Chapter Seven

Busayo stood in the middle of her room, utterly still, as panic crept through her in quiet, insistent waves. 

Why did I let it get this far? Why didn’t I control myself?

She turned slowly, pacing the length of the room, her bare feet brushing against the floor as irritation for her reaction began to rise. She had escalated this. She knew she had. One moment of honesty, one crack in her composure, and suddenly Apostle Michael was leaving his house in the middle of the night because of her.

Because she couldn’t hold herself together.

Her stomach twisted.

Michael had told her how long his day had been. The people who stayed behind in church for prayers, counselling, and the responsibilities that came with carrying so many souls on his shoulders. And still, she had allowed her grief to spill over, unchecked, until he felt compelled to come.

She stopped walking and pressed her palms briefly against the wall, lowering her head.

What kind of woman does this?

In her mind, she could already imagine him replaying the evening, questioning the certainty he had felt earlier, wondering if he had been too quick to assume that God’s voice had been clear.

She pictured him renegotiating with God with words like “Lord, I didn’t know she was like this. I need someone stronger. Someone steadier without baggage.”

Her throat tightened.

Busayo lifted her head and caught her reflection in the mirror across the room. The sight startled her. Her eyes were swollen from crying, and her face still carried the softness of tears that had not fully dried. 

And then she noticed that she was still wearing her night dress.

Her heart skipped.

She sucked in a sharp breath and stepped closer to the mirror, rolling her eyes at herself when she realised that she could have accidentally worn this to see the Apostle. The fabric was thin, casual, far too intimate.

“Oh my God,” she murmured, backing away. “Absolutely not.”

She turned and yanked open her wardrobe, suddenly frantic, her hands moved through the clothes in hope to find an easy one to choose, but they all suddenly looked so unfamiliar. Dresses were pulled out and held up to her body, only to be discarded just as quickly. Each option felt wrong in a different way, too formal or too informal, or too suggestive.

Her heartbeat quickened as the seconds slipped by.

She tried again, reaching for another outfit, adjusting it, stepping back toward the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her. No matter how she wore, nothing felt appropriate for a man who carried such spiritual weight, such presence.

Her phone vibrated.

She froze.

For a moment, she didn’t move at all, as though stillness might delay the inevitable. Then she reached for it, her fingers unsteady.

Michael: I’m here.

The words sent a jolt through her.

Already?

Her gaze darted back to the wardrobe, then to the mirror, then to the door. Her heart began to race in earnest now, panic sharpening into urgency.

Should she ask him to come inside?

Would that be inappropriate?

Should she go out to meet him like this?

Before she could decide, the phone vibrated again.

Michael: You can come meet me outside.

Relief washed through her, grateful not to be the one who decided where they met.

She moved quickly now, grabbing the first outfit that felt even remotely decent and pulling it on with more hope than confidence. There was no time to style her hair; she simply smoothed it down with her hands and let it fall as it was, then hurriedly swiped gloss on her lips. 

She slipped her feet into her slippers, grabbed her house keys, and hurried out of her room.

Gloria, who was in the living room, blinked in surprise at Busayo’s sudden urgency.

“Busayo, are you okay?” she asked.

“Yes,” Busayo replied too fast. “I’m fine. Someone came to see me.”

“At this time of the night?” Gloria asked, eyebrows lifting.

“Yes. Please don’t wait up. I took my keys,” Busayo said, already reaching for the door.

Gloria studied her for a brief moment, then smiled softly. “That dress looks good on that banging body of yours.”

Busayo paused, halfway to the door. “Please,” she said quietly. “Don’t say anything. I really can’t go back and change again.”

Gloria laughed gently. “It looks good. Trust me.”

Busayo let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“Okay,” she said, more to herself than anyone else.

And with that, she stepped out into the night, heart pounding, unsure of what awaited her, but knowing there was no turning back now.

—————————————————————————————————————————

Michael was grateful for Busayo’s estate.

It was quiet, orderly, tucked away from the noise of the city. No shouting neighbours. No curious eyes lingering too long. The kind of place where pain could exist without being announced.

He asked the driver for privacy the moment they arrived. The man nodded, stepped out of the car, and moved a short distance away, remaining close enough to be present, but far enough to disappear. The engine stayed on, humming softly into the night.

Michael leaned back in his seat and exhaled.

Lord, give me the right words.

He had prayed that prayer many times in his life, but tonight it felt heavier. More personal. He wasn’t here as an Apostle addressing a congregation, or a shepherd guiding a flock. He was here because the woman God gave him was breaking under the weight of something she could no longer carry alone.

As he prayed quietly, words formed in his spirit.

Not the weight of grief.

The torment of grief.

He stiffened.

