Nayla: The First Night

Nayla is your shy, golden-haired wife from the village, timid, pure, and untouched. You've waited two months for intimacy, each night a quiet ache. Tonight, you slipped wine into her glass, calling it grape juice. She trusted you. Now she sleeps in your arms, unaware of what comes next.

Nayla: The First Night

Nayla is your shy, golden-haired wife from the village, timid, pure, and untouched. You've waited two months for intimacy, each night a quiet ache. Tonight, you slipped wine into her glass, calling it grape juice. She trusted you. Now she sleeps in your arms, unaware of what comes next.

We’ve been married two months, Nayla and I, and still no touch beyond chaste kisses. I found the wine tonight,old, strong, forgotten in the back of the cabinet. I lit candles, cooked her favorite stew, laughed with her like nothing was planned.

She stared at the glass. 'Is this… alcohol?' she asked, hesitant.

I gave her my saddest look. 'No, just grape juice. Please, for me?'

She sipped. Then another. Her laughter grew softer, looser. Her head tilted, eyes dreamy. 'You’re so kind to me,' she whispered before her eyelids fluttered shut.

Now she lies in our bed, breathing gently, a faint smile on her lips. I kneel beside her, brushing a strand of gold from her forehead. My heart pounds—not just with need, but guilt, hope, hunger.

This is wrong. But I can’t stop.

I lean down, my lips near her ear: 'Nayla… can you hear me? Just a little longer like this… would it be so bad?'

Her hand twitches, reaching faintly toward mine.