Chapter Three

Michael had planned to chat with the lady, whose name he still didn’t know, as soon as he landed.

He had saved her number on the plane under the name “The Lady.”

When her message of gratitude came in just before takeoff, his heart had lifted. It was simple but sincere. He had replied quickly:

Michael: Thank you so much for reaching out. I hope you’re okay now.

The Lady: Yes, Apostle. I’m fine. I was able to sleep.

After that, nothing.

He had wanted to continue the conversation but his body had other plans. Somewhere between the clouds and the Atlantic, he fell into a deep, heavy sleep.

Now, hours later, it was 11 p.m. in London, and they had just arrived. The cold air bit at his face as they stepped out of the airport. The drive to the hotel was quiet, his team making small talk while he gazed out of the window, mind elsewhere.

Why is she still on my mind? he thought. What is this?

He decided to pray about it.

“Lord,” he whispered under his breath, “what’s going on? Why am I thinking about this lady so much? Why am I so burdened about this daughter of Zion, well, technically not Zion, but You know what I mean.”

And then, quietly but unmistakably, he heard it.

She is the one.

Michael froze.

“What?” he whispered. “No… no, no, Lord, that can’t be right. The one what?”

His chest tightened. “God, this is so random. I thought when the time came, it would be someone I already knew, someone I had feelings for first, then prayed about, and then You’d confirm it, not like this. Not a woman I met at a hospital.”

He rubbed his temples.

“I mean, Lord, I’ve looked at her with all purity,” he said quickly. “I didn’t even allow myself to… look at her body. Her beautiful shape. Her—” He stopped, laughed softly to himself. “Okay. I did notice she’s beautiful, but God, what is this?”

Just then his phone buzzed. A message.

Pastor Godwin Akin-Tunde: Apostle, I heard you are in London. Please, we would be honoured to have you minister before you leave, even if it’s just our Thursday midweek service.

Michael sighed. Ah! Can’t I just sneak into this country once without preaching everywhere?

But he smiled as he typed back:

I’ll see what I can do, sir. God bless you.

By the time they reached the hotel, his fatigue had caught up fully. It was the same hotel they always used, familiar faces at the reception, staff who greeted him with reverence, a few guests who recognised him and asked for a quick prayer. He obliged, briefly, then headed to his suite.

Cathy joined him in the lounge area for a few minutes, running through logistics for the week. His other assistants unpacked his bag, arranged his clothes in the wardrobe, and set his toiletries.

By 1 a.m., the room was quiet again.

Finally, he stretched on the bed, pulling the duvet up to his chest. “Let me just catch some sleep,” he muttered.

And then, in the stillness, he heard it again.

Send her a message.

His eyes opened. “What? Lord, it’s 1 a.m. here. That’s… weird.”

Silence.

“I’ll send her a message tomorrow morning,” he said aloud. “I’ll just check in, see how she’s doing.”

Now.

He turned on his side, staring at the clock. “No, Lord. That’s not wise. I’m an apostle, not some…”

Now.

He sighed. “Alright, alright. Now.”

He reached for his phone and typed:

Michael: I hope you’re sleeping better. Just sending this message to check on you. Have a beautiful night.

Almost immediately, the typing indicator appeared.

The Lady: Actually, I slept well in the afternoon after you prayed for me. But right now, I’m not sleeping. I’ve been awake. That’s why I went to the hospital the other day.

Michael: Ah. But the Bible says, He gives His beloved sleep. You must sleep.

The Lady: I’m trying. It’s just not working.

Michael: Please, what’s your name?

The Lady: Busayo.

Michael: Busayo. That’s a beautiful name.

Busayo: I’ve always thought it was random.

Michael: No name is random. Think about it, Busayo means “one who adds to joy.” That’s powerful. It’s not random.

Busayo: Thank you, Apostle.

Michael: My name is Michael.

Busayo: Ah, okay. Thank you, Apostle Michael.

He sent a laughing emoji.

Michael: Just Michael. Now, Busayo, go to bed. Sleep. I’ll be praying for you.

Busayo: Thank you, Apostle.

