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She cut me off, gently, with a curious look.

"To start with," she said, dabbing her lips with a napkin, "are you a born-again Christian?"

I blinked. That wasn’t on my script.

"I… what?"

"Are you born again?" she repeated, calm but firm. Her eyes didn’t blink.

I stared at her, stunned. A woman this refined, this stylish, this polished — asking a question that sounded more like something out of a church pamphlet than a rom-com.

I managed a half-smile. "Well… I mean, I grew up in a Christian home. But I haven’t been to church in years."

She nodded slowly, took a sip of her water. Then she said something that knocked the breath out of me.

"That’s the first step. Get born again… and then maybe there could be a relationship."

She gave me one last look, an unreadable mix of grace and challenge, then stood up and walked away — just like that.

I was left at the table, dazed, my fork still hovering over my untouched beans.

I walked back to my office with a strange feeling pressing on my chest. I couldn't tell if it was rejection… or conviction.

That night, I didn’t sleep.

Was she serious? Was this a test? Or was she just trying to brush me off?

But something deeper began to stir inside me. It wasn’t just about Helen anymore. Her words lingered in my mind like a haunting melody.

What did it really mean to be born again? Was I just another Lagos hustler who had buried faith under deadlines and distractions?

The next Sunday, I found myself in front of a church. One I hadn’t stepped into in over seven years. The choir was already singing, the kind of music that cracked through walls you didn’t know you had.

As I walked in and sat alone, something inside me — something long dormant — began to wake up.

The Pastor's Daughter







Charles Olufemi is a guy full of life and 'enjoyment' until he meets Helen Salau. His life never remains the same again.





Note: This story is a far departure from the kind of stories this writer is known for.






I worked at Cklear Advertising Agency, a leading firm nestled in the heart of Ikeja, Lagos. It’s the kind of place that makes you feel like you're part of something bigger — skyscraper dreams, cutthroat pitches, and campaigns that make the news. As a copywriter, I love the challenge of crafting words that stir emotions, move markets, and make brands unforgettable. The pay? Not bad. The prestige? Worth every late night.

Then came Helen Salau.

She joined the firm quietly, a new junior strategist from one of the top marketing schools in the country. Mid-twenties, dark-skinned, soft-spoken, with a kind of quiet poise that made the air shift whenever she walked into a room. Her beauty wasn’t the type that screamed for attention — it whispered. And even though I had always preferred lighter-skinned women — for reasons I never truly examined — Helen rewrote that preference without asking for permission.

She didn’t notice me at first. Or maybe she did and pretended not to. Either way, I began noticing her. Too often.

Every morning when she passed my desk with her sleek laptop bag slung over one shoulder and her subtle perfume lingering behind, I’d catch myself watching her like I was reading between the lines of a poem I didn’t fully understand.

Then came that Tuesday lunch break.

I spotted her in the staff cafeteria, alone by the window, picking at a plate of jollof rice and grilled chicken. The sun outside painted gold on her cheekbones. I decided I had waited long enough. This was the moment.

I approached her, palms sweating slightly, heart thudding like a bass drum.

"Hey Helen, mind if I join you?"

She looked up and smiled — not wide, but enough to light something inside me.

"Sure," she said, gesturing to the seat across from her.

I sat, tried to play it cool, cracked a few jokes, and then — awkwardly, stupidly — I blurted it out.

"I just wanted to say I like you. I don’t know if you’re seeing someone, but I’d like to—"

She cut me off, gently, with a curious look.

Really?

Alright, that's good news.

Somebody shout hallelujah!

She looked at me, her eyes catching mine without hesitation.

“Good day, Femi. How are you?”

That was the first surprise. My name — still in her mouth like it belonged there. Sharp and clear.

“I’m well, ma’am. At your service,” I replied, regaining my composure.

She smiled, faint but sure. “You didn’t call.”

The words struck like something soft and unexpected.

My mouth opened slightly. “Yes… but I still intend to do so.”

She didn’t say anything. Just kept walking. And I followed — like a shadow with a name tag.

She moved through the store quickly, scanning shelves like she knew what she needed. I offered help, and she accepted. A particular brand of green tea. Gluten-free crackers. Organic honey.

As I reached up to grab a jar from the top shelf for her, I noticed the way she studied everything — including me. Like she was filing away details she didn’t plan to forget.

At the checkout, she waited patiently, hands folded, no rush.

And just as she was about to step outside, she turned back to me.

She reached into her handbag, pulled out a few folded naira notes — crisp, the way people who don't touch small cash often handle it.

She pressed it gently into my hand.

“You can use that to buy a credit card,” she said with a smile that was somewhere between kindness and mischief.

“Ma?” I blinked, caught completely off guard.

“For when you finally call.”

I stared at the notes — not too much to embarrass me, but enough to make it feel personal. Intentional.

“Thank you, ma. God bless you,” I managed, suddenly feeling younger than I was.

She nodded and walked away — smooth, like nothing had happened.