This wasn’t just sadness. It wasn’t the natural ache of loss. Something was pressing on her mind, whispering lies, turning sorrow into accusation, making her doubt God’s goodness, making her doubt herself.

He began to pray in tongues, low and steady, his eyes closed, his hands resting loosely on his lap.

Then he looked up.

She was walking toward his car.

Michael’s breath caught before he could stop it.

Her beauty captivated him, but It wasn’t just her beauty, though that was undeniable, it was the vulnerability she carried openly, the way she moved as though she wasn’t fully anchored to the ground. As though something inside her was still unraveling.

God help me, he thought quietly.

For years, he had walked this path untouched, and unmoved. He had learned how to see people without seeing gender, how to love without crossing lines, how to carry on without seeing beyond a person’s character.

And yet here she was, not demanding his attention, nor trying to impress him. Yet he was blown away.

How did You do this? He asked the Holy Spirit. How did You shield my eyes for so long… and then allow me to see her?

He stepped out of the car before she reached it, opened the door gently, and gestured for her to enter the passenger’s side. She hesitated for half a second, then obeyed.

Michael moved quickly to the driver’s seat.

He needed the distance.

As soon as the door closed, he spoke, and his voice was calm.

“Busayo, you’re going to be fine.”

She turned toward him, her eyes already glassy. “I’m so sorry, Apostle,” she said. “I shouldn’t have made you come all the way here.”

The tears fell before she could stop them.

Instinctively, he reached out, brushing them away with his thumb, a reflex born of compassion, and just as quickly, he withdrew his hand, grounding himself again.

“I was praying for you before you came out,” he said gently. “And this is what the Lord showed me.”

She looked at him.

“This isn’t just grief,” he continued. “You are grieving, yes, but there is also torment trying to attach itself to your pain. The enemy wants to use this season to make you feel abandoned, to make you feel weak, to make you doubt God’s goodness.”

She shook her head, tears spilling again. “Apostle, God knows me. He knows I’m weak. I’m not one of His strong soldiers. Why would He test me like this?”

Michael held her gaze.

“I don’t know why,” he said honestly. “But I know He hasn’t left you.”

She broke then, sobbing openly.

He reached for her hand this time, and held it firmly between both of his.

“Peace,” he said softly. “Be still.”

Her breathing stuttered, then slowed.

“In the name of Jesus,” he continued without being dramatic, “I rebuke anything that is amplifying your pain beyond what grace can carry.”

She inhaled shakily. “Please don’t spiritualize this,” she said quietly. “There’s a place for grief. I’m grieving.”

He smiled, not dismissive, but with understanding.

“I know,” he said. “And grief is allowed. But torment is not. What you are going through is moving from grief to affliction, and we must not allow it.”

She sighed, leaning back slightly, exhaustion replacing resistance.

“How do you know?”

“God told me,” he replied gently.

After a moment, Busayo let out a small, shaky laugh. “So this is how God is going to keep telling you things about me? The way He tells you things about everybody?”

Michael smiled too. “Not everybody.”

She looked at him.

“But in your case,” he added, “I pray He tells me everything. Because if you’re going to be my wife, I want the wisdom to protect you.”

She groaned softly. “There you go again with this wife thing.”

“I know,” he admitted. “I really can’t help it.”

“So I’m supposed to be your wife because God said so?” she asked. “Not because you know me. Or because you have feelings for me.”

He didn’t hesitate.

“I already do.”

She blinked. “You already know me?”

“No,” he said gently. “I already feel something.”

The car fell into a quiet that was no longer heavy,  just honest.

And for the first time that night, Busayo felt something loosen inside her chest.

“I do,” Michael said quietly. “And I know enough about you to know that we will be good for each other.”

Busayo swallowed, her fingers tightening slightly around his. “So… you’re not turned off by all this?” she asked, her voice small. “The crying, the grief, the way I fall apart, the way I complain.”

“No,” he said without hesitation. “If anything, I’m grateful that I can be here for you.”

He held her hand a little firmer then, grounding, steady.

“I like that I can be here,” he added. “I wish I had met your father, he sounds like an incredible man, if you miss him this deeply.” 

He paused. 

“I’m not here to replace him, Busayo. I can’t and I won’t try, but my presence can soften the ache. I can stand with you while you heal.”

Her eyes glistened again. “Michael… I’m not cut out to be the wife of a man of God. I’m ordinary. Very ordinary.”

He smiled, not amused, but certain. “So am I.”

She frowned. “You’re not ordinary.”

“I am,” he insisted gently. “I just happen to be called into ministry. And you too are a woman of God. Every believer who walks with Him is.”

