For the next few days, Amara went off the grid.
Her phone was on flight mode, and her curtains were drawn. The only sounds that filled her small apartment were the murmurs of her prayers and the worship songs playing from her phone.
She was fasting for three days and two nights with Pastor Dele, and she wanted nothing to distract her.
Her lips moved slowly, but her mind wasn't on her words anymore. She'd prayed for hours, morning, afternoon, night; her throat was dry from both fasting and crying.
She wasn't just praying for a life partner; she was praying about her life. She wanted to know God's plan and purpose for her life.
She needed to know what God wanted her to do with the life He'd given her. She didn't want to keep living like everyone else. She wanted to live a purposeful life. And she wanted to see herself the way God saw her.
By the second day, her prayers had begun to blur into dreams, and she wrote them all down as Pastor Dele had asked her to.
In her dream, she saw herself ministering in songs on the altar in front of a massive crowd of mixed races.
In another, she was standing in the middle of a large fashion house, instructing students on how to create decent dresses.
On the morning of the third day, she saw herself in a dream, standing beside a man in church, and holding hands together as light poured over them from the altar. When the man turned to smile at her, it was Michael.
The more she prayed, the more his face filled her thoughts, and she wondered if it was because he kept knocking and calling her name.
Each time she tried to push him out of her thoughts, her heart would twist painfully, not in guilt but in longing.
"God," she whispered on the morning of the third day, kneeling beside her bed, her Bible open before her. "If this is a distraction, please take it away. But if it's You... if it's You showing me that he's the one, then make it clear."
Her voice broke as she pressed her face into her hands. "Please, make it clear, Lord. I need a confirmation."
Tears rolled freely down her cheeks as she prayed. "If Michael is really the one, let him be the first person that calls my name when I step out of the house."
While she did this upstairs, downstairs, Michael's frustration grew by the hour.
It started with mild concern the first morning when her phone didn't connect, and by the second day, it had turned to restlessness when she didn't even come out to attend midweek service with him. By the third, it was full-blown worry.
He'd stopped counting how many times he'd climbed the stairs to her flat, knocked, and gotten no reply, even when he could hear the sound of music playing in the background. Even his mother seemed helpless since she was unable to reach Amara.
After being so frustrated, he'd finally done something he never thought he would do. He'd asked the church secretary to provide him with the names and numbers of the newcomers in church the previous Sunday, and from there, he obtained Ada's number.
Not wanting it to seem like he was doing anything deceptive or had taken the numbers for selfish reasons, he called the first four people on the list before calling Ada.
"She's fasting," Ada told him when he finally reached her. "She said she doesn't want to talk to anyone or go anywhere until she's done. I even left the house so I won't distract her."
Michael sighed, dragging his palm over his face. "And she didn't think to tell me herself? She could easily have opened the door or window to say so. I've been so worried about her. I've been so tempted to break down her door."
Ada smiled. "Sorry. She just needs space."
"Space," he muttered. "Even astronauts don't need this much space."
Ada chuckled under her breath, but didn't comment, even though she wanted to hail him for the bars he just dropped. She just said, "When she's done, she'll come out. Please be patient."
"Sure. It's not like I have a choice at this point," he said before hanging up.
"Lord, I'm tired," Michael murmured.
'Go outside.'
Michael sat up when he heard the familiar voice, and he didn't wait to hear it twice before he automatically picked up his phone and car key and went outside.
Just as he stepped outside, he saw her instantly. She was dressed as if she were going to church.
"Thank you, sweet Holy Spirit," he whispered before calling out to her. "Amara!"
Her heart skipped, and she froze when she heard his voice.
Lord, is he really the one? Or is this a coincidence? She wondered as she slowly turned to face him, unsure she was ready to talk to him yet, until she had concluded her prayers physically with Pastor Dele and spoken with him.
"Good afternoon," she greeted calmly, even though her heart was racing like she had run a marathon.
"For Christ's sake, Amara, I've been knocking for days," he said, his voice low but full of frustration. "Do I really deserve this?"
"I needed to be alone. I didn't want any distractions," she replied quietly without looking at him.
"Distractions? You couldn't even send a text?" he asked, half to himself, half in frustration.
When she said nothing, he looked at her for a moment and sighed when he saw how much weight she had lost. "So, are you done now? Where are you going?"
"To church," she replied. "I want to see Pastor."
"Alright. Get into the car, let me drive you," he said quickly. "We can talk on the way."
"You don't have to—"
"Please," he cut in, his voice gentle but firm. "What you're doing isn't fair to me, Amara. Avoiding me like I'm a temptation you're trying to resist. Just because I told you how I feel? Seriously?"
"It's not like that," she said weakly. "I just needed time and space to pray and think. I didn't want our closeness to influence my decision."
He nodded slowly. "Okay. Fine. I get it. You've had three days. Now, get in the car. We need to talk. Please
The determination in his tone made her pause, then she finally nodded. "Okay."
He opened the car door for her, and she slipped in. As he started the car, silence settled between them.