I stood at the entrance, watching her car pull away, the notes still warm in my hand.

I’d served hundreds of customers before. Important people. Rude ones. Friendly ones. Generous ones.

But this one? She had a way of walking into a room like a story waiting to happen.

And now, again, I was part of it.

Then we sat in silence, not because there was nothing to say, but because we’d already said the most important thing: We are doing this. Together.

She leaned her head on my shoulder, and I held her close. We watched the clouds roll by, naming the shapes like we used to in secondary school — one looked like a tortoise, another like a wedding cake.

Later, as she walked back home and waved at me from the corner, I felt it.

Not just love. Not just desire.

But direction.

For the first time in a long time, my future didn’t feel like an uncertain fog. It had a name.

Lola.

And I was ready to build a life with her — brick by brick, vow by vow.


---

It was a slow Tuesday morning at the supermarket — the kind where even the air felt lazy. Most of the customers at that hour were older women doing their midweek shopping, or drivers picking up things on behalf of their bosses. Nothing unusual.

I was by the household section, supervising the arrangement of air fresheners, when I felt the shift.

It wasn’t loud. No dramatic music. Just… presence.

I turned, and there she was.

Ms. Naomi Ajayi.

She walked in like she’d never left — poised, focused, carrying that same quiet confidence like it belonged to her bloodline. She wasn’t dressed to stand out, but she did anyway — a sleeveless cream top, high-waisted jeans, dark sunglasses she removed as she entered.

I blinked once. Twice.

Then I walked quickly over.

“Good day, ma’am,” I said, hands politely behind me. “Happy to see you again. Glad to be at your service.”

She looked at me, her eyes catching mine without hesitation.

columbus007:
Do we any good hospital here in nigeria? The reason they run abroad to die

With billions of naira allocated to the health sector every year, why can't we have good health care system in Nigeria?

Before Kole could respond, his phone buzzed. A message from Edith:

Meet me at the office. We need to talk.

The office felt colder than usual as Kole stepped into Edith’s glass-walled corner office. She stood by the window, silhouetted against the Lagos skyline, arms crossed, her usual sharp suit replaced by something softer — a loose blouse, a vulnerability he hadn’t seen before.

“We’re under attack,” she said without preamble. “Someone is trying to ruin Bext from the inside, and I think it’s personal.”

Kole nodded. “Chuks said it might be her ex-husband’s agency. They want to take us down.”

Edith turned sharply. “Exactly. And now, I have to decide: trust my instincts or… trust you.”

Kole’s heart thudded. “I want to help.”

A long silence stretched.

“Good,” Edith said. “Because if we don’t stop this, both our careers — and maybe more — are on the line.”

They exchanged a look — a mixture of challenge, respect, and something electric just beneath the surface.

The game had changed. And they were playing together.


The office lights dimmed as Kole and Edith pored over campaign files late into the night, a shared intensity hanging in the air. Outside, Ikeja, buzzed on, unaware of the quiet storm inside Bext.

Edith’s laugh broke the tension. “You’re surprisingly stubborn for someone who’s supposed to be my employee.”

Kole smirked. “And you’re surprisingly vulnerable for a woman who’s supposed to have it all together.”

She looked up, eyes shimmering with something unspoken. “Maybe I’m not as together as I want people to think.”

Their hands brushed over the papers. A spark. Kole swallowed hard. Would there be mixing up business with pleasure?

The moment stretched. Then Edith’s phone buzzed — a message from her son. She smiled softly, the mask slipping again.

“Family first,” she said.

Kole nodded, the warmth between them growing.

Just then, the office door creaked. Teni appeared, carrying coffee, her expression unreadable.

“Working late, huh?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

Kole glanced at Edith, then back at Teni.

“Yeah,” he said. “Big storm coming. We need all hands on deck.”

Teni’s eyes flickered with something—concern? Something else?

The night was just beginning. They kept working on. The office had become quiet. Edith went to bolt the door.

"We need a break," she said.

Kole nodded. She came to his seat and smiled at the bulge she saw at his groin.

Work was suspended

Hymn...food is important o... don't make it wait for too long.

She was quiet, her eyes glassy now.

Then she leaned in and kissed me — soft, slow, deep with history.

We lay back on the bed, my arms around her, her fingers tracing circles on my chest. We kissed again, longer this time. Cuddled close, our legs tangled. I could feel the rhythm of her breathing. Warm, calm.

We stayed like that for a while, touching but not rushing. We both knew where the line was, and we respected it.

We had agreed years ago: no sex before marriage. Not out of fear, but out of faith — in something bigger than the moment.

As the rain slowed outside, and the lights flickered from NEPA playing games again, I looked at her in the dimness and felt sure — not just of the feeling, but of the choice.

This was my person.

Whatever storms would come, I already knew who I’d want beside me when they did.


--








It was a Sunday afternoon. Church had just ended, and the sun was high, but not cruel. We were sitting under the almond tree beside my house, where the breeze could find us. The compound was mostly quiet, just the distant sound of someone playing a gospel mix on a Bluetooth speaker across the street.