She shook her head. “Then I’m failing. I don’t attend conferences like that. I stream church more than I go in person. I don’t have Scripture memorized. I wouldn’t know how to be a mama G.O. I don’t like crowds. I don’t like people leaning on me for answers.”

He lifted a finger softly, silencing her. “Shhh.”

Those things,” he said calmly, “are my assignment. That is my office. I’m the apostle. I’m the one called to carry that weight.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice lower, more intimate.

“I don’t need you to become anything other than my wife, my partner, and a sincere child of God. Yes, I would love for you to grow in the Word, because the word of God gives us direction. I would invite you into the spaces I’m in but I’m not marrying you for the church.” He met her eyes. “I’m marrying you for me.”

She stared at him, stunned.

“I won’t allow you to be swallowed by church expectations,” he continued. “I will protect your peace. See, when God told me you were the one, it came as a surprise, because I had assumed that he wanted me to be like the Apostle Paul. I don’t see women differently from men. I just see people created by God in need of spiritual guidance, and I deliver God’s word. I can’t say the same about how I see you. From the first day we met till now, the emotions that well up when I think of you are definitely God’s divine arrangement.”

Her voice came out as a whisper. “So… you want me? You actually like me?”

“I do,” he said simply. “In every sense of the word. God planted the idea of you in my heart, yes, but have you looked at yourself, Busayo? You are a beautiful woman.” His smile softened. “It’s not just the spirit man in me that approves of you, the man in me does too. I would be happy waking up beside you.”

She felt heat rush to her face. “But look at me,” she said weakly. “My hair is a mess.”

He lifted his hand instinctively, as though to brush it back, then stopped himself. The restraint cost him something.

“Trust me,” he said, quietly. “Even like this, you are beautiful to me.”

She smiled, shy and unguarded. “Well…”

He chuckled softly. “Do you think you could like me too?”

“What’s there not to like?” she replied. “You’re kind and very easy to be around. I mean, the fact that I already forget you’re an apostle sometimes says a lot. If I am also being honest, I have felt a strong sense of peace since I met you.”

“Thank you,” he said, with a soft smile.

Then he grew serious. “Let me leave you with this, weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning.”

She nodded, absorbing it.

“And this,” he added. “Allow God comfort you, Busayo. Don’t resist Him.”

Busayo nodded in agreement, then silence settled between them.

“I should go now,” he said reluctantly.

“Have you eaten?” she asked.

“No. I had to come save my queen.”

She laughed. “I’m not your queen yet.”

“Soon,” he said easily.

“Do you want food?” she asked. “I have some.”

He smiled. “My mum cooked. I don’t want her disappointed.”

She nodded. “That’s good.”

He paused. “On a second thought… I wouldn’t mind eating your food.”

She smiled. “Another day. Go and eat mummy’s food tonight.”

He squeezed her hand once more, lingering just a second longer than necessary, then she stepped out of the car.

And for the first time that evening, Busayo felt something she hadn’t felt in a long while.

Hope.

————————————————————————————————————————

Michael’s visit had been like a balm to her soul.

Busayo slept.

It surprised her, how deeply she slept, not the restless, half-waking sleep she had known these past days, but the kind that wrapped around her gently and held her still. When she woke, the grief was still there, the headache still lingered faintly at her temples, but the tightness in her chest had loosened. Her heart no longer raced as though danger was near.

For the first time in days, she felt… okay.

Then she checked the time.

“Oh no.”

She sprang out of bed, suddenly aware of how late it was, the calm shattering into urgency. She rushed through her morning routine, dressing faster than usual, but with more care than she normally gave workdays. She chose a dress she liked. Just in case.

The thought made her pause.

“Busayo,” she muttered to herself, shaking her head. “You haven’t even said yes.”

She hurried into the kitchen, packed her food for the day, then hesitated. After a moment, she added a second plate.

Just in case.

She laughed under her breath, half amused, half embarrassed. Am I serious at all? she wondered. Am I already leading him on?

She closed her eyes briefly. “God,” she prayed, quietly, “is this really what You want?”

No answer came, not in words, but the peace from the night before did not leave her.

She booked a taxi and rushed out.

————————————————————————————————————————-

Kelechi was the last person she wanted to see that morning.

She spotted him just as she approached the office, standing near the staircase, positioned in a way that made avoidance impossible. She considered pretending not to see him, but he had already noticed her.

“Hi,” she said quickly, attempting to pass.

“Busayo.” He reached out and caught her arm.

She froze. “Kelechi, what are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice earnest. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have kissed you without your permission.”

Her eyes darted around instinctively. “Please,” she whispered, “lower your voice.”

“I’m serious,” he continued. “Can we start again? Properly. Let me take you out. I want to show you I’m not a bad guy.”

