Episode 1

Amarachi unlocked the door to her sister, Adanne’s apartment and stepped in quietly, carrying her four-year-old daughter, Ziora, on her hip. The house was still and dark, with no sign that anyone else had woken up yet. Ziora, half-asleep, rested her head on Amarachi’s shoulder but occasionally babbled softly, her words unclear and jumbled. Amarachi whispered to her, “Don’t worry, my love, you’ll sleep soon.”

The creak of a door broke the silence, and Adanne appeared, yawning and stretching. Her wrapper was loosely tied around her waist, and her scarf hung half-off her head. She squinted at Amarachi in the dim light.

“This girl, it’s too early,” Adanne grumbled. “If you knew you’d come this early, you should’ve just brought her last night to sleep here.”

Amarachi shifted Ziora’s weight and shook her head. “I didn’t want to stress you. You know how it is—carrying her to pee in the night, making sure she’s okay. It’s better this way.”

Adanne rolled her eyes and waved her hand. “Stress me? When there is a maid in this house? I would’ve told her to handle it. It’s not that deep.”

Amarachi stiffened slightly. “Adanne, please. I can’t let my child sleep in your maid’s room. I don’t even know what she might do to her in the middle of the night.”

Adanne clicked her tongue, impatient. “You worry too much, Amarachi. Always thinking the worst. Anyway, bring her here.”

Reluctantly, Amarachi handed Ziora over, adjusting her tiny shoes first. Adanne held the girl close, patting her back softly. Ziora nestled against her aunt, her  sleepy eyes scanning the room but saying nothing. 

“So,” Adanne asked, settling onto the couch, “where are you working today?”

“Banana Island,” Amarachi replied, smoothing her dress. “They booked me last night. I have never worked with them.” 

“Banana Island? Ah-ah! This makeup business is taking you places!” Adanne exclaimed, smiling brightly. 

“It’s not as glamorous as it sounds o,” Amarachi said. “The rate is the same, and with the Uber fees, I’m barely breaking even.”

Adanne frowned. “How can you charge Banana Island clients the same as Ikeja people? It doesn’t make sense, Amarachi. You should adjust your rates depending on where you’re going.”

“Sister, please,” Amarachi replied, laughing lightly. “Rate card is rate card. I can’t just look at people’s faces and charge them higher or lower, that just makes me look unprofessional.”

Adanne sighed and shook her head, clearly unimpressed. “Okay o. But seriously, Amarachi, you need to think about renting a shop. This home service makeup business isn’t sustainable. What if I’m not around? I can’t always be here to help you with Ziora.”

Amarachi sighed but smiled faintly. “I hear you, Adanne. But for now, this is what I can manage.”

She turned to Ziora, who was still resting quietly in her aunt’s arms. “Ziora, my love, say bye to Mummy.”

Ziora blinked at her but didn’t respond. Amarachi waited a moment, hoping for even a wave, but she remained silent, her eyes heavy with sleep. 

Adanne frowned. “Won’t you say ‘good morning’ to your mummy? Or say something to me, your big mummy?”

Ziora’s silence lingered, and Adanne shook her head. “Ah, Amarachi, this girl is still not improving. You need to do something about this.”

“Nothing is wrong with my daughter,” Amarachi replied firmly, though her chest tightened. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Please just let her rest.”

Adanne sighed again, clearly unconvinced, but she didn’t argue further. “Better hurry and go. And don’t forget what I said—rent a shop. You can’t keep doing this.”

Amarachi grabbed her purse and headed for the door. “I know, Adanne. Thank you. I love you.” She glanced back, offering a small smile. 

The honk of the waiting Uber startled her into motion. “Ah, my ride is waiting. Let me go before the guy gets angry.”

“Bye.” Adanne called after her. 

——————————————————————-

The house was buzzing with excitement. Every corner was alive with activity, filled with voices, laughter, hurried footsteps. Outside, his manager was barking orders, ensuring everything was ready in the luxurious tour bus parked in the driveway. The vehicle gleamed under the morning sun, a massive, sleek black coach, the kind used by international artistes on tour. Its presence alone seemed to amplify the frenzy in the house.