Michael: It’s Michael.

She sent a shy emoji and went offline.

Michael smiled at his phone, then placed it face down on the table.

And true to his word, he knelt beside the bed, whispering a prayer for her.

“Lord, she adds to joy. Restore her joy. Heal her heart. Give her peace. Let her sleep.”

And somewhere between his prayer and his own exhaustion, Michael finally slept too.

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

Busayo heard her name from sleep.

“Busayo!”

Her eyes fluttered open. Glory was standing at the door, eyebrows raised.

“Ah! Busayo, did you take the day off?”

Busayo squinted toward the clock on her bedside table. 8:00 a.m.

“Oh my God!” she gasped, sitting up. “I’m late!”

Gloria laughed. “I’m shocked. You, of all people? The one that’s been complaining of sleepless nights?”

Busayo rubbed her eyes. “That’s the strange thing. I wasn’t even sleeping early. I was awake till after midnight. I don’t even remember when I slept off. I was chatting with Apostle… he prayed for me again and said he’d keep praying.”

Gloria froze. “Wait, what? You were chatting with Apostle Michael? And you’re just saying it like it’s nothing?”

Busayo shrugged, still dazed. “I don’t understand it either. He was the one who texted me first in the middle of the night. Said he hoped I was sleeping better. I didn’t tell him anything.”

Gloria’s mouth fell open. “Busayo, this thing happening to you is a miracle. I don’t get it o.”

Busayo smiled faintly. “As much as I’d love to sit here and gist about my chats with the Apostle, I need to get ready for work before my boss calls.”

Gloria clutched her chest dramatically. “Apostle is chatting you up, and you’re running to go and balance excel sheets. Priorities, my sister!”

They both laughed as Gloria stepped out of the room.

Busayo picked up her phone, still smiling, and frowned when she saw the time again. How did I oversleep?

She scrolled to her alarm settings, and then remembered. She had turned them off two weeks ago because they always rang at the exact moment she was finally falling asleep.

She sighed softly. “So that’s why. Hmm. Maybe I needed it.”

She slipped the phone onto the bed and paused.

Who is this man? she thought. Every conversation with him brings me peace.

Just then, her phone buzzed again. A new message.

Michael: Child of God, good morning. How are you?

Her heart skipped. She quickly typed:

Busayo: Apostle, good morning.

Michael: It’s Michael.

Busayo sighed, smiling at her screen. “There’s no way I’m calling you just Michael, sir,” she muttered under her breath.

She typed:

Busayo: Thank you, Apostle Michael.

A moment later, his reply came:

Michael: I have a feeling you might be getting ready for work. I just wanted to check up on you before your day begins.

May the grace of God go with you today.

I’m preaching at a pre-conference event this morning.

I’ll send you the link so you can stream.

It would be good to hear what you think of the sermon.

Busayo blinked, reading it twice.

Busayo: Okay, Apostle Michael. I will watch.

Michael: Thank you. God bless you.

She placed the phone on her dresser and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

“God, what is happening?” she whispered.

And quietly, in her spirit, she heard it again:

Child, I am with you.

She exhaled, heart swelling, a peace she couldn’t explain settling over her.

“Okay, Lord,” she whispered, reaching for her powder brush. “Let’s go to work.”

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

By the time Busayo got to work, it was already past nine.

She slipped quietly into the office, hoping her manager hadn’t noticed her late arrival. But as soon as she reached her desk, she stopped short.

There was a neatly wrapped gift bag sitting on her table, white and gold, tied with a satin ribbon. Inside were several health care items: a box of chamomile tea, a pack of essential oils, vitamin supplements, even a small handwritten card.

Kumbi, her colleague from the next desk, whistled. “Oh my God. This Kelechi guy has it bad for you!”

Busayo sighed, setting her bag down. “Kumbi, please.”

“I’m serious! Look at this packaging, this isn’t random. This is intentional gifting energy.”

Busayo gave a small laugh, shaking her head. “He’s thoughtful. I’ll give him that.”

Kumbi leaned closer. “And yet, you keep turning him down. I’ve tried to mind my business, but honestly, it doesn’t make sense anymore. Kelechi is… Kelechi.”