She laughed softly, incredulous. “You’re joking, right?”

“No,” he said quickly. “I had a moment. You’re beautiful, Busayo. Sometimes I lose my head just looking at you. I want you. I want us.”

She pulled her arm free. “I’m not for sale, Kelechi. You can’t just decide you want me and think that’s enough.”

“I want to marry you,” he insisted. “I want something serious.”

She sighed, exhaustion creeping in. “Unfortunately, I’m not available.”

He frowned. “Last time I checked, you weren’t in a relationship. Are you in one now?”

“Please,” she said, stepping back, “I’m late for work.”

“I’ll see you again,” he called after her. “I’m not giving up.”

She didn’t respond. She just walked into the building.

—————————————————————————————————————————

By the time she sat at her desk, the headache had returned with force, pounding sharply behind her eyes. She rummaged through her bag, found some ibuprofen, swallowed it quickly with water, and leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes for a moment.

Her phone buzzed. It was a message from the Apostle.

Hey Queen. How are you this morning?

Her lips curved into a small smile.

I’m fine, she typed.

There was no way she was mentioning the headache. No need to seem fragile. No need to give him more reason to worry.

————————————————————————————————————————–

Michael’s phone vibrated on the conference table.

He glanced down instinctively.

Busayo.

The governing council sat around the long table at the church office, papers spread out, laptops open, voices layered in discussion about the upcoming crusade. Michael was present, nodding where necessary, but part of him had already drifted elsewhere.

To her.

He tilted the phone slightly, replying discreetly.

Michael:

We’re having a leadership meeting right now.

Busayo:

I guessed as much. No days off 😄

He smiled to himself.

Michael:

We are discussing the crusade and the welcome service tonight.

I was thinking… it would be nice to have you there.

Busayo:

You know I don’t like crowds.

Michael:

It’s not that kind of service.

It’s mostly church workers and leadership.

There will be breakout Bible study sessions, smaller groups. No pressure.

A pause.

Busayo:

I really don’t like crowds o.

Michael:

I know.

But the grace of God will be sufficient for you.

He gives strength for the things He assigns us to.

A beat.

Busayo:

Ah. What does that even mean? 😅

Michael:

(laughs)

It means if God is inviting you somewhere, He won’t leave you stranded there.

She sent a laughing emoji.

Busayo:

Okay. No problem. I’ll come.

His heart lifted slightly.

Michael:

Great. I’ll send the driver to pick you up.

You didn’t drive to work today, right?

Busayo:

No. How did you know?

Michael:

Honestly? I just guessed.

Busayo:

😂

This is how you’ve been doing everything lately.

Michael:

Not this one. I promise.

She smiled at her phone.

Busayo:

No problem. 

Michael:

Yes.

Please make sure you eat lunch.

Busayo:

Funny you should say that.

I actually brought you food… just in case.

Michael:

What??

Please bring my food when you’re coming. I will send my driver to bring you.😄

Busayo:

No need to send the driver. I’ll just take a taxi.

Michael:

This is my way of taking care of you. I want you to be comfortable.

Busayo:

I’ll be comfortable in the Taxi too, sir.

Michael:

(laughs)

My driver is not doing anything anyway. Let him earn his salary.

Plus… you’re bringing my food.

Busayo:

Okay.

Michael:

Come straight to my office.

I’ll ask Cathy to give me about 30 minutes with you before the service.

Just then, a voice broke into his quiet bubble.

“Apostle, what do you think?”

Michael looked up.

“Sorry,” he said, blinking. “Can you say that again?”

Cathy repeated the question. “Should we split the missionaries across the breakout groups, so each group has at least one representative?”

Michael nodded, gathering himself. “Yes, that’s a good idea. That way they can participate properly and also mingle with the church workforce.”

He leaned back slightly. “How long are they staying again?”

“Six weeks,” Cathy replied.

“That’s great,” Michael said. “And after this, we’ll send some of our own people to join them.”

She hesitated. “The visas haven’t come out yet.”

Michael smiled calmly. “Then we trust God. The visas will come.”

As the meeting continued, his phone lay face-down on the table.

But his thoughts kept drifting back to the simple fact that Busayo would be there tonight.

And somehow, that made everything feel aligned.

The door to the conference room opened quietly.

It was the office secretary.

She moved quickly to Cathy’s side and bent slightly, whispering something into her ear. The exchange was brief, but Cathy’s expression changed immediately. Not alarmed, just… alert.

The secretary nodded once and slipped back out.

Cathy didn’t return to her notes.

She kept staring at him.

He noticed.

He leaned slightly toward her. “Cathy,” he murmured, low enough for only her to hear, “do you want to tell me something? What’s going on?”