Timothy Ebele Johnson sat quietly in his room, hands damp with sweat, wondering how he’d gotten himself into this. His heart thumped louder than the commotion outside.

Through his window, he could hear his sister’s voice as she directed someone toward another wing of the mansion. Her tone was excited, a reflection of the atmosphere everyone else seemed to be enjoying. But Timothy couldn’t share their energy. Not today.

“Why did I agree to this?” he muttered to himself, running a hand over his face. 

It hadn’t always been this way—the mansion, the luxuries, the constant noise. Timothy’s family used to live in a modest house in Agege. For most of his life, that house had been home, small but filled with love. Then, seemingly overnight, his life had changed. Seven years of creating music, leading digital worship sessions, and watching God transform lives had brought him unimaginable success. During the pandemic, his star rose even higher, reaching across continents. With the wealth he had amassed, Timothy had bought the mansion in Banana Island. Not for himself, but for his family. 

Now, everyone lives here—his parents, siblings, cousins, and even visiting relatives. The mansion was full of life, loud and chaotic. His home studio, tucked away in one of the quieter wings of the house, was his sanctuary. On some days, Timothy found himself daydreaming about moving out to a smaller, quieter place. But he knew the joy this house brought to his family with him in it with them, and that was enough for now.

Still, the upcoming activity of today pressed on him. His heart raced as he thought about the task ahead.

For seven years, Timothy had built a career that soared without ever stepping onto a stage. His home studio had been his pulpit. Every Saturday, without fail, he hosted live worship sessions streamed across the world. It started as a small act of obedience, a way to bring people closer to God during the pandemic. But God had breathed life into his offering, and it had grown beyond anything he imagined. 

Now, with 17 million Instagram followers and fans across continents, Timothy was a global gospel sensation—the most followed African gospel artiste in history. Yet, he had always managed to keep his distance from physical performances. He was shy. Painfully so. To him, his ministry through digital worship was enough. It was safe, intimate, and deeply impactful. 

Until the call.

Pastor Paul himself had called two months ago. No intermediaries, no protocol. Timothy remembered the weight of that moment. The pastor’s voice had been gentle, yet firm.

“Timothy,” Pastor Paul had said, “I believe it’s time for you to come out of your shell. God has prepared you for this season. We want you to close The Experience this year.”

Timothy had frozen. Any other time, he’d have stalled with the usual excuses—”Let me pray about it” or “My schedule is tight.” But that day, the words had come out differently. 

“Yes,” he’d said. Just like that.

The moment replayed in his mind now as he sat in his room. His face was on posters all over Lagos. People were flying in from Ghana, Kenya, London—everywhere—to see him live. There was no turning back. And the realisation made his chest tighten.

He glanced at his trembling hands and let out a shaky breath. “God, what have I done?” 

A gentle voice, calm and firm, broke through his spiraling thoughts: Fear not, for I am with you.

Timothy paused. He knew that voice. It was the Holy Spirit, anchoring him yet again. 

He exhaled deeply and slid off the edge of his bed, landing on his knees. “Lord,” he whispered, “this isn’t about me. It’s about You. Take control.”

His hand reached instinctively for his guitar, propped against the wall. He cradled it close and began to strum softly. A simple, familiar melody filled the room, grounding him in its rhythm. Words of worship escaped his lips, faint at first, then louder, more fervent. 

As he sang, he prayed in tongues, the atmosphere shifted around him. Voices floated faintly through the window again, but Timothy stayed focused in worship.

The music drowned out the chaos outside. In that moment, Timothy felt the fear leave, replaced by an unshakable sense of peace.

It wasn’t about him. It never had been. This was about God’s glory. 

Timothy strummed one final chord, his heart steady now. He lingered in the moment, soaking in the calm that had replaced the chaos in his mind. For the first time that morning, he felt like he could do this.

Then came a loud honk, cutting through the air of serenity he just built, a jarring reminder of reality. Timothy sighed, setting his guitar down carefully. He walked to the window and pulled back the curtains.

