I stared into the depths of her soul through her eyes; they were the colour of her luscious lips—black, with a tinge of brown at the edges. She held my right hand with her left, and with her right hand, she touched my face, running her finger along my cheek down to my jaw, then going upwards and stopping at my lower lip. She bit her lips in sorrow, but the action sent shivers of desire through me; her touches sent little darts of pleasure throughout my entire body.

The atmosphere was tense; she bent her head and a lone tear landed on my hand which now covered hers. I was at loss for words. As a man, I should be the one to console her, to tell her that everything would work out. I should be the one to tell her that our love story had been written in the pages of time even before time began. But I was tongue-tied. Because I knew that I could not bring myself to utter those words, not when I knew that my life and that of my family was at stake because we had found love in ourselves.

She drew a long breathe and said, "Obi m, do not worry yourself too much. I will find a way to make my father see reasons with us. He has to understand that our love was ordained by the gods. And no body, not even him the king can change that."

She was the optimistic one, while I've always been negatively realistic (some would say pessimistic). She saw silver linings even before the rain had finished. For me, what I saw was a storm that would sweep me and my family in its wake.

"Ojiugo, my sweetness, I do not blame your father for standing in the way of our love. It has been our tradition right from the time of our forefathers that a freeborn and an apịtị would have nothing in common. They had labeled us an abomination, separating us from the rest of the people of Umunkwo. We belong to Ajouwa, the goddess of death. Why won't your father object to our union?"

Her face darkened, and she looked at me with a mixture of scorn and indignation that I was tempted to giggle. I knew that if the situation had been another one, she would have hit her forehead with her palm in an expression of frustration and incredulity. Instead, she cupped my face with both her hands, and planted a soft wet kiss on my lips.

"You are everything beautiful I've always longed for; you are my future, my hope and my world. Most importantly, you are human—that is what my father fails to see. That is what we have to make him see," she replied.

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https://www.thezenpens.com/2020/02/01/looking-beyond-the-tags/