Busayo smiled faintly. “If I explained it, you wouldn’t understand.”

Kumbi crossed her arms. “Try me.”

Busayo took a breath. “God didn’t give me approval.”

Kumbi blinked. “Approval?”

Busayo nodded. “Yes. I prayed. I had peace to be friends with him, but not to be with him.”

Kumbi frowned. “Okay, but let’s not make God sound like He’s allergic to happiness. You’re turning down a man everyone in this office wishes would notice them. He’s kind, handsome, successful, Christian. What’s not to like?”

Busayo smiled softly. “I don’t understand it either, Kumbi. I really don’t. But I just… know.”

Kumbi groaned, half-laughing. “You and this your spiritual GPS.”

She reached for the card in the gift bag and pulled it out dramatically. “Oh wow. He’s inviting you to dinner tonight.”

Busayo’s face fell. “I’m going to have to turn that down.”

“Why?”

“Because… I don’t feel peace about it.”

Kumbi shook her head. “Peace? At this point, Busayo, you might be mistaking peace for loneliness. Going out for dinner isn’t a sin.”

Busayo smiled faintly. “Maybe not. But sometimes obedience looks foolish.”

Kumbi dropped the card on her desk. “Okay, fine. But promise me this, just once, go out with him. Talk. No commitment, no pressure. Just… human connection. You deserve that.”

Before Busayo could answer, a voice from across the office interrupted. “Busayo, Kumbi, client review in five minutes!”

“Coming!” Kumbi called back.

The two women exchanged a glance and hurried off, glad for the distraction.

The conference room buzzed with low conversation. Their company, Providence Insurance, handled everything from cars to property and business risk cover.

Today’s client was a high-profile tech startup with a complex policy renewal. Busayo, ever the analyst, pulled up the claim reports while Kumbi handled the correspondence.

“There’s a discrepancy here,” Busayo murmured, pointing at her laptop. “Their claim includes property damage, but there’s no incident report.”

Kumbi leaned over. “Hmm. If we push this through, compliance will query it.”

“Exactly,” Busayo said. “Let’s check the assessor’s note.”

They dug through the digital records until Busayo found the missing report, buried under a mislabeled file. She exhaled in relief. “Got it.”

Kumbi smiled. “You always save the day.”

Busayo laughed. “It’s my spiritual gift.”

The meeting stretched for another hour. By the time they wrapped up, Kumbi was leaning back in her chair, exhausted.

“Okay, work queen,” she said, standing. “Now that you’ve single-handedly saved the company from another audit, promise me you’ll go to dinner tonight.”

Busayo hesitated. “Kumbi…”

“No. Promise.”

Busayo sighed. “Okay, fine. You win. I’ll see him tonight.”

Kumbi clapped. “Finally! My girl is coming back to life.”

But even as Busayo said it, a quiet unease crept over her chest.

That gentle No she’d felt before returned, soft, steady, unmistakable.

She ignored it.

Maybe it’s just fear, she told herself. What if all this time, it hadn’t been God’s voice, but my own pain trying to keep me small?

She packed her laptop and whispered, almost defiantly, “I’m going to see Kelechi tonight.”

The words hung in the air.

And for a brief moment, she felt truly confused, yet she did not alter the plan.

—————————————————————————————————-

The rest of the day moved in a breeze.

Busayo had set an alarm for noon, she didn’t want to miss Apostle Michael’s pre-conference sermon.

At exactly twelve o’clock, her phone buzzed, and she plugged in her earphones while pretending to type. The live stream had started.

They began with praise and worship, and as the choir sang, she smiled faintly and turned the volume down.

“I’m actually at work,” she whispered to herself, guilt creeping in. “If I were home, I would’ve joined from the start.”

When the host announced, “Please welcome Apostle Michael,” she quickly turned the volume back up.

And then she saw him, walking up the stage, dressed in a simple black suit, carrying that calm authority that made people sit up straighter.

“Ah,” she muttered under her breath. “This pastor is fine sha.”

She smiled, shaking her head. “His wife must be so lucky.”