The bus was parked in the driveway, gleaming under the morning sun. His manager stood beside it, gesturing animatedly to one of the crew members. The energy outside was electric, everyone moving with excitement. But for Timothy, the fear began to creep back in.

What if he just called Pastor Paul right now? What if he apologised and explained? Surely, they wouldn’t miss him. Not really. There were so many other powerful ministers on the lineup—Dunsin Oyekan, Pastor Nathaniel Bassey, Mercy Chinwo, Donnie McClurkin. Surely, The Experience would be just as impactful without him.

His hands moved instinctively toward his phone. Maybe if he called now, there’d still be time to cancel. Maybe they’d understand.

—————————————————

Tari and Maryann were in a rush. Plates of breakfast, pancakes, eggs, sausages, and toast, sat on the table before them, accompanied by glasses of chilled orange juice, but they barely had time to enjoy it. Izu, their family chef, had delivered the meal to the living room, but their focus was on getting ready for The Experience. 

Maryann took a quick sip of her juice and glanced at Tari, who was picking at her food. “This Izu chef of yours is something else. Even when we’re in a hurry, he still serves us like we’re in a five-star hotel.”

Tari barely smiled, relishing the pancake she hurriedly ate before it was her turn to sit for make up. “Izu is good, but let’s just hope this breakfast doesn’t land me in trouble. You know my brother doesn’t like being late.”

Maryann smirked. “Your brother doesn’t just hate being late; your brother doesn’t go anywhere. That man is practically a recluse.”

Tari laughed. “True, but still. I should’ve done my makeup first. At least I could be trying to buy us time now.”

Maryann grinned mischievously. “I made sure she started with me because I know how you and your brother can abandon me. I’m not about to be left behind today.”

Tari shook her head. “We don’t even know if you’re coming with us. I already asked his manager if there’s space.”

Maryann waved her off. “Manager? Forget him. Just tell your brother directly. This is my time, Tari. My opportunity.”

Tari raised an eyebrow. “Opportunity for what exactly?”

Maryann leaned in with a sly smile. “You know now. I already told you; your brother needs someone like me. Someone fun.”

Tari rolled her eyes. “Maryann, be serious. Timothy doesn’t even think like that. That man is a spirit. If he’s going to marry anyone, it’ll be someone God literally shows him in a dream.”

“And God can’t show him through you?” Maryann teased. “Does God not speak through people anymore?”

Tari sighed and looked at the makeup artist, feeling weird to be having this conversation in the presence of a stranger. For a moment, she stayed silent, letting Maryann’s words hang in the air, hoping she would catch the hint and drop the subject.

“Okay, then, just give me a job on his team,” Maryann continued. “Your brother needs someone to look after him. His welfare, you know. Let me take care of him.”

Tari leaned forward, incredulous. “Wait, you want to leave your job at the bank to come and work for my brother?”

Maryann smiled confidently. “Why not? He’ll probably pay me more than the bank. And I’m good at almost anything—hospitality, logistics, you name it.”

Tari shook her head, laughing softly. “Are you sure you’re in love with him for the right reasons? Or is it the idea of him—his position?”

“Both,” Maryann replied without missing a beat. “I know how to handle men like him. Your brother needs someone to pump fun into his life. Trust me, I’m what’s missing.”

Tari laughed harder now. “Maryann, you don’t know what you’re saying. Timothy’s life isn’t glamorous. He doesn’t go anywhere fun—he just looks like it on Instagram. In real life he’s boring. He barely leaves the house unless he’s traveling for some random inspiration trip or visiting orphanages in India. And even then, it’s all quiet, reflective stuff. Is that the life you want?”

Maryann shrugged, undeterred. “Yes. I’ll bring the fun. I’ll be his balance. You just need to be a good sister and hook us up.”

Tari shook her head again, this time more firmly. “There’s nothing to hook up, Maryann. He already knows you. If something was going to happen, it would’ve happened by now. You’re always here. He sees you all the time.”

