Episode 5

Amarachi stepped outside just as the first rays of dawn pierced the sky, a light mist clinging to the air. The neighborhood was waking up, the sounds of a new day already settling into a familiar rhythm. Somewhere down the street, a vendor was shouting about bread, his voice breaking the morning stillness. The occasional shuffle of slippers echoed as early risers made their way to fetch water, open shops, or prepare for work. 

 

A few chickens scratched and pecked at the dirt near the pathway, their movements unhurried. A man in a threadbare uniform trudged past with a bag slung over his shoulder, likely heading to work. Two women stood by a roadside stall, whispering and laughing, their wrappers tied tightly around their waists. Somewhere, a radio blared a preacher’s voice, promising hope for the future, if listeners gave their lives to christ.

 

Amarachi’s heart thudded as she made her way to the tap at the side of the compound, a small bucket in hand. She glanced around, hoping no one would notice her. The last thing she needed was another comment about how she had wasted the water supply. The memory of yesterday’s embarrassment still stung.

 

She hurriedly turned on the tap, the gurgle of water filling her bucket mingling with the sounds of the street. Just as she began to lift it, her neighbor, a middle-aged woman with a perpetually sharp tongue, emerged from her doorway, carrying her own bucket. Amarachi avoided eye contact, whispering a quick, “Good morning,” before heading back inside, clutching her water tightly.

 

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

 

Inside, Amarachi placed the bucket in the corner and dropped onto the couch with a deep sigh. Her heart felt lighter now that she’d avoided any drama outside. She picked up her phone, unlocking it to distract herself for a moment. 

 

The first thing she saw on Instagram froze her in place. 

 

A picture. 

 

Timothy. Carrying Ziora. Outside her compound.

 

Her eyes widened as she read the caption beneath it:  

“Spotted: @OfficialTimothy cradling a child in Ajegunle. Could there be a music video shoot happening, or does Timothy have a special friend? Nothing is clear right now, but we’ll definitely keep our eyes on this story.”

 

Amarachi’s chest tightened. “Oh my God,” she muttered, gripping the phone tightly. “What is this?” 

 

Her heart sank as she stared at the image. While Timothy’s face was crystal clear, Ziora’s was hidden against his neck. That small mercy calmed her for a moment, but the thought of their lives being dragged into public speculation made her stomach churn. 

 

She sat there, stunned, scrolling through the comments.  

“Who’s the baby mama?”

“Ajegunle? What’s Timothy doing there?”  

“Man of God in the trenches—love to see it.”  

“Is it a charity event? Or is he visiting someone special?”

 

Amarachi groaned and dropped her phone onto the couch beside her. She ran her hands over her face, the stress of the situation overwhelming her. “Why can’t they just leave him alone?” she muttered. “He doesn’t deserve this.”

 

She picked up the phone again, her thumb hovering over Timothy’s contact. She needed to call him, and warn him before he saw the post, if he hadn’t already. But what would she say? Hey, Timothy, you’re trending because of me? Sorry about that. She shook her head and sighed. It all felt too messy.

 

She dialled his number, but just as it began to ring, she ended the call. Her fingers hovered over the keypad, hesitating, before opening her messaging app. She typed out a quick note:  

Hey, Timothy. I just saw a post about…

 

No. She erased it. She stared at the empty text box, her mind racing.  

 

Dialling again, she let the phone ring for a second before cutting it off. Frustrated, she flung the phone back onto the couch and leaned back, staring at the ceiling.  

 

“This is so annoying,” she muttered. “Why can’t they just let the poor guy live in peace?”  

 

She glanced at Ziora, still asleep in her room, blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding. At least her face hadn’t been visible in the photo. That small relief gave her a sliver of comfort, but it didn’t stop the tension twisting in her chest.

 

Reaching for the phone again, she hesitated. “What am I even doing?” she whispered. Yesterday was supposed to be a proper goodbye—a way to close that chapter of my life. But now this…this is too much.

 

She let out a deep sigh, dropping the phone once more. For now, she would wait. She couldn’t bring herself to call him, not yet.

