Episode 8

Amarachi dragged her feet, exhaustion creeping into every muscle in her body. The journey from the Jordan River to Cana of Galilee had been long and draining. She could barely take another step.  

 

She wiped sweat from her brow and glared at Timothy. He was walking beside her, upright, completely unbothered, as though they hadn’t just trekked for hours.

 

“Timothy,” she huffed, “Are you not tired? We’ve been walking forever, my feet are sore, my legs are screaming. Isn’t there another way to get to this wedding you’re so keen on attending? A horse? A donkey? Anything?”  

 

Timothy smiled and took her hand. “Forgive me, my beloved. Had I not sent our beasts of burden with our daughter to Bethlehem, we could have used it.”  

 

Amarachi blinked. “Wait, what? You mean to say that Ziora is… in Bethlehem?”  

 

Timothy nodded. “Aye. She is well cared for. Did I not tell thee before?”  

 

She sighed. “I can’t keep up with all these,” she muttered under her breath.  

 

They reached the outskirts of Cana, where the town bustled with life. Merchants shouted in the streets, offering fruits, oils, and embroidered fabrics. The air smelled of spiced meat and fresh bread. Women in flowing robes carried clay jars of water to their homes.  

 

Timothy turned to her with a pleased smile. “We have arrived.”  

 

She crossed her arms. “And what exactly are we doing here? Because crashing a wedding is not something I do.”  

 

Timothy chuckled. “We are not intruders, beloved. We are guests.”  

 

She glanced down at herself. Her robe was dust-stained, her feet covered in dirt. “Timothy, I cannot go to a wedding like this. A woman should always look her best.”  

 

Timothy stepped closer, lifting her chin gently. “Thou hath the most beautiful woman in the world. Even in dust, thou art radiant.”  

 

She rolled her eyes. “You’re always teasing me.”  

 

“I speak only the truth,” he said with a smile.  

 

She turned away, flustered. “But seriously, whose wedding is this? Do we even know the couple? Because I’m worried about crashing a wedding.”  

 

Timothy’s expression softened. “Tis a wedding like none other, Amarachi. I have brought thee hither to meet Jesus.”  

 

Something shifted inside her at the sound of the name. “Jesus?”  

 

Timothy nodded. “Yea. He is unlike any man who hath walked this earth. John the Baptist bore witness to him, saying, ‘Behold, the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world.’ He has begun to gather men unto himself, calling them, saying, ‘Follow me.’ And they follow without hesitation.”  

 

Amarachi frowned. “See? That’s exactly my problem. It just feels like blind devotion. That’s the issue I have with Christianity, we’re all Christians because we were born into it. No one asks questions. No one seeks proof.”  

 

Timothy placed a kiss on her forehead. “Faith is not blindness, Amarachi. It is a sight beyond the limits of man. Come and meet him at this wedding.”  

 

She hesitated, staying rooted to a spot then released a sigh. “Okay,” she said at last. “But first, I need clean clothes.”  

 

Timothy laughed. “Aye, let us go unto the market.”  

 

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

 

The marketplace was alive with colors and scents. Vendors arranged fine linen and silks, men haggled over sandals and belts, and merchants displayed brass jewelry and fragrant oils under the golden sun.  

 

Timothy led her to a woman selling embroidered robes.

 

“Here,” he said, picking up a deep-blue robe with golden stitching. “This will suit thee well.”  

 

Amarachi ran her fingers over the fabric. “It’s beautiful.”  

 

Timothy paid the merchant, and she handed over the robe along with a delicate veil.  

 

“Thou mayest change within,” the merchant said, pointing to a small tent draped in cloth.  

 

Amarachi stepped inside and quickly changed. As she pulled on the new robe and veil, she couldn’t help but admire how the fabric flowed over her skin. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever worn.  

 

She stepped out, and Timothy’s breath caught.  

 

“Thou art radiant, my love.”  

 

Her cheeks burned. “Timothy…”  

 

He took a step closer. “I love thee, Amarachi.”  