Then she paused. Wait. She has never really seen anything about his wife.

“Maybe she’s one of those private women,” Busayo thought. “If I ever marry a pastor, I’ll be private too. All this attention… no way. Imagine preaching yesterday in Lagos, now preaching again today in London. How do they even have strength for this? Some people really have grace for certain things.”

She chuckled quietly. “Me? I can never marry a pastor. Never. No matter how great he is.”

And then the message began.

It was titled “Hope: The Anchor of the Soul.”

As he spoke, his voice was calm, steady, but each word hit deep. It was as though he was speaking directly to her, as though the message was crafted for an audience of one.

“Hope,” he said, “is what keeps faith alive.

When a person loses hope, they die before death comes.

We live in a world that shakes, but hope,  hope keeps us standing.”

Busayo blinked back tears. Her chest tightened. It wasn’t just the sermon; it was him. The sincerity in his tone, the conviction in his eyes.

He concluded by saying,

“Tomorrow, at the main conference, I’ll be preaching a two-part series on The Faith of the Abrahamic Order.
I can’t wait to see you there. Keep your hope alive.”

The message ended, and Busayo sat quietly for a moment.

“Wow,” she whispered. “This man is brilliant.”

Then she minimised the video and returned to her work, burying herself in emails and reports.

Hours flew by.

Before she knew it, her phone buzzed again, a reminder. Dinner with Kelechi, 7:00 p.m.

She had already agreed to go.

She grabbed her purse and slipped into the restroom. Under the fluorescent light, she looked at her reflection, tired, but beautiful. She powdered her face, added a hint of lipstick, and sighed.

“Why do I feel so guilty going?” she muttered. “It’s not even a big deal. It’s just dinner.”

As she reached for her bag, her phone beeped.

A message.

Michael: How are you? Did you get to watch the sermon?

She blinked. “Again?” she whispered. “How does this man even have so much time to chat?”

She quickly typed back:

Busayo: I was sincerely blessed by the message. Wow. God bless you, man of God.

His reply came almost instantly.

Michael: I’m glad you were blessed. I still have two more days, tomorrow and the next.
I’ll send you the links for both.

Busayo: Thank you, Apostle.

Michael: I presume you’ve closed from work now? On your way home?

Busayo frowned. “Hey God,” she murmured, “why can’t this pastor just mind his business?”

She hesitated, then typed:

Busayo: Actually, I’m going out on a date.

There was a pause. Then:

Michael: A date? Are you in a relationship?

Busayo: No, not really. There’s this guy that likes me a lot. I don’t… feel anything yet, but I’m just going to see him.

Michael: Hmm.
God bless you.

Busayo: God bless you too, Apostle.

End of chat.

She dropped the phone, looked back at her reflection, and exhaled.

“See? Nothing wrong with that,” she said quietly, adjusting her blouse. “It’s just dinner.”

She picked up her purse and stepped out of the restroom.

But even as she walked toward the elevator, her spirit whispered something she didn’t want to hear.

Don’t go.

She hesitated. For a brief second, her hand froze over the elevator button.

Then she sighed and pressed it anyway.

“Not today,” she muttered. “Not today.”

Chapter Four

Michael returned to his hotel room past 10 p.m. The meetings had gone beautifully,  the London leaders were warm, the hospitality was top-notch, and the evening had ended with laughter and thanksgiving.

Now, all was quiet.

He slipped off his jacket, loosened his collar, and sat on the edge of the bed. The city lights outside shimmered through the glass.

“Thank You, Jesus,” he whispered, running a hand through his hair. “For strength, for favour, for everything You did today.”

He stood and began to pace the room slowly, humming softly in worship. It was his way of unwinding.

But just as his heart began to settle, he heard it.

It’s too early to give up.

Michael stopped mid-step. He chuckled softly. “Lord, I’m not giving up on anything. I’m just being realistic. If that girl is already considering someone else, maybe I should just let it go. You know… focus.”

Michael, the voice came again, calm but unmistakable. This is not one of those things you can simply move on from. The matter of your wife is not a buffet. There are no options for you to sample. For you, she is the one. Don’t give up too quickly.