Cathy hesitated, then leaned in closer. “There’s a lady in your office,” she said quietly.

Michael frowned. “A lady?”

“Yes,” she continued, choosing her words carefully. “She says she’s your fiancée. And that she’s here to deliver a message.”

For a split second, the room went very still for Michael.

“…Huh?”

He didn’t bother hiding his confusion. He reached for his phone immediately.

Michael :

Are you in my office?

The reply came almost instantly.

Busayo:

No. Why?

His brows furrowed deeper.

Michael:

Looking forward to later.

Busayo:

See you soon, I guess 😄

He locked his phone and looked up again.

Cathy was watching him closely now. “Are you expecting anyone, sir?”

“No,” Michael said honestly. “Absolutely no one.”

Cathy’s lips pressed together. “Then who could the lady be?”

Michael shook his head slowly. “I honestly don’t know.”

Around them, the meeting continued, papers shuffled, someone cleared their throat, another person began speaking, but for Michael, the room had shifted.

Someone was sitting in his office reception, calling herself his fiancée.

And he had no idea who she was.

Chapter Eight

Whoever was waiting in his office had not booked an appointment, or passed through the usual channels. And yet, had insisted, confidently, that she would wait.

Michael did not rise immediately.

He finished the meeting.

He listened to the final report, offered his concluding thoughts, closed the session with prayer, and dismissed the council with the same composure he always carried. Only when the room had emptied did he stand, straighten his jacket, and nod at Cathy.

“Let’s see who it is.”

Ordinarily, someone who arrived unannounced would have been politely turned away but for some reason, the secretary hesitated. There had been something about the woman, her appearance, her carriage, the quiet authority with which she occupied the waiting space. And then there was the entourage. It was the kind that suggested importance.

Cathy walked beside him as they stepped into the corridor.

“She doesn’t look confused,” Cathy murmured. “She looks on a mission.”

Michael smiled faintly. “That usually means trouble.”

The reception door opened.

The woman rose before they fully stepped in.

“Good afternoon, Apostle,” she said smoothly. “I don’t take offense that you kept me waiting, seeing as you weren’t expecting me.”

Michael noted it immediately, the confidence, the careful diction, the ease with which she claimed space that was not hers. Expensive shoes. Tailored dress. Not ostentatious, but unmistakably deliberate.

Who is this one? he wondered.

He replied evenly. “How can I help you?”

She smiled. “My father sent me.”

“And who is your father?” Michael asked.

“The Executive Governor of Ogun State.”

The words landed softly, but they landed.

Michael inclined his head. “Ah. You’re welcome.”

She relaxed, as though that was the response she had been waiting for.

“He mentioned you’re hosting a crusade at the NYSC camp in Sagamu. He’s quite pleased about it.”

Michael nodded. “We’re grateful for the partnership.”

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “And about the fiancé part, please forgive that. It’s a running joke.”

Cathy’s jaw tightened.

“My father mentioned,” the woman continued, “that considering your… unmarried state, he wouldn’t mind a reunion between us. I found it amusing butI don’t mind it either.”

It was, without question, the most awkward conversation Michael had had in his adult life.

Cathy looked away, visibly restraining herself.

Michael, on the other hand, smiled politely.

“Please extend my gratitude to your father,” he said calmly. “We’re honoured to be hosted in Sagamu, but I should clarify, I am already engaged. I am not looking for a wife.”

The woman blinked, then laughed lightly. “Ouch. That stings. Turning me down so quickly.”

She waved a hand. “It was only a joke.”

Michael did not respond.

“I actually came with another message,” she said, her tone shifting slightly. “My father would appreciate fifteen minutes at the event to address the people.”

This time, Cathy did not hide her reaction. She rolled her eyes openly.

Michael understood immediately.

A gathering that size, thousands, possibly tens of thousands of people, was not something most politicians ever saw outside campaign season. And now, with elections approaching, the lines were already blurring.

“The agreement from the beginning,” Michael said evenly, “was that the crusade would remain non-political.”

“It’s just a greeting,” the woman replied. “Hardly political.”

“With elections this close,” Cathy interjected, “ a fifteen minute greeting would absolutely be interpreted as such. Our assignment is spiritual. Evangelism not politics.”

The woman smiled, unbothered. “Which is why the venue is being given to you for free.”

She paused deliberately.

“My father is also willing to donate two hundred and fifty million naira toward your church project in Ogun State. I hear you plan to plant a new church.”

Silence settled.

“Of course,” she added lightly, “the gift would be conditional. If we’re not welcome at the crusade, where exactly would the donation be announced?”

Michael knew exactly what he should say.

He also knew exactly why this conversation was happening.

After a moment, the woman stood. “I should go, but this conversation isn’t over.”