 

She met his gaze. “Timothy… are we really married?”  

 

He smiled, his voice steady. “Aye. And in every lifetime, I shall ever be thy husband.”  

 

Something deep inside her stirred, something both familiar and foreign. She didn’t know what to say, so she simply whispered, “You don’t look bad yourself.”  

 

Timothy grinned. “Good. Now, let us go unto the wedding.”  

 

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

 

By the time Amarachi and Timothy arrived at the wedding, it was evening. The golden hues of the setting sun bathed the entire scene in a warm glow. The atmosphere hummed with joy—music filled the air, the sound of flutes and tambourines blending seamlessly with the laughter of guests. 

 

Women danced in circles, their flowing robes swirling as they clapped and sang along to the rhythm. Men stood in clusters, drinking from clay cups, engaged in a loud conversation. Children ran between the tables, chasing each other in fits of giggles.  

 

Amarachi took it all in, a small smile curling her lips. “Wow… a wedding will always be a wedding. The excitement, the joy… some things never change.”  

 

Timothy chuckled. “Aye, love and celebration hath remained unchanged through time.”  

 

Amarachi’s stomach suddenly rumbled, reminding her of her hunger. “Speaking of things that never change… Timothy, we need to eat. Where is the food?”  

 

Timothy glanced around and spotted a group of guests huddled near the serving tables. He led Amarachi toward them, weaving through the dancing crowd.  

 

One of the guests shook his head. “Ah, thou art too late, friend. The food is finishing. Even the wine is gone.”  

 

Amarachi gasped. “You’re kidding me. So, of all the weddings we could crash, it had to be the one where they ran out of food?”  

 

Timothy was about to respond when something caught his eye. Just beyond the gathering, a woman in a rich blue robe stood speaking in hushed but urgent tones.  

 

Timothy’s face lit up. “Look, Amarachi, Aunty Mary.”  

 

“Aunty who?”  

 

“Mary, the mother of Jesus.”  

 

Amarachi followed his gaze, watching as Mary spoke to a man.  

 

“Who is she arguing with?” Amarachi asked.  

 

Timothy’s eyes softened. “The Master.”  

 

He gently pulled her forward, but as they approached, he stopped.  

 

Mary’s voice was filled with concern. “They have no more wine. How can we help?”  

 

The man she spoke to—the one Timothy called the Master, regarded her with a calm but firm expression. “Dear woman, that is not our concern. My time hath not yet come.”  

 

Timothy watched in reverence. Amarachi, however, was unimpressed. She crossed her arms.

 

“So… she tells him the problem, and he tells her it’s none of his concern? Some problem-solver he is!”  

 

Timothy smiled. “Amarachi, wait.”  

 

Mary, undeterred, turned to the nearby servants and gave a simple instruction:  

 

“Do whatever he tells you.”  

 

As soon as Mary left, the man said some things to the servants but it wasn’t loud enough, so Amarachi did not hear it.

 

Immediately, the servants acted on the quiet instruction, rushing to fetch six large stone water jars. They filled them to the brim.  

 

Jesus then said to them, “Now, draw some out, and take it to the master of the feast.” 

 

Amarachi frowned. “Wait. Did he just tell them to take water to the master of ceremonies? So after all that, they’re supposed to drink water at a wedding? Is he mocking them?”  

 

Timothy simply watched. “Patience, my love.”  

 

The master of ceremonies took a sip from the cup handed to him by the servant. His eyes widened. He beckoned the bridegroom over, shaking his head in astonishment.

 

“Most men serve the best wine first, and after all have well drunk, they bring forth the lesser. But thou hast kept the best for last!”  

 

Amarachi’s jaw dropped. “Oh… my… God. This is familiar.” She took a staggered step back. “This is Cana. The wedding at Cana! The first miracle!”  

 

Timothy’s smile deepened. “Aye, the beginning of signs, that men might believe.”  