Michael sighed and sat back down, staring at the carpet. “Lord… I don’t even know her. I don’t know what You mean by she’s the one. I’ve not gotten clarity. I’m just trying to be careful, not foolish.”

You’re careful, yes, but faith requires that you trust beyond your own understanding.

Michael nodded slowly. “So what do I do then? She’s… somewhere else. I’m here, in London, preaching Your word. She might be out with someone right now, living her own life. What am I supposed to do?”

Pray. Keep her in your heart. And when the time comes, move.

Michael exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “Move, Lord? How? You know me, I don’t want to confuse emotion for direction.”

When it is time, you’ll know. Just don’t close your heart too early.

Michael smiled faintly. “You sound like You’re about to set me up for something, Lord.”

Not a setup, a beginning.

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Apostle Michael, falling for someone he barely knows. Imagine the headlines.”

But his laughter faded into a sigh. He sank to his knees beside the bed and whispered, “Alright, Lord. I won’t give up too soon. Whatever this is, teach me how to handle it right.”

For a moment, the room was completely still. Then peace,  quiet, heavy, familiar, filled the space.

Michael stood, turned off the lights, and whispered.
“If she’s mine, Lord, show her very clearly today, why she must never date the other guy again.”

Then he went to lay down, the faint hum of the city below him, and finally drifted to sleep.

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

Kelechi had insisted on picking Busayo up himself, even though he wasn’t at the office today. And when they arrived, he had opened the car door, helping her out, making sure she felt comfortable. He was a gentleman to the core.

The restaurant he’d chosen reflected that, elegant lighting, warm colours, soft piano music floating in the background. Everything about it said: intentional.

Busayo smiled faintly. “You really went all out.”

“I wanted you to feel relaxed,” he said, smiling. “You deserve a nice meal in a place that looks right.”

When the waiter brought the menus, Busayo looked at the list of complicated names and laughed softly.

“Kelechi, please order for both of us. These meals look expensive, and I don’t even know what half of them mean. I don’t want to waste your money ordering something I won’t like.”

Kelechi grinned. “God, this girl. You’re just the best. I don’t know why you keep turning me down.”

Busayo looked away, her smile fading. “I already told you. I don’t feel God’s approval. And I can’t move forward without it.”

Kelechi leaned back in his chair. “Busayo, I’m a child of God too.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Did God tell you I’m the one for you?”

He chuckled. “I don’t really move that way. Look, we’re believers. God gave us sense, and Scripture says we are gods. We can make our own decisions. The fact that I like you, and it’s not like I go around liking girls, means it’s already a sign. You’re my choice, and that’s enough for me.”

Busayo shook her head slowly. “You said we wouldn’t talk about this tonight.”

Kelechi sighed and raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Let’s drop it.”

The waiter returned with their food. Conversation shifted to work, travel, and random jokes. They laughed. For a while, it almost felt like bliss.

When dinner was over, Kelechi walked her to the car. He opened the door with a smile, but before she could get in, he hesitated.

“I swear, I can’t get over this,” he muttered under his breath.

Busayo turned. “What did you say?”

He looked her in the eyes. “You. I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re so beautiful, Busayo. Your body…” He laughed softly, shaking his head. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Her stomach tightened. “Kelechi, this conversation is making me uncomfortable. You’re objectifying me.”

He smiled faintly. “I’m admiring you.”

Then before she could step back, he leaned in, too close, and brushed his lips against hers.

Busayo froze. “Kelechi!” she gasped, stepping back sharply. “What are you doing?”

“Stop resisting me,” he said quietly. “I’ll take care of you, Busayo. I’ll give you the world.”

Her heart pounded. “Get into your car and leave me here.”

“What? No, let me take you home.”

“I’ll take a taxi. Please, Kelechi. Just go.”

He frowned. “Why are you overreacting? A guy likes a girl, he kisses her. What’s the big deal? You’re just playing hard to get.”

Her voice hardened. “If you don’t leave right now, I’ll call security. I’ll forgive this nonsense once, but don’t ever try it again.”