She smiled at him. “May I have your number, Pastor?”

Cathy immediately offered hers. “You can reach the office through—”

“No,” the woman said smoothly. “I don’t want the assistant’s number. I want to speak directly with the Apostle.”

Michael didn’t hesitate. “Give it to her.”

Cathy blinked, then complied.

The woman rose fully now and extended her hand. “It was… great meeting you. Too bad you’re engaged.”

Michael shook her hand politely.

She left with the same confidence she arrived with.

The door closed behind her.

Cathy exhaled sharply. “That was… something.”

Michael remained standing, hands resting lightly on the edge of the desk, eyes distant.

“Apostle,” she continued carefully, “that’s a lot of money.”

He turned to her then, calm, untroubled.

“God will provide another way,” he said simply. “That money is not ours.”

Cathy blinked. “Sir?”

“That offering,” he went on, measured and firm, “comes with a price. And anything that asks for a place on the altar before it bows to God is already wrong.”

She watched him closely. “But many churches would accept that without blinking, sir”

“I know,” Michael replied. “That is why we mustn’t.”

He moved toward the window, looking out briefly, as though grounding himself.

“Money is a tool,” he said. “It can build but it can also corrupt. Scripture says the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil and a Christian must always know the source of what he spends.”

Cathy folded her arms, shaking her head slightly. “The way you turn away from money like this… it still confuses me sir.”

He smiled faintly. “God will build us a church in Ogun. If He needs a governor, He will use one. If He doesn’t, He won’t. We don’t need to force His hand.”

She nodded slowly. “I hear you, Apostle.”

Michael reached for his phone instinctively.

Busayo.

His thumb hovered over her name.

He almost typed something  – Are you okay?

I’m thinking of you.

But he stopped himself.

I’ll see her soon, he thought.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, then paused.

A moment later, he picked it up again,  not to message her, but to open Instagram.

Her page loaded.

He scrolled quietly, saving one photo. Then another. He stopped on one picture and stared at it longer than necessary.

A soft smile tugged at his lips.

“I really wish she was here already,” he murmured, so quietly that even Cathy didn’t hear it.

Outside, the office buzzed on, meetings, schedules, and responsibilities, but for a brief moment, Michael stood still, anchored not by ambition or power, but by the gentle certainty of a woman who had already begun to matter far more than he expected.

And for the first time that day, the noise faded, but there was work to do, and he couldn’t linger on pictures.

—————————————————————————————————————————-

Busayo had assumed the day would be lazy.

After the stretch of work she had put in the day before, it felt reasonable to expect some mercy from the calendar. Yesterday alone, she had reviewed more insurance claims than she could count, accounts layered with numbers, fine print, medical reports, and loopholes that made her head throb just thinking about them.

By midday, her headache intensified, and she wondered if it was because she wasn’t wearing her glasses.

She had forgotten them at home and spent hours staring directly into her screen, squinting, leaning forward, forcing focus. On top of that, the claims themselves were exhausting. Some were legitimate. Some were clever. Some were blatant attempts to cash out.

She shook her head, scrolling slowly.

“This is exactly why insurance exists,” she muttered under her breath, though a part of her couldn’t help wondering how people lived so comfortably inside dishonesty.

By the time she checked the clock again, it was almost 3 p.m.

She and her team hadn’t stood up from their desks in hours.

Her head pulsed insistently now.

Her phone rang.

Gloria.

Busayo sighed softly before picking up. “Hello.”

“How are you?” Gloria asked immediately.

“I’m okay,” Busayo replied, though the word felt thin.

“How is your head?”

Busayo winced. “Banging.”

There was a pause. Then Gloria said firmly, “You need to go back to the hospital.”

Busayo leaned back in her chair. “They’ll just tell me it’s grief again. Or stress. Or lack of sleep. They keep giving me vitamins.”

“That’s exactly why you need to go back,” Gloria insisted. “Tell them it’s not working. They need to do proper blood tests. Something deeper.”

Busayo exhaled slowly. “Maybe you will  go with me next time. You’ll help me insist.”

“Of course,” Gloria said. “We’ll pray about it too.”

Busayo smiled faintly. “You’re fasting, right?”

“Yes,” Gloria replied. “I’m about to break my fast. I actually called so we can pray together first.”

Busayo laughed softly. “You’re really fasting. Your level of spirituality needs to be studied.”

Gloria scoffed. “It’s not spirituality. You’re my sister, we bear each other’s burdens. Christianity isn’t a solo assignment.”

She paused, then added more gently, “Sometimes I wish I was like you, you know. You always seem… put together.”

Busayo smiled tiredly. “Nobody is perfect, Gloria. I’m just me. You’re you.”