 

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

 

The faint glow from her laptop’s screen illuminated Tari’s face as her fingers punched the keyboard. It was 6am on Monday, December 23rd, yet she still had a mountain of work to finalise before the office officially closed for the holidays. For her, working remotely for a UK-based tech startup meant that she needed to put her best foot forward and she couldn’t slack on the job.  The house was still quiet, save the faint hum of her laptop and air conditioner.

 

She barely registered the sound of the study door creaking open. It wasn’t until the overhead light flicked on that she turned sharply, squinting into the brightness. “Hey! Who is that?” she snapped.

 

“Relax,” Timothy’s voice said, calm but tired. “It’s just me. Came to grab some books.”

 

“Oh, wow, the man of the moment,” Tari teased, setting her laptop aside, walking up to him. “What are you doing sneaking around so early?”

 

Timothy sighed, rubbing his temples. “Tari, I can’t do this. It’s too early for this on a Monday morning.”

 

Tari smirked. “Too early for what, Timothy? Hmm? You were caught on camera. How?”

 

He groaned and turned back toward the door. “I don’t need this right now. Never mind, I don’t need the book anymore. I’m leaving.”

 

But Tari wasn’t done. She followed him out of the study, right into his studio. 

 

“Timothy, you can’t keep running away from this,” she said, stepping inside despite his protest.

 

“Tari, you can’t be here,” he said, his tone firm. “This is my sanctuary. I have work to do. My producer will soon be here.”

 

“Work? You had better let’s talk about this first,” she countered. “What’s the plan? How are you going to respond to this? Are you issuing a statement?”

 

Timothy froze, narrowing his eyes at her. “A statement? Do I not have the right to live my life without people dissecting it?”

 

“Okay, fine,” Tari said, raising her hands in mock surrender. “Maybe I’m taking it too far. But seriously, you went to Ajegunle? What were you even doing there? Amarachi doesn’t look like someone who lives there.”

 

He gave her a pointed look. “How does someone who lives in Ajegunle look, Tari?”

 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she stammered. “I just—” 

 

Before she could finish, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and sighed. “Oh, great. Maryann.”

 

Timothy rolled his eyes. “Here we go.”

 

Tari smirked as she answered, putting the phone on speaker. “Hello, Maryann. What’s up?”

 

“Tari, we need to fix this,” Maryann said, her voice fraught with urgency. “What was Timothy doing there? He’s all over the blogs!”

 

“Calm down,” Tari replied, cutting her off. “You’re on speaker. He can hear you.”

 

There was an awkward pause before Maryann mumbled, “Oh, okay. Uh, sorry. I’m just…worried.”

 

Timothy’s voice cut through the tension. “There’s nothing to worry about, ladies. Now leave me alone.”

 

He ushered Tari out of the room with a gentle nudge, closing the door behind her. Finally, he sat down, letting out a deep sigh. His phone sat on the desk, glowing with a missed call notification. He picked it up, and his heart skipped a beat.

 

Amarachi.

 

A smile tugged at his lips. She had called him. 

 

For a moment, he allowed himself to savour the thought, wondering what had prompted her. Has she seen the post? Was she thinking about him? He had been wracking his brain, trying to find a way to reach out without seeming desperate, and now here she was, making the first move.

 

He called her back. The phone rang, but she didn’t answer. He tried again, but still, no response. Then, a message popped up:  

“Sorry, the call was a mistake. Thank you for yesterday. Have a nice day.”

Timothy sighed, the excitement draining from his face. Tari, who had snuck back into the room, caught the look on his face.

 

“Ah, what’s this now?” she said, reading the message over his shoulder. “This girl has a child, Timothy. I can see you really like her, but that’s a deal breaker—”

 

“Who told you I like her?” Timothy shot back, his tone defensive. “I like her, yes, but only as someone I’ve always known.”

 

Tari raised an eyebrow. “It’s written all over you. And I’m getting worried. This girl has a child. We saw the child.”

 

“And so?” Timothy said, his voice rising. “Why are you making it sound like it’s some crime?”