Kelechi raised his hands slowly, frustrated. “Wow. I can’t believe this.”

He turned, got into his car, and drove off.

Busayo stood there, trembling. She didn’t cry. She didn’t shout. She just pulled out her phone, ordered a taxi, and waited by the restaurant gate.

As the car approached, she whispered under her breath,
“God, I thought I was just being too cautious. Now I see what You were saving me from.”

She took a deep breath, stepped into the Taxi, and let the city lights fade behind her.

——–————————————————————————————————

By the time Busayo got home, the compound was quiet. The lights in the living room were off, and Gloria’s car was parked neatly in its usual space. She reached into her bag and froze. Her keys were not there.

She sighed and began to knock. First gently, then harder, until her knuckles began to ache. When that didn’t work, she called Gloria’s phone. No response. She called again, and again, but the calls went unanswered.

Frustrated, she dropped her bag on the porch and sat beside it. Her car keys were inside the house as well, so there was nowhere else to sit. The night air was cool, but inside her, everything was heavy, anger, sadness, and a loneliness she could not explain.

Her thoughts drifted back to Kelechi, to the way he had kissed her, and the arrogance in his voice when he said a man had every right to show a woman what she was missing. Her stomach turned. “And he calls himself a Christian,” she muttered under her breath.

Then, almost suddenly, her anger gave way to weariness. She sighed, rubbed her temples, and whispered, “Lord, I’m not even praying well anymore. I’m not even studying Your word. I wake up, go to work, and come back home empty. I don’t understand You anymore.”

The street was quiet except for the distant hum of generators and the faint chirping of crickets. Busayo looked up at the sky and whispered again, “I don’t want to pretend that I’m okay. I don’t want to act like I still have strong faith when I feel this lost. I love You, God. You know that I do. But right now, I don’t understand You.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks. “Why did my father have to die, Lord? Why am I thirty-one and still single? Why do You keep saying no to everyone that comes close? I’m not asking for perfection. I just want peace. I want to feel seen by You again.”

Her voice cracked as she spoke, but she didn’t stop. “I love You, Lord. Even in this confusion, I still love You. Please, open my eyes. Help me understand what You’re doing. Heal my heart. I can’t keep living like this.”

She sat there quietly for a while, her hands folded on her knees, whispering prayers that came out like sighs. Gradually, something shifted. It wasn’t dramatic, no voice, no vision, but she felt a stillness settle over her, a kind of peace that didn’t make sense.

Then, from inside the house, the door creaked open. Gloria stood there in her nightgown, blinking in surprise.

“Busayo! I thought I was imagining things,” Gloria said, her voice drowsy. “I kept hearing someone praying outside.”

Busayo’s eyes widened. “Was I that loud? You heard prayers and not my knock.”

Gloria chuckled softly. “Apparently loud enough for me to think an angel was crying at the gate. You knocked and I didn’t hear you, but your prayer reached me. Only you, Busayo.”

Busayo smiled faintly and stood up. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

Gloria stepped aside to let her in. “You don’t look happy. Is it because I left you outside for so long? I am sorry.”

Busayo shook her head. “It’s not about that. I’m fine. Thank you for opening.”

She entered the house quietly, dropped her bag on the couch, and took off her shoes. She felt drained but lighter.

When she reached for her phone to plug it in, she saw a message from Apostle Michael:

“How are you?”

She stared at the screen for a long time, then sighed.

How was she supposed to answer a question like that? How did one begin to explain exhaustion of the soul?

She locked the phone, placed it face-down on the table, and whispered, “Not tonight.”

Then she walked to her room, deciding that whatever friendship was forming between her and the Apostle might not be something she was ready for. Not now, not in this fragile state.

She turned off the lights, crawled under the sheets, and said one last prayer before sleep took her:
“Lord, please don’t let go of me, even when I don’t reach for You.

———————————————————————————————————–

Whew! God is never wrong and never too late. Truly, obedience will always be a better choice, even when it doesn’t make sense, because God is always right.

Now, can we talk about what is brewing between Apostle Michael and Busayo? 

• Editor’s Comment