against the elders' judgment before it was even given. No man had dared challenge a husband's right.
Ola's face turned red with rage. He surged forward, but two men held him back. "Liar! You dare—"
"Enough!" Elder Taye's staff struck the ground. The crowd fell quiet again. His eyes, sharp even with age, moved between Kunle and Sola.
"Woman," he said slowly, "look at us. Do you deny what has been spoken? Did this man enter your hut at night?"
Sola's lips parted, but no words came. The square seemed to tilt around her. Every face, every whisper pressed against her chest. She wanted to scream the truth, she wanted to confess her love, but fear strangled her.
If she admitted it, what would happen? Would they beat Kunle? Would they strip her of everything?
She opened her mouth, but Kunle's voice cut in before she could speak.
"Yes," he said firmly. "She is mine, as I am hers. I will not hide it."
The crowd erupted again. Some cursed. Some laughed in disbelief. Others—especially the younger women—looked at Sola with something else in their eyes. Not judgment. Not hatred. Something closer to envy, or longing.
Elder Taye raised his staff once more. "Silence!"
The noise died down, though whispers still flowed like water.
He turned to the other elders, their heads bent together in low conversation. Their faces were unreadable, their words hidden. After a long pause, Elder Taye spoke again.
"The truth has been spoken. The shame is heavy. Yet the matter of judgment is not simple. A wife has broken the bond of her home. A man has stepped into another man's shadow. But we cannot rush. We cannot strike without wisdom."
He looked at Ola, whose chest rose and fell like a bull ready to charge. "You will wait. The council will meet tonight. At dawn tomorrow, we will give our judgment."
A heavy silence fell.
The people muttered, disappointed at the delay. Ola's fists shook with rage. Kunle's jaw tightened, but he stood tall.
Sola felt her knees weaken. Tonight. Tomorrow. One more day of waiting, of dreading, of hoping.
Elder Taye lifted his staff one last time. "Go to your home. Keep your tongues still. Tomorrow, the truth will be judged."
The crowd slowly broke apart, spilling into the narrow paths of the village. But the whispers did not stop. They clung to Sola's skin like smoke.
"Tomorrow they will flog him."
"Maybe they will cast her out."
"Or maybe… the elders will surprise us."
Sola walked with Kunle, her steps heavy, her head low. Ola's glare followed her until she vanished into the path leading to her hut.
That night, as the moon rose once more, she sat beside Kunle in silence. The fire between them burned low.
"What if tomorrow they tear us apart?" she whispered.
Kunle's hand found hers. His eyes glowed in the dim light.
"Then tomorrow I will still speak your name. Whatever comes, I will not let them erase what we are."
Her tears fell silently, and she leaned into him, listening to the beat of his heart.
Outside, the drums were silent. The village slept. But in the air hung a tension so sharp, it seemed the night itself was holding its breath.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
Let wait for the final judgement in the next chapter
Stay toon