 

“Timothy,” Tari said softly, “you have a spotless career. A clean record. You need to protect that. What do you want with her? To what end? What’s your goal?”

 

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting. “I don’t know. I don’t know, Tari. I just…I don’t want anything. I mean—”

 

Tari cut him off. “You don’t want anything? Then let it go. I think Mummy was right. You’ve been stuck on this girl since you were a teenager. You need to move on, Timothy. Experience life. Find someone else.”

 

“Someone else like who? Maryann?” he said with a dry laugh.

 

Tari shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. But, Timothy, you can’t keep doing this to yourself. Get her out of your system.”

 

He exhaled, closing his eyes. “Thank you for your opinion, Tari. You can leave now.”

 

She hesitated, her expression softening. “I am worried, you know. I have never seen you act like this over any woman.”

 

Timothy sighed. “She is not any woman though. That’s the only woman I have ever loved,”

 

Tari moved closer. “Loved, as in past tense right?”

 

Timothy looked away unable to answer.

 

“You know I am not trying to bother you. I just want the best for you. I love you dear brother, and I hate to see you hurt.”

 

“I love you too,” Timothy said, giving her a tired smile. “But please, just go.”

 

She nodded and quietly left the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Timothy leaned back in his chair, staring at his phone, wondering what to do next.

 

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

 

Amarachi dropped her phone on the small, scratched coffee table and walked into the room to check on Ziora. It was just past 8 a.m., and the morning air was still cool, but her thoughts made the atmosphere feel choking. She had deliberately left her phone behind—she didn’t want to be tempted to overthink or obsess over anything this morning. Yesterday’s reunion with Timothy was enough to leave her mind spinning, and she needed some clarity.

 

As she entered the bedroom, she found Ziora awake but quiet, sitting cross-legged on the bed, playing with a stray hair bead that must have fallen out during the night. Amarachi crouched to Ziora’s level and kissed her forehead. “Good morning baby girl. How are you?” 

 

Ziora’s response was silence. She continued fiddling with the bead, her tiny fingers turning it over as if it were the most interesting object in the world. Amarachi sighed, her voice softening. “Ziora, nothing is wrong with you. Hi, Ziora. Say hi to Mummy.”

 

But Ziora only shifted, her gaze avoiding Amarachi’s, and moved to the edge of the bed. Amarachi sat back on her heels, rubbing her temple. “Ziora, talk to me now. You’re fine. You eat well, you play, you smile. Why won’t you answer your name?” 

 

Before her thoughts could spiral further, there was a sharp knock on the door. Amarachi tensed, startled. At the same time, her phone buzzed loudly from the living room. She stood, muttering, “Who could this be at this time?”

 

Picking up the phone on her way to the door, she saw Yemisi’s name flashing on the screen. Amarachi’s lips twitched into a faint smile. Yemisi had been her closest friend since their days at Unilag. Through all of Amarachi’s seasons—her highs, her lows, and the years when she had isolated herself after giving birth to Ziora—Yemisi had been the only person who stayed consistent. Even when Amarachi had lost contact with most people, she could always count on Yemisi. 

 

“Hello?” Amarachi answered, opening the door.

 

“I’m outside your door,” Yemisi replied cheerfully.

 

“What?” Amarachi exclaimed, pulling the door open. Yemisi stood there in her usual sharp, professional attire, her energy bright despite the early hour. Amarachi hugged her tightly. “You didn’t go to work today?”

 

“No work today,” Yemisi said, stepping inside. “We’ve closed for the year. I’m free until January.”

 

“Lucky you!” Amarachi laughed. “As for me, I can’t close for the year. Makeup artists don’t close for December. I have to make all the ‘Detty December’ money.”

 

Yemisi chuckled, dropping her handbag on the couch. “And very necessary money it is.”

 

Amarachi sighed, settling beside her. “Necessary or not, I don’t even think I market myself enough. My calendar isn’t as full as it should be.”