 

Amarachi looked at him, then back at Jesus. “So… are you telling me… that man is Jesus?”  

 

Timothy nodded. “Aye, Jesus the Miracle Worker.”  

 

Amarachi’s heart pounded. She grabbed Timothy’s arm. “Then take me to him! I need to meet him.”  

 

But as they turned to approach, the spot where Jesus stood was now empty.

 

Amarachi spun around. “Where is he?”  

 

Timothy scanned the crowd, then stopped a passing guest. “Friend, hath the Master departed?”  

 

The man nodded. “I heard he went to Capernaum.”  

 

Amarachi grabbed Timothy’s hand. “Let’s go! Let’s follow him. I want to meet him.”  

 

Timothy laughed, gently pulling her back. “Patience, Amarachi. We shall see him again in Jerusalem.”  

 

She huffed in frustration. “But—”  

 

Timothy smirked. “For now, wilt thou not drink of the miracle wine and fill thy belly with food?”  

 

Amarachi pursed her lips, then sighed. “Fine. But I’m not done with this conversation.”  

 

Timothy grinned. “Nor am I, my love. Nor am I.”  

 

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

 

Amarachi was sleeping, her body aching from days of walking through dusty roads, her mind still struggling to process everything she had witnessed so far. But her rest was short-lived.

 

“Amarachi, awake,” Timothy’s voice broke through her dreams.  

 

She stirred but groaned, pulling the linen covers over her head. “Timothy, please, let me sleep. This walking life is not for me.”  

 

Timothy chuckled, pulling the covers off her. “Aye, I would have let thee slumber longer, but the Master hath returned.”  

 

That got her attention. Amarachi sat up sharply, rubbing her eyes. “Jesus? He’s back?”  

 

Timothy nodded. “Aye. He is at the temple.”  

 

Amarachi stretched her limbs with a sigh of relief. “Finally! Take me to him.”  

 

Timothy smiled at her eagerness. “Come, let us make haste.”  

 

As they stepped out into the cool morning air,  Amarachi glanced at him. “So… the temple. You mean, like, a church?”  

 

Timothy paused for a moment before replying, “Aye, it is similar in a way.”  

 

She shrugged. “Alright, let’s go.”  

 

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

The temple in Jerusalem was a grand sight, its towering pillars standing firm and unshaken against the skyline. But even from a distance, something felt wrong. The closer they got, the louder the noise became.  

 

As they approached, Amarachi slowed her steps. She could hear the sounds of bartering, the clinking of coins, and the unmistakable bleating of sheep. The temple was supposed to be a place of prayer, but it felt like a market.

 

“What’s happening?” she muttered.  

 

Timothy’s face darkened. “Wait and see.”  

 

At that moment, Jesus stood observing the scene. His face was set, his jaw tight. Amarachi had been eager to meet him, but something about him felt different.

 

She was about to step forward when Timothy held her back. “Something is about to take place.”  

 

She followed his gaze, and what happened next shocked her.

 

Jesus made a whip from some ropes and chased them all out of the temple! He drove out the sheep and cattle, scattered the coins of the money changers all over the floor, and overturned the tables. 

 

Amarachi gasped. She had never seen anything like this before.  

 

Then Jesus turned to the dove sellers, his voice thundering through the air.  

 

“Get these things out of here! Stop turning my Father’s house into a marketplace!” 

 

Amarachi stared, wide-eyed. “Oh my God… is this really Jesus?”  

 

Timothy nodded, his expression unreadable.  

 

“But… Why is he so angry?” she whispered. “I mean, I get that what these people are doing is wrong, but… isn’t Jesus supposed to be the Prince of Peace? Why is he fighting like this?”  

 

Timothy smiled slightly. “Aye, He is the Prince of Peace. But He is also the Lion. He is fulfilling that which was written: ‘Passion for thy house hath consumed me.”  

 

Before Amarachi could respond, a group of Jewish leaders stepped forward, their expressions full of displeasure. 