Maryann sighed dramatically as the makeup artist worked on Tari’s face. Tari checked the time and gestured for the artist to hurry up. “We’re already running late,” she muttered.

——————————————

Timothy stepped out of his room, his hands tucked into his pockets as he glanced around, looking for his sister. The house was quiet in this part, except for the distant hum of voices from deeper inside. He moved toward the general living room area but didn’t see her anywhere. 

As he reached the lobby, his manager, Kwese, appeared, walking briskly toward him. “Ah, Timothy, we’re good to go. I’ve been hoping not to interrupt you because I figured you were probably praying.”

Timothy gave a small nod. “Oh, I’ve been done.”

Kwese studied him for a moment, his sharp eyes catching something in Timothy’s expression. “How are you feeling? I can sense that you have cold feet. Is that why you didn’t come out quickly?”

Timothy sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes. Honestly, I almost called Pastor Paul.”

“What?” Kwese exclaimed, his Ghanaian accent thick with surprise. “No, no, no, you can’t do that. Everybody’s looking forward to this. You can do it, Timothy. We’ve practiced. Everything is ready.”

Timothy shook his head, brushing it off. “Where’s Tari? Let’s just go. The earlier we leave, the better. I don’t want to add being late to this stage fright.”

“She’s bringing a friend,” Kwese replied casually. “Maybe they’re still getting ready.”

Timothy frowned. “A friend? I’m not really in the mood for all this.”

Kwese chuckled. “Ah, you know Tari. You can’t say no to her.”

Timothy sighed deeply. “Fine. But where are they? I don’t want this delay.”

“I’ll go look for them,” Kwese offered, turning toward the hallway.

Timothy raised a hand to stop him. “No, I’ll go myself. Even if you find her, she’ll still delay. Let me handle it.”

Kwese nodded, a small grin on his face. “Good idea, boss.”

Before Timothy could take a step, his mother entered the room, “My son,” she said brightly, “today is going to be a beautiful day. God has already gone ahead of you.”

“I hope so, Ma,” Timothy replied, trying to muster a smile.

His mother looked at him closely. “Don’t tell me you’re developing cold feet.”

He hesitated, but she quickly waved her hand as if dismissing the very thought. “No, no, no. See, this is your personal breakthrough. You’re finally going on stage! You think it’s Pastor Paul who prayed you into this? No, it’s me. I’ve been praying to God for years that He would use you in a new dimension.”

Timothy managed a faint chuckle. “So this is your doing, then?”

“Yes!” his mother said with a proud grin. “And don’t worry—it will be special. We’re coming for the event too, later in the day, my sister and I.  If we can drag your daddy along, he’ll come as well. Even though he says he’ll stream it online, I’ll convince him.”

She turned to Kwese. “Ah, Kwese, thank you so much for hooking us up with those VIP tickets.”

“Anything for you, Ma,” Kwese replied with a respectful smile.

Timothy’s mother nodded approvingly. “Good. So we’ll come tonight. Uche will bring us. Don’t worry about us—just focus on what you have to do.”

Timothy nodded, trying to absorb her words. “Okay, Ma. Let me go check on Tari.”

His mother waved him off. “Eh, they’re still doing makeup. Leave them. You just go on your own; they’ll meet you there.”

Timothy sighed. “Thanks, Ma.”

Ignoring her advice, he turned toward the hallway. He was determined to find his sister, knowing her presence will add some calm and reassurance. If anyone was going to keep them from being late, it was him.

———————————————————————————————-

Tari and Maryann stood in front of the mirror, admiring their reflections. 

“Ah, Amarachi, you’re a star,” Tari said warmly, tilting her head to examine her perfectly blended foundation. “You’re so good. I’m so glad we found your page on Instagram. Your work is flawless.”

Maryann, however, crossed her arms, her tone still slightly dismissive. “Yeah, you’re not bad. Not bad at all. We’ll consider you again,” she added, dragging the words out in her usual teasing manner.

Amarachi, focused on her work, smiled politely. “Thank you.”