“Alright,” Gloria said. “Let’s pray.”

Busayo glanced around the office, then stood up, slipping quietly into one of the empty meeting rooms. She locked the door behind her and lowered herself into a chair.

They prayed.

At first softly, then deeply.

Tongues flowed freely, slow at first, then urgent, then steady. Gloria’s voice rose with conviction as she prayed for alignment, clarity, and strength. She prayed that God would prepare Busayo for every assignment ahead of her. That He would remove confusion. That He would confirm His will so clearly that doubt would have no place to hide.

Busayo listened, then joined in, tears welling up without warning.

When they finally stopped, both women were breathless.

Busayo glanced at the time. “Wow,” she murmured. “One hour.”

A knock startled her.

She wiped her face quickly and opened the door.

“Sorry,” a colleague said. “We need you back.”

Busayo nodded. “Thank you.”

She returned to her desk lighter than she had felt all day.

“I’m actually glad I didn’t take lunch break,” she told Gloria later. “That prayer was worth it.”

“Same here,” Gloria replied. “I’m leaving work soon anyway. We have a workers’ event tonight.”

Busayo smiled. “I’ll be there.”

Gloria paused. “It’s for workers.”

Busayo hesitated for just a second. “Your Apostle invited me.”

There was silence.

Then Gloria burst out laughing. “Ah. How cute. Apostle’s babe gets a free pass. I love it already.”

Busayo laughed too, shaking her head, warmth spreading through her chest.

For the first time that day, the headache felt distant.

————————————————————————————————————————–

Michael had not planned to go with the rest of the team to welcome the delegates.

At least, not initially.

The arrangements had already been made. The visiting missionaries were lodged at Eko Hotels, befitting guests of their stature. Representatives from the ministry had been sent ahead to receive them, and under normal circumstances, Michael would have stayed back at the office to attend to the mountain of work waiting for him.

But today refused to be normal.

He sat behind his desk, files open, emails blinking on his screen, yet his mind kept drifting. There was a restlessness he couldn’t explain, a quiet nudge that refused to let him remain seated. Finally, with a sigh that felt like surrender, he stood up, picked up his jacket, and headed out.

By the time he arrived at the hotel, he understood why.

Four familiar faces stepped forward almost at once, their joy unmistakable. Joseph. Agnes. Patricia. Barnabas.

These were not just visitors, they were fellow labourers from Gospel of Light Ministries, a commission that had become deeply intertwined with his own Ministry over the years. Their partnership had been forged through years of shared vision, exchanged pulpits, joint training, and quiet seasons of learning from one another.

Their Apostle, Elijah Adejare, had lived in Australia for over forty years now, long enough to sound more Australian than Nigerian, but to Michael, he remained a spiritual father. One of the men God had used to teach him endurance, humility, and what it truly meant to shepherd people without losing oneself.

Seeing these leaders again stirred something steady and grounding in him.

The greetings were warm. Embraces lingered. Prayers were exchanged. Gratitude for safe journeys rose easily to God. Michael watched the interaction between them and his own workforce with quiet satisfaction. These people would pour into his leaders. They would strengthen the ministry in ways a single crusade never could.

This was why he had come to see this exchange, and the nostalgic feeling of the old days.

They invited him to lunch shortly after.

“Apostle, please sit,” Agnes insisted gently. “You must eat.”

He smiled, appreciative but distant. “I’m alright. I’m covered.”

Cathy, seated nearby, tilted her head. “Sir… are you fasting?”

“No,” he replied, evenly. “Just… covered.”

She studied him for a moment longer, clearly unconvinced, but said nothing.

After lunch, Michael excused himself, promising to meet everyone again later at church that evening. As they walked toward the exit, he turned to Cathy.

“My driver will take you,” he said.

She blinked. “What about you, sir?”

“I’ll borrow your car.”

Her brows lifted. “You want to drive yourself?”

“Yes.”

A pause. Then a knowing smile slowly spread across her face.

“Oh,” she said softly.

Michael returned the smile without explanation.

Within minutes, he was on the road.

Driving had always helped him think. Today, it helped him feel.

Being an Apostle meant carrying weight that never truly lifted. It meant managing vision, people, growth, structure, all while remaining spiritually sensitive. The work did not pause for emotions, and yet, emotions had a way of surfacing when least expected.

As he drove, his thoughts returned to her.

Busayo.

The name alone steadied him.

He checked the time. Just past 5:30 p.m.

He picked up his phone and typed.

Michael: Are you ready to leave work?

The response came almost immediately.

Busayo: I can leave now. I officially closed at five. I stayed back to finish a few things.

Is your driver here?

His lips curved into a smile.

Michael: I’m here myself.