 

“What sign dost thou show unto us, seeing that thou doest these things?” one of them demanded.  

 

Jesus turned to them, his voice steady.  

 

“Destroy this temple, and in three days I shall raise it up.”

 

Amarachi froze. She had read this before. She remembered these words. 

 

The religious leaders were outraged.

 

“What? It took forty-six years to build this temple, and thou wilt rebuild it in three days?” 

 

Amarachi’s mind reeled. She turned to Timothy. “I… I’ve read this before. But it doesn’t make sense. What is He saying? It’s almost like He’s asking to be persecuted.”  

 

Timothy watched her carefully. “Nay, my love. When He spake of the temple, He spake of his own body.”  

 

Amarachi’s breath hitched. “His body?”  

 

Timothy nodded. “Aye. He shall be destroyed, and in three days, He shall rise again.”  

 

Amarachi felt a shiver down her spine. “Wait. So… so this means… the prophecy was about His death and resurrection?”  

 

Timothy smiled. “Thou art a scholar indeed.”  

 

She exhaled sharply. “This is making sense. But if He’s the temple… does that mean…” She trailed off, trying to piece it together.  

 

Timothy gazed at her softly. “It meaneth, Amarachi, that we are to abide in Him, as a sanctuary. That is the calling—to live in God. For Jesus is God.”  

 

Amarachi rubbed her temples. “Oh Lord, here we go again. More confusion.”  

 

Timothy laughed gently. “Come, thou seekest the Master, aye? Let us go to Him.”  

 

She looked around, scanning the temple. But Jesus was gone.

 

“Of course He is,” she sighed. “It’s impossible to reach Him with all these crowds.”  

 

Timothy placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Fret not, my love. Later this evening, I shall take thee to a secret place. There, thou shalt speak with him.”  

 

Amarachi’s heart skipped a beat. 

 

“A secret place?”  

 

Timothy nodded. “Aye. Tonight, thou shalt meet the Master.”  

 

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

 

The night air was cool, thick with the scent of olive trees and the distant hum of Jerusalem settling into sleep. Amarachi and Timothy stood beneath the shadow of a lone tree, watching as a man stepped out of a small house. His shoulders were slumped, his steps slow, as though he carried a weight too heavy for one man.  

 

Amarachi frowned. “Finally, He’s alone.”

 

Timothy nodded. “Yes, this is thy time to speak with Him.”

 

Her gaze followed the man disappearing into the darkness. “Who was that? He looked… burdened.”

 

“That is Nicodemus, a ruler of the Jews,” Timothy explained. “A teacher of the law.” 

 

Her brow furrowed. “Wait, Nicodemus? The one who asked about being born again?”  

 

Timothy gave a knowing smile. “The very same.”  

 

Her heart pounded. “I have the same questions, Timothy. I don’t understand any of it.” 

 

“Then go,”  Timothy said gently. “Ask Him.” 

 

She turned her gaze toward Jesus, who stood near the entrance of the house, His face lifted toward the sky as though He were searching for something unseen. There was a stillness about Him, a quiet authority that both unsettled and drew her in.  

 

Amarachi exhaled sharply. “Timothy, He’s right there, but I feel like I’m intruding. He’s been attending to people all day. He never rests, does He?”  

 

Timothy chuckled. “One moment, thou thinkest Him to be a deceiver with blind followers. The next, thou art concerned for His rest.” 

 

She gave a small, exasperated laugh. “That’s not it. I just… I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

 

“Then go,” he urged.  

 

She hesitated. “Come with me.”  

 

Timothy shook his head. “Nay, beloved. This journey is thine alone.”  

 

“But you said you’re my husband,” she protested. “Shouldn’t a husband and wife be one?”  

 

Timothy touched her cheek, his voice gentle but firm. “In all things, a husband and his wife are one, but when it cometh to knowing the Master, it is not so. One cannot inherit faith. A wife cannot enter the kingdom because of her husband’s belief. Every soul must seek Him alone.”  