His eyes were on the road for a few minutes, neither of them spoke, and Amara began to wonder why he was so silent when he said he wanted them to talk. He spoke.
"You know, I never planned to date or marry anyone outside the medical field," he said quietly. "I used to say I'd only marry a nurse, a doctor, or another pharmacist."
Amara glanced at him, a little surprised by that, as she wondered why he was telling her that.
Her brow furrowed slightly. "You didn't care about God's will for you? Why did you ask me out then?"
He was silent for a moment, asking the Holy Spirit if he should open up to her now, and when he got the confirmation he needed in his spirit, he answered. "Because God told me you were my wife, Amara."
Amara's heart skipped. "God told you?"
Michael smiled. "Yes. That night we met outside the church— before you even opened your mouth to speak, I knew."
Amara frowned slightly, her heart racing. "How?"
"Earlier that day, God told me I'd meet my wife that night. I went there excited, expecting to meet someone totally different. Someone more… befitting." He laughed softly. "Then I met you."
Amara swallowed. "And you were... disappointed?"
He glanced at her briefly, then nodded. "Not just disappointed. I was angry. I thought God was punishing me because of my past, or maybe because I didn't preach to you two years ago when He asked me to. I told Him I wouldn't marry you, that I couldn't. I didn't want to stand the shame of your past or the fact that you didn't even have a BSc degree, let alone being in the medical field."
Her throat tightened painfully. Hearing those words felt like a slow cut to the heart.
"So that's why you were cold at first," she whispered.
He nodded again. "Yes. I wanted to stay away. In fact, I planned to establish you and then keep my distance. But somehow, God connected you to my mother and used her to keep you at my side. The more I tried to push you out of my heart, the closer you got."
"Your mom knew?"
"Not at first," he said. "When she was getting you that apartment upstairs, I told her. I expected her to tell me to stay away from you. But she said if God said so, then you were the right one for me."
Amara stared at him, remembering how his mother teased him by calling him 'Prophet Hosea.' Suddenly, the name made sense.
Prophet Hosea and Gomer the prostitute.
"That was the reason she called you Prophet Hosea?" She asked, and he smiled faintly.
"Yeah."
Amara's eyes grew teary. She looked out the window, her heart heavy and full at the same time.
Michael turned slightly toward her, and his voice softened even more. "The truth is, I did my best to fight it. But somehow, God changed my heart. I found myself thinking about you all the time, praying for you, and worrying about you. And one day, I just said, 'Fine, Lord. If you say she's the one, I'll obey You.' I'm telling you this because I want you to know that whatever reason you think makes you unworthy or not good enough, I've already thought about it. All of it. I'm not doing this because I pity you, Amara. I'm doing it because I'm convinced in my heart and spirit that you are my wife. And I'm going to marry you."
Her eyes filled, and butterflies fluttered in her belly.
"So instead of running from me," he continued gently, "you can just trust God to make you the woman He's preparing you to be." He smiled faintly. "Whatever you need to do to grow, I'll help you. But know that I'm not going anywhere. Even if you avoid me for another three days or three months, I'll still be here. And you're going to marry me, because I love you."
Amara didn't respond. She pressed her lips together tightly to keep herself from making any sound. Her chest ached, her eyes blurry with tears she didn't want to shed.
When they got to the church, Michael parked the car but didn't unlock the doors yet. He turned to her fully, his voice steady.
"Amara," he said softly, reaching for her hand, "God told me you're my wife, and I wanted to get to know you because of that. As I got to know you, I fell in love with you. It amuses me how quickly your eyes fill up with tears, and how easily you laugh. I love how you don't pretend and say what's on your mind without malice. I love how intelligent you are when you speak, and how you talk about the Bible like mummy G.O," he said the last part in a teasing tone that made her laugh and sniffle.
Amara felt like her heart was going to burst. She looked down at their hands, but she didn't say anything. All she l could think of was holding hands with him this way in her dream.
"Where is your phone? Did you see my WhatsApp message?" He asked, and she shook her head as she pulled her hand away and took out her phone from her handbag.
"Check your WhatsApp," he said, and she removed her phone from flight mode and turned on her data connection.
She did, and as the messages entered, she noticed he'd sent her lots of pictures.
She gasped when she finally downloaded them.
There were several pictures of him.
The first one was of him with braids and a gold earring.
"You look... You look so—" Her hand flew to her mouth as she giggled through her tears.
Michael grinned, glad that it made her laugh as he had wanted. He watched her as she went through the evidence of the wayward lifestyle God had saved him from.
Amara's jaw almost dropped when she saw a picture of him with a girl on his thigh. She nearly didn't recognise him because of his dreadlocks.
She turned to look at him and laughed softly, wiping her tears.
Michael grinned as he met her gaze. "Unbelievable, right? I had to dig those out just to remind myself, and to show you that I'm not better than you. Not by a mile. I judged you because I forgot where God picked me from. I'll protect and defend you, Amara. You never have to be afraid that your past will come between us," he promised.
As Amara got out of the car a short moment later to go meet the Pastor, she knew without an iota of doubt that Michael was God's will for her.