 

Before Yemisi could respond, Ziora wandered into the living room, her small steps drawing both their attention. Amarachi stood up and fetched a container of cereal from the cabinet. “Ziora, say hi to Aunty Yemisi,” Amarachi said gently.

 

Yemisi leaned forward, smiling warmly. “Hi, Ziora! How are you?”

 

Ziora remained silent, her gaze flickering away. Amarachi frowned, coaxing her. “Greet Aunty Yemisi, Ziora.”

 

Yemisi waved it off. “She’s probably still waking up. Don’t stress her.”

 

“She needs to have her bath first before she eats,” Amarachi said, scooping Ziora up. “Bath, then brush, then food.”

 

Yemisi followed them into the bedroom, chatting away as Amarachi prepped Ziora for her morning routine. In the bathroom, Ziora resisted brushing her teeth, wriggling stubbornly. Amarachi sighed and began singing, “This is the way I brush my teeth, brush my teeth, brush my teeth. This is the way I brush my teeth, early in the morning.”

 

To her surprise, Ziora hummed along, her soft attempt at singing barely audible. Yemisi clapped her hands excitedly. “You see? I told you she’d talk. It’s just a little delay.”

 

Amarachi shook her head, her face clouding over. “It’s not just a delay. The doctors say it’s autism.”

 

Yemisi’s expression softened. “Stop saying that, Amarachi. Don’t own it. That’s not your reality. She’ll talk in her own time.”

 

Amarachi rinsed Ziora’s toothbrush. “You think I want to own it? It’s just hard sometimes, Yemisi.”

 

Yemisi’s tone turned light again, trying to lift her friend’s spirits. “Is that why you’ve been so moody?”

 

Amarachi shook her head. “That’s not why. It’s just… work took me to Banana Island recently, and I met…”

 

Yemisi raised a brow. “Ah! You’ve upgraded o! You’re now in Banana Island doing makeup for big clients!”

 

“It’s not like that,” Amarachi replied, smiling faintly. “Guess who the client was? Timothy’s sister.”

 

Yemisi blinked. “Timothy? Timothy who?”

 

“You don’t remember? That guy I dated before university.”

 

Yemisi tilted her head. “Timothy… Oh! Your Timothy? The guy you were obsessed with? Ah, I thought we moved on from that gist.”

 

“Yeah, well, I ran into him,” Amarachi said. “Timothy Ebele Johnson, the gospel artiste.”

 

Yemisi gasped. “Wait, wait, wait. Are you telling me that The Official Timothy used to be your boyfriend?”

 

Amarachi nodded, and Yemisi threw her head back in disbelief. “No way! Amarachi, you’re telling me this now? After how many years? You’re living in a Nollywood movie, I swear.”

 

Before Amarachi could respond, her phone buzzed from the couch. Yemisi rushed out to grab it, calling back, “Guess who’s calling you—Timothy Johnson! Is this the same Timothy?”

 

Amarachi froze, her heart racing as Yemisi walked back into the bedroom with the phone in hand. “Why is he calling you? Have you guys reconnected?” Yemisi asked, grinning mischievously. 

 

Amarachi took the phone, staring at the name flashing on the screen. Her hands trembled slightly as she muttered, “I don’t know… I don’t know what to say to him.”

 

Yemisi smirked. “Well, answer the call and figure it out.”

 

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

 

Twelve Years Ago

 

The hall was alive with cheers, hugs, and the flash of cameras. Parents, teachers, and students filled the space, all clad in their academic gowns, celebrating the end of an era. Amarachi stood with her parents on one end, trying her best to focus on the family photos being taken. But her gaze kept drifting to the other side of the room, where Timothy stood with his family, smiling shyly as his mother adjusted his gown.

 

She winked at him.

 

Timothy, ever the bashful one, didn’t wink back. Instead, his cheeks warmed, and he quickly looked away, pretending to focus on his younger brother tugging at his sleeve. Amarachi chuckled softly to herself and pulled out a folded note from her pocket. 

 

On it, she wrote: Don’t even think about going home with your parents after this. Meet me at the chapel. We need to have our own graduation party.