Tari shot her friend a playful glare. “Ignore her, Amarachi. You’re amazing. I’ll definitely recommend you to everyone.”

Amarachi’s smile widened, and she nodded appreciatively. “Thank you, Tari. Now, please sit back. I just need to spray your face and do your lips, then you’re done.”

Tari sighed softly. “I hope my brother isn’t waiting downstairs. He’s not a fan of delays.”

As if on cue, Timothy walked quietly into the room, his brows furrowed. He stopped abruptly when he saw them.

“Uh… Tari, we need to leave,” Timothy said softly, his voice careful but firm. His eyes scanned the room quickly, and when he realised the attention was on him, his expression grew a bit awkward. He cleared his throat, standing a little straighter. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

Tari turned, looking sheepish. “Good afternoon,” she replied smoothly.

“Good afternoon,” Amarachi said without looking up, still focused on her tools.

Maryann, on the other hand, leaned back in her chair with a slow, deliberate smile. “Good af-ter-noon,” she said, her tone heavy with flirtation.

Timothy’s reply was polite but curt. “I’m fine, thank you.” He shifted his focus back to Tari, trying to ignore Maryann’s lingering gaze. “As I’m leaving now, I’m heading straight to the bus. Please meet me there.”

Tari nodded quickly. “I just need a few more minutes. My makeup is almost done, I promise.”

Timothy raised a brow but didn’t argue. “Tari, this is a ministration, not a wedding,” he said softly, the corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest hint of a smile.

At that moment, Amarachi, now finishing Tari’s contour, glanced up—and her eyes locked with Timothy’s. She froze, visibly startled, her hands pausing mid-motion.

Timothy’s expression shifted, a flicker of recognition crossing his face before he quickly averted his eyes. “Amarachi?”

“Oh my God. I didn’t know this was—”

Tari and Maryann exchanged wide-eyed glances before Tari broke the silence. “Wait, wait. Do you two know each other?”

Timothy hesitated, his face flushed, before replying quietly, “Yeah. Old friend.” He cleared his throat again, still avoiding Amarachi’s gaze. “Hi, Amarachi. Hope you’re good?”

“Yes,” Amarachi said, her tone calm but guarded. “I’m fine, thank you. Nice to see you again.”

Timothy nodded once, his shyness overtaking him. “Good. Uh… see you all downstairs.” His words were clipped, and before anyone could say more, he turned and left the room, the faint sound of his footsteps trailing down the hall.

Maryann leaned toward Tari, raising a brow. “Old friend?” she whispered dramatically.

Tari shot her a look, signaling for silence. Amarachi, meanwhile, busied herself with her tools, her face carefully neutral, though her hands trembled slightly as she finished her work.

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

As soon as Timothy stepped out of the living area, he nearly bumped into Kwese, who was walking toward him with a clipboard in hand. 

“Oh, great,” Kwese said, barely glancing up as he adjusted his notes. “So the backup singer…”

“I’m sorry, I need a minute,” Timothy interrupted him.  He stepped back, running a hand through his hair.

Kwese frowned, looking up fully now. “Is everything alright? Did something happen?”

Timothy shook his head quickly, his eyes darting down the hallway. “No, no. Nothing happened. Everything’s fine. They’re… uh, they’re almost done with their makeup. We’ll just wait for them.” He glanced down, then back at Kwese. “I’ll be in my room. Just let me know when they’re ready.”

Kwese’s frown deepened. “I thought you were agreeing to rush them.”

Timothy’s shoulders stiffened. “Yeah, I… I mean, it’s fine. Let them just… uh, take their time.” The words tumbled out unevenly, his voice faltering as he stuttered. He took a step back, offering a weak smile before walking briskly down the hall.

Kwese stood there for a moment, watching him retreat. His instincts told him something wasn’t right. Timothy had been visibly shaken, and it was more than just the usual pre-performance jitters. 

He glanced back toward the living area, then down the hall where Timothy had disappeared. Something had definitely happened, but Kwese couldn’t quite put his finger on it

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

Amarachi tried to steady her hands, but it was obvious something was wrong. Her breathing was shallow, and her movements were stiff as she worked. Tari noticed immediately.