 

Tears welled in her eyes. “No, Timothy. Please, don’t leave me.”  

 

“Doth thou not wish to see Ziora?”  

 

She inhaled sharply. “Of course, I do.” 

 

“Then I must go,” Timothy said. “My sister hath returned from Bethlehem. I shall bring Ziora unto thee. When thou art done with the Master, she shall be waiting.” 

 

He pressed a kiss to her forehead before disappearing into the night.  

 

Now, she was truly alone.  

 

She turned toward Jesus.  

 

“So this is the Savior of the world,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around herself. “So close, yet so far.”

 

The lump in her throat thickened. “I can’t do this.” She shook her head and took a step backward. “He’s too far away.” 

 

She had barely turned when His voice stopped her.  

 

“Amarachi.” 

 

Her breath caught.  

 

Slowly, she turned back.  

 

Jesus was watching her, His gaze steady, full of something she couldn’t quite understand.  

 

“Where hath thou going?”  

 

Her lips trembled. “You… You know my name?” 

 

A soft smile touched His lips. “Yea. And I know thine heart.”  

 

Tears burned behind her eyes. She dropped to her knees. “Jesus… I want to believe. I do. I know You’re real. I’ve seen Your miracles. I know You are from God. But I’m just… so confused. About everything.”  

 

Jesus took a step closer. “I tell you the truth, unless a man is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” 

 

She wiped her tears quickly. “Born again? What does that even mean? I was born into a Christian home. I go to church. I pray. I try to be good. Isn’t that enough?”  

 

Jesus knelt before her, His voice kind but unwavering. “What is born of flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit. Just as a man is born into this world through his mother, he must also be born into My kingdom through the Spirit.”

 

She shook her head. “I don’t understand. I believe in God, but I don’t feel Him. I do what I was taught, but I still feel… empty.” 

 

“The wind bloweth where it wishes,” Jesus said, looking up as a breeze moved through the night. “You hear its sound, but thou doth not know where it cometh from or where it is goeth. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.” 

 

She swallowed hard. “You’re saying… I can’t control it? I can’t force it?”  

 

Jesus nodded. “Faith is not a formula, neither is it a ritual. It is life. It is surrender. It is knowing that thou cannot save thyself.”

 

Her hands clenched into fists. “But what does that even mean? How do I—” 

 

Jesus’ eyes bore into hers. “As Moses lifted up the bronze serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life.” 

 

She blinked, tears slipping down her cheeks. “You’re talking about Yourself, aren’t You?” 

 

Jesus nodded. “For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life. For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn it, but to save it.”  

 

She inhaled sharply. “Save it… Save me?” 

 

Jesus’ voice was steady. “Yea, Amarachi. But thou must choose. Thou must believe.”  

 

Her shoulders shook. “I… I think I understand. I don’t want to just go through the motions anymore. I want to know You.” 

 

Jesus smiled, His eyes full of warmth. “Thou hath not far from the kingdom of God.”  

 

A peace unlike anything she had ever known washed over her, wrapping around her like a blanket. She exhaled, exhaustion settling into her bones. Slowly, she lay her head down, her body giving in to sleep.  

 

And as she drifted off, Jesus took His cloak and gently covered her, shielding her from the cool night air.  

 

Then He rose, watching her for a moment, before walking away into the quiet of the night.  

 

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

Amarachi stirred, the remnants of sleep still clinging to her like a fading mist. Her fingers instinctively reached out, searching for something, the cloak. The one Jesus had covered her with.  

 

But it was gone.  

 

Her eyes snapped open. She was back in Lagos. 

 

The dim glow of early morning filtered through her small window. She sat up quickly, pressing her hands to her face. “How can I sleep off? Oh, Jesus… Jesus…” Her heart pounded as she scanned the room, half-expecting to still see the olive trees, the small house, the dusty streets of Jerusalem.  

 

Nothing.  

 

Just the familiar walls of her tiny apartment.  