 

She flagged down a junior student passing by and handed him the note. “Take this to Timothy,” she said, and he ran off to do her bidding.

 

From across the hall, she watched the boy deliver the note. Timothy unfolded it, read it, and glanced at her. A small smile spread across his face as he raised his thumb, a secret sign between them. Amarachi grinned and winked again. This time, Timothy simply lowered his head, still smiling.

 

“Amarachi, we need to leave soon,” her mother said, gently tugging at her arm. “The family is waiting. Everyone came to celebrate with you at home. We can’t keep them waiting.”

 

“Sorry, Mum. I can’t come right away,” Amarachi replied. “I’ll be home by five.”

 

“Five?” her mother exclaimed. “By then, everyone will be gone!”

 

“Mummy, it’s my last day with my friends. Please let me spend some time with them.”

 

Her father intervened, chuckling. “Let the girl have her time. It’s her day, after all.”

 

Reluctantly, her mother relented. “Fine. But don’t keep people waiting for too long.”

 

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

 

At the chapel, Amarachi paced the aisle, her academic gown draped over one of the pews. She had been waiting for nearly an hour, her patience wearing thin. When Timothy finally arrived, still in his gown, she crossed her arms and glared at him.

 

“I left my family for this,” she said. “And you’re an hour late. What took you so long?”

 

Timothy looked genuinely apologetic. “I’m sorry. My mum brought her friends, and they wanted pictures. Our party is at the school, so I couldn’t just leave without explaining.”

 

“You could have told them you had another programme with your mates,” Amarachi snapped. “That’s what I did.”

 

“You lied to your parents?” Timothy asked, frowning. “That’s wrong.”

 

Amarachi rolled her eyes. “Enough with this self-righteousness. Do you think you’re the one who killed Jesus?”

 

Timothy’s expression grew serious. “Amarachi, don’t say things like that. It makes me worry about your faith.”

 

“Okay, okay,” she said, holding up her hands. “Let’s not argue about my faith today. It’s our graduation day.”

 

She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the back of the chapel. “Come with me.”

 

“Where are we going?” Timothy asked, smiling despite himself. 

 

“Just follow me,” Amarachi replied. “You’re safe with me.”

 

Timothy chuckled. “I know.”

 

They reached a small hut behind the chapel, where a wooden bench awaited them. Amarachi sat down and gestured for Timothy to join her. When he did, she took his hands in hers.

 

“Promise me,” she said softly. “Promise me you won’t leave me.”

 

Timothy’s brows furrowed. “Leave you? Why would I leave you? Amarachi, it’s me and you forever. You’re the woman I’m going to marry. I love you.”

 

Amarachi’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Everyone says we don’t know anything about love. They say our relationship will break. And I’m scared. I don’t want to be without you.”

 

“You won’t be,” Timothy said firmly. “You’re my future.”

 

“But…” Amarachi hesitated. “You’ve never even kissed me. Do you really love me in a romantic way?”

 

Timothy smiled. “It’s not about physical things. It’s about the heart. And you have my heart.”

 

Amarachi rolled her eyes, though her smile betrayed her amusement. “You’ve been watching too many movies. ‘You have my heart’? Really?”

 

She leaned in to kiss him, but Timothy turned his head, and her lips brushed his cheek instead. She pulled back, frustrated. “Why won’t you kiss me? Is it my lips? Do you not like them?”

 

Timothy shook his head. “Our bodies are temples of God. This relationship isn’t about physical attraction or falling into sin. It’s about building a future together. Amarachi, I don’t want to taste the future now. I want to enjoy it when it’s time.”

 

Amarachi sighed. “You’re too perfect, Timothy. I don’t deserve you.”

 

Timothy smiled. “You do. And you always will.”

 

“Happy graduation day,” Amarachi said, trying to lighten the mood. “Now, won’t I at least get a hug?”

 

Timothy stood. “Okay. Come here.”

 

Amarachi leapt to her feet and wrapped her arms around him. He held her tightly, neither of them wanting to let go.

