She waited until she was 26. Not because she was saving it for marriage, and not because nobody asked. She just kept finding reasons to put it off — exams, a strict mother, a boyfriend who said he “respected” her and then cheated anyway, a city that made her feel like the only person who had never done it.
The night it happened was ordinary. A friend of a friend, a quiet apartment, rain against the window. He didn’t rush her. He asked twice. She said yes both times, then laughed at herself for shaking.
Afterward she expected to feel different. Smaller, or freer, or ruined, the way people talk about it. She mostly felt thirsty, and a little annoyed that the sheets were on the floor. On the way home she bought plantain chips and ate them on the bus like nothing had changed.