 

She turned to her bedside table. Her Bible lay there, still open—John. 

 

Her fingers trembled as she traced the pages. John chapter 1, 2, and 3.

 

Her breath hitched. “Oh, God… this is what I was reading just now.” 

 

Her mind reeled, replaying every moment— Jesus spoke to her, explaining what it meant to be born again. His voice had carried peace and authority all at once.  

 

She exhaled sharply and turned her head.  

 

Ziora. 

 

A rush of urgency shot through her. She climbed out of bed and padded quickly to the door, stepping into the living room.  

 

Timothy was there.  

 

He was on his knees, eyes closed, praying. Even at this hour, he was lost in it.  

 

Ziora sat on the couch, staring at him with quiet fascination.  

 

Amarachi swallowed hard. How long had he been praying?  

 

She walked over to Ziora and scooped her into her arms, holding her close. “Come, my love. Let’s leave uncle to his private time.” 

 

As she turned to go, Timothy’s voice broke through the silence.  

 

“Amarachi.” 

 

She froze.  

 

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you? Was I praying too loud?” His voice was gentle, still laced with the lingering weight of prayer. “I lost myself for a bit.”  

 

She turned to face him, shifting Ziora in her arms. “No, no… I actually slept the deepest sleep of my life.”

 

Timothy exhaled, a small smile forming. “Oh, really? That’s good to know. That means you are well rested.”  

 

She nodded, adjusting Ziora against her hip.  

 

“You weren’t comfortable, were you?” he asked.  

 

“No, I was. I believe I was exactly where I needed to be.”  

 

Timothy studied her for a moment, as though he sensed something different. “Okay, if you say so.”

 

She glanced at the time. 5:00 a.m.  

 

“I’ll just go bathe and get ready. We should be on our way soon.”  

 

Timothy nodded. “Do you need me to assist you with anything?”  

 

“No, no. I’m good.” 

 

“Alright. I’ll just drop you off and head home.”  

 

She hesitated, biting her lip. Should she tell him? She pondered within herself.

 

Timothy watched her closely. “What is wrong with you?” 

 

She let out a small, shaky laugh. “I had a dream.”  She paused. “I’ll tell you in the car. On our way.”

 

Timothy nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Alright. As long as you’re fine.”  

 

She glanced at him again, this time with a quiet reverence. “You were here… praying half the time.” She exhaled, almost in awe of the moment. “I think this is the finest I will ever be.”

“Thank you for our Christmas Gift,” she added, but he simply nodded and smiled.

 

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

 

The darkness still cloaked the early morning streets, and Timothy was grateful for this, it meant that no one would notice him. It was safer for him to bring the car to the front of Amarachi’s apartment rather than have them walk all the way to the filling station with luggage.  

 

He walked briskly, fatigue settling in his bones. He hadn’t slept. More than exhaustion, he felt a battle had been fought in the spirit, but he wasn’t sure what it meant.  

 

Pulling the car up to the building, he exhaled deeply, resting his head momentarily against the headrest. He knew something had shifted.  What was it? 

 

Forty minutes later, the apartment door opened. Amarachi stepped out, carrying Ziora, while dragging her suitcase behind her. Timothy quickly got out, helping her load the luggage into the trunk. He shut it, stretched his arms, and let out a sigh. He still couldn’t shake the way he was feeling.

 

“Are you okay?” he asked suddenly.  

 

Amarachi hesitated, adjusting Ziora in her arms. “Why would I not be okay?”  

 

Timothy ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know… I just feel a sense of… something.”  

 

Amarachi frowned. “A sense of what?” 

 

He shook his head. “Never mind. It’s fine.” 

 

But it wasn’t.  

 

As he pulled open the driver’s door and slid in, the anxiety he felt only grew. Was this about the trip? Was there danger ahead? Had God kept him in prayer all night for a reason? He stole a glance at Amarachi as she settled Ziora into the back seat.  

 

Should he tell her not to travel?  