 

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

 

Back To Present

 

Timothy dropped his phone on the couch in frustration. He had stepped out of the studio to call Amarachi. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. The song Encounter had consumed most of his focus since morning, but now, as his producer worked on mixing and mastering the track, something wasn’t clicking. His producer had suggested he take a ten-minute break to clear his head. 

 

But the break had only made things worse.

 

He paced the hallway outside the studio, phone in hand, debating whether to call her. He had already tried twice, and each time, she hadn’t picked up. Now, as he stared at the screen, he sent her a short message:  

“Amarachi, pick my call. I know you know I’m calling you. Please, just pick.”

 

On impulse, he dialled her number again. This time, she answered.  

“Hi, Timothy,” she said, her tone hesitant. “Sorry, I was busy.”

 

“Busy doing what? Work? Where are you?” The questions spilled out before he could stop himself.

 

Amarachi sighed. “Timothy, that’s… so many questions. Why are you—” She stuttered, then stopped. 

 

Timothy exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry. I just—I thought we had a good time yesterday, and now you’re being… distant. What’s going on?”

 

“Timothy,” Amarachi began, her voice faltering. “I don’t know. To what end will this lead? Talking, chatting—what does it even mean for us? I don’t want to get the wrong impression or give you the wrong impression. I’m a single mom just trying to make sense of her life. If you start calling me regularly, Timothy… I’ll misinterpret things. I might even begin to hope for things. I’m just being honest. It’s not fair to do that to you.”

 

“Amarachi,” Timothy interrupted, “and would that be so bad? Am I complaining?”

 

She hesitated. “You deserve better than this mess that is my life. Timothy, you’ve worked so hard to get where you are. I don’t want to be the one to ruin it. Already, blogs are trailing you to my side. Doesn’t that bother you?”

 

Timothy sighed deeply. “What if I don’t care about that? What if I can’t get you out of my mind? I’ve never been able to. Yesterday made it even clearer for me. You’re not just some girl I met, Amarachi. You were my girl. Being with you yesterday felt like no time had passed. My feelings haven’t changed.”

 

Amarachi’s voice grew strained. “Timothy, it’s not that simple. You deserve someone better. Do you even know what I’ve done with my life? How much I have messed up? I never stopped loving you, but it’s not the same. I love you as a good person I used to know. That’s it. And because I care about you, I know I need to stay away.”

 

Timothy’s chest tightened, but he pressed on. “Why are you so bent on deciding what’s good for me? Let me make that choice. I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m just saying, let’s be friends. Is that too difficult?”

 

Amarachi was quiet for a moment before she said softly, “I can’t do friendship with you. It would only remind me of how foolish I was and all that I’ve lost. You don’t understand.”

 

“Then help me understand,” Timothy urged. “Amarachi, I’ve loved you since SS3. Seeing you again made me realize those feelings never went away.  My family, and my ministry—that is my world. But with you… it’s different. You are like the centre of it all. Yesterday, you made me come alive in a way no one else has. I’m not asking for anything right now. I’m just asking you not to shut me out.”

 

There was a long pause on the line before Amarachi finally said, “You know what? Can we talk later? A friend is here, and this is really awkward.”

 

Timothy sighed. “Promise me you’ll call me back.”

 

“I will. I promise.”

 

“Thank you,” he said, his voice softening. He ran a hand through his hair and turned back toward the studio.

 

When he stepped inside, his producer gave him a curious look. “You don’t look like someone who just had a refreshing break.”

 

Timothy chuckled dryly. “I need a longer break. Let’s pick this up later.”

 

The producer frowned. “Are you okay, man?”

 

Timothy nodded, though his heart was still heavy. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

 

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

Timothy slumped onto the couch in his quiet living room, rubbing his temples in frustration. His mind replayed the phone call he had just concluded with Amarachi, cringing at every word he said. 

 

“What am I doing? Why am I acting like a teenager who doesn’t know how to control himself?” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. The vulnerability of his confession gnawed at him. “This girl broke up with me for a reason, and here I am… acting like we’re just going to pick up where we left off.”