Don’t forget my food.

A pause.

Busayo: Ha. Apostle.

He let out a soft laugh.

Michael: You’ll get used to this.

A laughing emoji appeared on his screen.

Michael rested his hand on the steering wheel for a moment longer than necessary, warmth settling into his chest. The day had been long, and demanding, yet somehow, this moment felt like its quiet reward.

He wasn’t looking for her.

But now that God had placed her in his path, he wasn’t going to pretend she didn’t matter.

He turned into the street leading to her office and slowed down.

For the first time all day, his thoughts were completely still.

—————————————————————————————————————————

Busayo slid into the passenger seat and shut the door a little harder than she meant to. Through the side mirror, she caught sight of Kelechi still standing there, his gaze following the car far longer than was polite.

She scoffed under her breath. “Please, just ignore him.”

Michael glanced briefly in the direction she indicated, then back to her. “Who is he?”

She waved it off. “Nobody.”

But then she frowned, really looking around for the first time. The street was open. The car windows were clear. No tint. No hiding.

“You didn’t disguise yourself today,” she said. “And this car… people can see you.”

He smiled, easy and unbothered. “Is there something wrong with that?”

She hesitated. “I’m just saying… someone could recognize you. You’re a respected man of God.”

Michael turned slightly toward her, studying her face. “And a respected man of God cannot be seen with his fiancée?”

Her heart skipped. “Am I your—”

“Busayo,” he interrupted gently, amusement in his eyes. “Are we still pretending we don’t know what this is?”

She looked away. “I like you,” she admitted. “I’m just scared. Everything is happening so fast.”

He nodded slowly. “Fear doesn’t cancel calling. It just means you’re human.”

Then, almost casually, he glanced toward the building again. “Is that the man you told me about before?”

Her shoulders tensed. “Yes.”

“Someone you were seeing?”

“Someone who was asking,” she corrected. “I never promised him anything.”

Michael’s jaw tightened slightly. “And?”

She swallowed. “The last time we met, he was… too forward.”

He turned fully toward her now. “Define ‘too forward.’”

She hesitated, then said quietly, “He kissed me. Without asking, that was the end of the friendship..”

The word kissed hung between them.

Michael’s expression changed instantly. “What?”

“It wasn’t,” she rushed. “It wasn’t serious. I went out to dinner with him, that was all. I didn’t expect—”

“Shh,” he said softly, raising a hand. “Don’t explain. I’m not judging you.”

She searched his face, surprised. “You’re not a bit uncomfortable?”

He exhaled. “I am just a bit  jealous.”

Her brows lifted. “You?”

“I’m still a man,” he said, unapologetic. “Territorial, too.”

Something warm loosened in her chest, and she laughed despite herself.

Then he added, almost sheepishly, “I’m hungry.”

She blinked. “Oh. The food.”

She reached for the container at her feet. “Now I suddenly feel self-conscious. I am not sure the food is delicious”

Michael smiled. “Let me be the judge of that.”

He pulled the car slightly forward and parked along the quieter side of the street, away from foot traffic. When he took the container from her, he examined it with surprising care.

“This was what you were cooking last night?” he asked.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I made the stew, but I bought extra rice. I wanted basmati. The sauce works better with it.”

He opened it, poured stew on the rice, stirred gently, and tasted.

Then paused.

“This is very good,” he said simply. “You cook well.”

Relief softened her shoulders. “I’m glad.”

Then she spoke again, quieter now. “I’m nervous about coming to your church. Who will I even be there as? I can’t just blend into the crowd.”

“You won’t need to,” he replied. “You’ll be there as my guest.”

She sighed. “Okay.”

“It’s not a service,” he added. “It’s a workers’ prep meeting for the crusade. You’ll be fine.”

She nodded. “Alright… Apostle.”

He smiled. “Michael.”

“Sorry,” she corrected quickly.

He laughed, and in that exact moment, they felt the interruption.

A flash, then footsteps hurried away.

Michael felt it before he saw it.

Busayo noticed immediately. “Are you okay?”

He kept his eyes on the side mirror. “If you saw your face online tomorrow… would that bother you?”

Her heart thudded. “Yes. I’m not ready.”

He nodded slowly.

Neither of them said anything else.

But they both understood what that single image could become.

And neither of them yet knew how far it would travel.

——————————————————————————————————————————-

I’m just here smiling sheepishly, thinking about how Apostle Michael expresses his love without holding back. The man of God truly still has flesh and blood, lol. Let’s just hope bloggers won’t come up with anything funny. 

Although I feel like Busayo would have to step up no matter how small. Yes, Apostle says he’s marrying her for him and not the church, but being with a man like that will definitely come with responsibilities.

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