 

Before he could decide, she turned to him. “I had a dream.”  

 

Timothy’s hands stilled on the steering wheel. “A dream?”  

 

“Yes. And you were in it.”  

 

His lips curled into a small smile. “Well, now I’m interested. What happened?”  

 

Amarachi hesitated before saying, “You were my husband.”

 

Timothy’s brows lifted, his grin widening. “Now, I’m really liking this dream.”  

 

Amarachi rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Timothy? After everything we’ve been through, and how I literally dumped you, you don’t cringe about being my husband?”  

 

His smile faded slightly. He gripped the steering wheel, looking into the rear view mirror to guide reversing then paused to look at her. “Amarachi… I don’t think I can ever cringe when it comes to you, because I’ve never stopped wanting you in my life.” He inhaled deeply. “It’s not like I sit around thinking about it, but I know that I feel a strong need to have you in my life, and I don’t think God is against it.” His lips twitched slightly. “So yeah… I like this dream of yours. Tell me more.”

 

But before she could respond, his phone rang.  

 

His mother.  

 

He exhaled, bracing himself. The call went straight to the car’s multimedia system.  

 

“Timothy, I hate this.”

 

Timothy winced. “Mummy, hold on—“  

 

“No! What is it?” she snapped. “Why are you doing this? Why are you acting like a child? First time you’re out of the house and that girl’s place is where you go?”

 

Timothy closed his eyes, scrambling to take the phone off the car multimedia speaker. “Mummy, what is this? I am not a child—“  

 

“I am upset because your sister told me where you are. You’ve gone to the house of that girl—the makeup artist who has a child? What is going to come out of this, Timothy? What?!”

 

Amarachi stiffened beside him.  

 

“Mummy, please—“

 

“I don’t like this at all. I am scared for you. Leave that girl alone! That is how your spotless career will become—” 

 

“Mummy!” Timothy snapped. “That’s enough.”  

 

But she continued, her voice sharp. “She broke up with you! That kind of girl? I was just sitting here thinking you must have dodged a bullet when such a loose girl….”  

 

Timothy ended the call.  

 

The silence that followed was thick.  

 

Amarachi looked ahead, her face unreadable. “I think you shouldn’t have cut the call.”  

 

Timothy exhaled, gripping the wheel. “I’ll apologize later. But you don’t have to hear that.”  

 

She let out a hollow laugh. “I don’t even feel bad. She’s right.”  

 

Timothy turned to look at her, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.  

 

“You deserve better than frolicking around a girl like me.”  

 

Timothy let out a slow breath. “What you and my mum both fail to realise is that I can make my own decisions. I’m a grown man.” He turned the ignition. “Forget about what she said. Just tell me the dream.”  

 

Amarachi shook her head. “Let’s just go. We’re running late. I need to be at my parent’s home  in 30 minutes”  

 

Just as he reversed the car, something blocked the way.  

 

A trailer.  

 

It was parked right across the gate. No driver in sight.  

 

Timothy frowned. “What is this?”  

 

He turned off the ignition, frustration rolling off him.  

 

“Who blocked the road?”  

 

Amarachi’s chest tightened. Something felt off.  

 

“Stay in the car,” she said quickly. “Don’t draw unnecessary attention to yourself. I’ll go find out.” 

 

She walked over to the apartment gate and spotted a young man loitering near the entrance.  

 

“Excuse me, please, who parked this trailer?” 

 

The man blinked, looking her up and down, then responded in pidgin English. “Ah, madam, nobody here get motor. The driver don go.”  

 

Amarachi’s brows furrowed. “Gone? Where?” 

 

“He go eat, I think. Or pray.”  

 

Her stomach tightened. “Pray? What mosque did he go to?” 

 

The man shrugged. “I no know oo.”  

 

Amarachi pressed her hands to her temples. “This makes no sense. Who drives into a compound, blocks the only exit, and just disappears?” 

 

Timothy stepped beside her, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. “Calm down.”  