 

A soft knock on the door broke his spiralling thoughts. It creaked open slightly, and Kwesi stepped inside. “Hey, Tim. I thought you’d be in the studio. Are you okay?” 

 

Timothy sighed, gesturing for Kwesi to sit down. “Yeah, I’m fine… just overthinking things as usual.” 

 

Kwesi settled into the armchair across from him, leaning forward. “Overthinking or obsessing? Because you look like someone who’s been through it today.” 

 

Timothy exhaled deeply, leaning back on the couch. “I reconnected with my ex-girlfriend recently… Amarachi.” 

 

Kwesi raised an eyebrow, visibly surprised. “Ex-girlfriend? So it’s true then. I always thought you were… I don’t know… above all that relationship drama.” 

 

Timothy let out a rueful chuckle. “Yeah, well, I had an ex before all of this. She was my first love… my only love, really. And seeing her again after all these years? It’s… it’s messing with me, man. I just called her this morning, and the things I said on that call…” He groaned, covering his face with his hands. “I am embarrassed.” 

 

Kwesi leaned back, crossing his arms. “What did you say?” 

 

Timothy hesitated, then dropped his hands. “I started talking about feelings… about how I’ve never stopped thinking about her. Like, why would I even do that? I barely know who she is anymore. It’s been twelve years.” 

 

Kwesi nodded slowly, a small smirk on his face. “Ah, so you’re human after all. Honestly, Tim, it sounds like you’re moving way too fast. You’ve got to slow down. First of all, have you seen the blogs?” 

 

Timothy frowned, his stomach sinking. “The blogs? What blogs? I thought it was just one Instagram aproko.” 

 

Kwesi pulled out his phone and handed it to Timothy, showing him the image of himself cradling Ziora outside Amarachi’s home. The headline read: “Gospel Star Timothy Johnson Spotted in Ajegunle – Music Video or Something More?”

 

Timothy groaned, shaking his head. “Great. Just great. This is exactly what I don’t need right now.” 

 

Kwesi laughed lightly. “Yeah, it’s… not exactly on-brand for you, bro. But honestly, you need to step back. Send her a message, apologise for coming on so strong, and take a breather. You’re acting like a teenager in love for the first time.” 

 

Timothy sighed, nodding. “You’re right. I’ll send her a message. Just something short, apologising for being forward. And then I’ll pull back completely. She’s dealing with her own stuff, and I don’t want to complicate her life.” 

 

Kwesi clapped his shoulder. “Good call. But, Tim, can I ask something?” 

 

Timothy looked up at him. “What’s that?” 

 

“You ever think it might be time to… I don’t know, move on? Find someone else? I always thought you were one of those guys who didn’t want a relationship. But clearly, you’ve got it in you. Maybe it’s time to explore that again—with someone who’s ready for it.” 

 

Timothy’s brows furrowed, and he stared at the floor for a moment before answering. “I’ll pray about it. I think… I think you may be right.” 

 

Kwesi smiled, standing up. “Well, tell me how it goes in January. My flight is this evening, and I need to head to the airport soon.” 

 

Timothy rose, shaking Kwesi’s hand firmly. “Safe journey, Kwesi. Enjoy the holidays with your family.” 

 

“Thanks, Tim. And seriously, don’t stress too much about this Amarachi thing. Just take it one day at a time.” 

 

Timothy watched as Kwesi left the room, his words lingering. He sat back down, pulled out his phone, and composed a brief text message:  

 

“Amarachi, I just wanted to apologise if I came on too strong earlier. I don’t want to overwhelm you, and I respect where you are in your life. Take care of yourself.” 

 

He hit send, sighed, and leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. 

 

“What am I doing? It’s over between us, it’s better it stays that way.” he muttered again, before closing his eyes and letting the quiet wash over him.  

 

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

 

Oh wow. I don’t even know how I feel right now. Sadness is stuck in my throat, yet I wonder what truly can be the fate of this love story. Timothy is a gospel artist. Amara is a single mom…

What are your thoughts?

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