“Amarachi, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Was my—”

Maryann didn’t let her finish. “Yes! What happened? Where do you guys know each other? ‘Old friend’? What kind of old friend?”

Amarachi stammered, her gaze fixed on her tools. “Um…. just old friends. Like, uh, secondary school.”

Tari frowned. “Secondary school? You attended our secondary school? How come I don’t know you? I don’t remember seeing you.”

Amarachi hesitated. “I got transferred in SS3.”

“SS3?!” Maryann exclaimed. “Do people even transfer in SS3? Is that possible?”

“Yes,” Amarachi replied, whispering. “We were living in Enugu, but my dad got a new posting. He’s a soldier, and we all moved to Lagos when he was transferred for training and work. I had to switch schools.”

“Oh, wow,” Tari said, her tone softening. “No wonder. Wait, wait, wait. Amara… no way. You can’t be the Amara.”

Amarachi’s face grew even paler. “It’s fine. That’s all water under the bridge.”

Maryann raised a brow. “What do you mean by the Amara?”

Tari leaned forward, eyes wide. “Wait. Amara? My brother had an Amara! I just remembered. I completely forgot because they weren’t together for long. Were you guys together for long? I can’t remember, but I know around the time he graduated, he kept talking about an Amara.”

Amarachi’s fingers fumbled with her tools. “I… I don’t think—”

“Wait,” Tari interrupted, eyes lighting up. “He went to Covenant. Did you go to Covenant too?”

“No,” Amarachi replied quickly. “I went to Unilag.”

Tari snapped her fingers. “But you guys dated, right? I remember he was always writing letters to an Amara! Oh my God, this is so interesting.”

Maryann sighed, rolling her eyes. “What’s interesting about that? You’re making the poor girl uncomfortable. Clearly, she doesn’t want to talk about it. Let’s move on.”

Just then, Kwese stepped into the room, holding a clipboard. 

“Ah, Kwese,” Tari said quickly, waving him off. “We’re almost ready. Just go. We’ll meet you on the bus.”

Maryann chimed in, “Yeah, yeah, we’ll be there soon. You know how we ladies are—always late but worth the wait.”

Kwese raised a brow. “I didn’t come here to hurry you.”

Tari frowned. “Then what?”

Kwese hesitated for a moment, looking between the three women. “It’s Timothy. He looks… shaken. Like he’s seen a ghost.”

Tari smirked, exchanging a glance with Maryann. “Oh, not a ghost. His ex-girlfriend is our make-up artist.”

“What?!” Kwese’s voice shot up an octave, and his wide eyes darted to Amarachi. “Wait, you’re his ex-girlfriend? Are you joking?”

Maryann folded her arms. “Apparently.”

Kwese’s mouth opened and closed, as if searching for words. “This is… interesting.”

Amarachi’s hands trembled slightly, but she managed to say, “I need to finish Tari’s lips. Please, I’d rather not talk about it.”

Tari, ignoring her protest, leaned toward Kwese. “Do you know how big of a deal this is? My brother hasn’t even dated anyone seriously in years. You are the Amara. I mean, I forgot because it was so long ago, but still!”

“Enough,” Maryann interjected. “You’re making her uncomfortable. Let it go.”

Kwese shook his head, his curiosity unabated. “You know, Amara, you should attend the ministration. We can get you a VIP ticket.”

Amarachi looked up sharply. “No, I—I need to go back home. To my daughter.”

Maryann’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, you’re married? Okay. We didn’t know that. That’s fine. She has a family to get back to. Let’s leave her alone.”

Amarachi nodded quickly, her lips pressed tightly together. She didn’t correct the assumption. It was better that way. Let them think she has a husband. It will keep the questions at bay.

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

Wow! What a way to start an episode. There is so much to unpack from this novel and we have only just begun to scratch the surface. I don’t want to plant thoughts into your head yet 😄. Wait patiently for episode 2 and let’s see what this story has in store…

See you next week!