 

She turned to him, her frustration rising. “Timothy, we’re stuck! My family is waiting for me, and we can’t even move because of some reckless driver.”  

 

Timothy’s grip on her shoulder tightened slightly. “Listen. You leave me here. I’ll call you an Uber.” 

 

Amarachi’s eyes widened. “What? You think I’ll just leave you here? That’s not happening.”  

 

“Amarachi, it’s fine. I’ll figure myself out.”  

 

She shook her head. “No. I’m not hearing it. I’m staying here with you until we figure this out together.” 

 

Timothy sighed. “You’re going to miss the ride with your family.”  

 

Amarachi ran a hand through her hair. “I can’t even think about that right now.”

 

From the corner of her eye, Amarachi noticed three men standing under the dim glow of a streetlamp, deep in conversation. They were on the other side of the road, their posture was too relaxed, their eyes flickering toward her and Timothy every few seconds.  

 

A warning pricked at the back of her mind. Something was off.  

 

Timothy was still speaking beside her.  

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine here. My driver—” 

 

She cut in sharply. “Timothy, the truck blocking us is not by accident.”  

 

He frowned. “What do you mean?”  

 

Her heartbeat was picking up now. “We’re being locked in.” 

 

Timothy’s brow furrowed as he glanced at the trailer still wedged across the only exit. “Locked in? Like how?”  

 

Amarachi exhaled, trying to steady herself. “I have a feeling those guys over there… They’re street boys. Someone must have alerted them to you. They’ve been watching, Timothy. They traced you here.”  

 

Timothy studied the men briefly, then looked back at her. “What exactly does that mean? Should I be worried?”  

 

Amarachi swallowed. “Well… it depends. Sometimes they just want money. A ‘settlement’ for allowing you to pass through ‘their’ area. But what they’re doing right now—blocking the road, watching—it’s a setup. And I don’t like it.”  

 

Timothy sighed, running a hand over his face. “Amarachi, if it’s just about money, that’s easy. Let’s settle them and go. I don’t have the time or energy for drama.” 

 

He pulled out his phone and quickly sent a message to his driver. “I’ll tell my driver to meet us up here. We’ll handle it and leave.”  

 

But before he could even put the phone back into his pocket, Amarachi stiffened.  

 

A man had just entered the compound.  

 

And the three guys on the other side of the road  were closing in behind him. 

 

Her stomach dropped.  

 

“Oh my God, Timothy,” she whispered, her hands instinctively reaching for his arm. “This isn’t just about money anymore. I know that man. I think there’s trouble.” 

 

Timothy’s stance shifted, his entire frame suddenly taut. “If you think there’s trouble, then take Ziora inside. I can handle this.” 

 

Amarachi shook her head. “No. You take Ziora inside. I’ll handle it.”  

 

Timothy’s head jerked toward her. “What? What kind of man do you take me for? You think I’ll let you stand out here while I go hide inside?” 

 

Amarachi squared her shoulders. “Timothy, trust me. I understand these streets better than you. It’s best if I handle this.”  

 

They didn’t have time to argue further.  

 

The large man, now fully in view, spread his arms as he walked toward them. His tone was laced with amusement, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes.  

 

“Hey, hey, you,” he called out, looking directly at Timothy. “What are you doing here?” His eyes flicked to Amarachi. “Ah, I see. You have a visitor. A big visitor in our midst.”  

 

The three guys behind him chuckled darkly.  

 

Amarachi’s pulse thundered.  

 

Timothy clenched his jaw, then burst into a wide smile.

 

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

 

Wow!… I have a lot on my mind. I want to talk about Amara’s dream and encounter with Jesus, but I also want to talk about what is happening right now. Are they about to get robbed? If yes, why is Timothy smiling? And when are we going to talk about that call Timothy just had with his mother? Eh God! One episode but it left me with so many questions. I thoroughly enjoyed it though and I am desperately waiting for episode 9.

 

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