Lola was eating the last piece of puff-puff from the nylon bag we had bought by the gate. I watched her, half-smiling, wondering how someone could feel like a whole lifetime and still surprise you daily.

“I’ve been thinking,” I said, after a long pause.

She looked up. “Hmm?”

“About us. About what’s next.”

She raised her brows playfully. “What do you mean, Mr. Johnson? What’s next after ten years of your annoying jokes and overcooked noodles?”

I laughed. “You like the noodles.”

“I tolerate them because I love you.”

That word again — love. It always sounded truer when she said it.

I reached for her hand. She didn’t flinch. Her fingers wrapped around mine like they had a memory of doing it a thousand times before.

“I want to marry you, Lola,” I said plainly.

She didn’t laugh this time.

She looked at me, and something in her face changed — softer, steadier. Like the air itself had paused.

“I know,” she said. “I’ve always known.”

“I’m not saying it just to say it,” I went on. “I’ve been thinking seriously. About how to start preparing. I know I’m not where I want to be yet financially. I know we’re still building.”

“But you’re not starting from nothing,” she said. “You have something. You have plans. You have sense.”

“I have you,” I added.

She smiled.

“Femi… you don’t have to be rich to marry me. You just have to be ready. And honest. And intentional.”

“I am. I want to start saving properly — maybe open a separate account just for that. A wedding fund. Something that forces me to stay focused. And I’ve been thinking of going back to school part-time too, to boost my chances of promotion.”

She was quiet, nodding slowly.

“My mum has asked me twice this year,” she said after a while. “If we’re still ‘serious.’ You know how parents are. If you’re not posting engagement photos by 27, they start calling prayer meetings.”

We both chuckled. But the topic stayed serious.

“I’m not in a rush for ceremony,” Lola said. “We can do something simple. As long as the promise is real.”

“I don’t want to wait five years,” I said. “Maybe next year. Or the year after. Latest.”

“Two years is fair,” she said. “We’ll both be in a better place by then, God willing.”

Then we sat in silence, not because there was nothing to say, but because we’d already said the most important thing: We are doing this. Together.

Back at his desk, Teni slid a USB stick across. “Found something.”

He plugged it in — a folder filled with confidential emails, some marked “For Eyes Only.”

“Chuks,” Teni whispered, “left his laptop open at the lounge last weekend. Someone copied everything.”

Kole’s heart sank. Could his closest ally really be the source?

Determined to clear his name, Kole began piecing together clues, navigating a web of office politics, old rivalries, and Edith’s mysterious past.

---

The Lagos sun beat down mercilessly as Kole found Chuks leaning casually outside a roadside suya joint, toothpick in mouth, pretending to be relaxed.

“Kole! What’s up, my guy? You look serious,” Chuks said, flashing his usual grin.

Kole folded his arms, voice low. “Cut the act. I know about the leak.”

Chuks laughed nervously, eyes darting. “Leak? What leak?”

Kole didn’t flinch. “Don’t play dumb. Teni says you left your laptop open. Sensitive files disappeared.”

Chuks swallowed. “Look, it wasn’t me. I swear! Someone else must’ve gotten to it.”

Kole narrowed his eyes. “Who?”

Chuks hesitated, then whispered, “There’s talk about someone from Edith’s ex-husband’s agency stirring trouble. Trying to sabotage Bext.”

Kole’s mind raced. Edith’s ex-husband? A rival? Suddenly the puzzle pieces clicked into place.

Before Kole could respond, his phone buzzed. A message from Edith:

Meet me at the office. We need to talk.

She was quiet, her eyes glassy now.

Then she leaned in and kissed me — soft, slow, deep with history.

We lay back on the bed, my arms around her, her fingers tracing circles on my chest. We kissed again, longer this time. Cuddled close, our legs tangled. I could feel the rhythm of her breathing. Warm, calm.

We stayed like that for a while, touching but not rushing. We both knew where the line was, and we respected it.

We had agreed years ago: no sex before marriage. Not out of fear, but out of faith — in something bigger than the moment.

As the rain slowed outside, and the lights flickered from NEPA playing games again, I looked at her in the dimness and felt sure — not just of the feeling, but of the choice.

This was my person.

Whatever storms would come, I already knew who I’d want beside me when they did.


--








It was a Sunday afternoon. Church had just ended, and the sun was high, but not cruel. We were sitting under the almond tree beside my house, where the breeze could find us. The compound was mostly quiet, just the distant sound of someone playing a gospel mix on a Bluetooth speaker across the street.

Lola was eating the last piece of puff-puff from the nylon bag we had bought by the gate. I watched her, half-smiling, wondering how someone could feel like a whole lifetime and still surprise you daily.

“I’ve been thinking,” I said, after a long pause.

She looked up. “Hmm?”

“About us. About what’s next.”

She raised her brows playfully. “What do you mean, Mr. Johnson? What’s next after ten years of your annoying jokes and overcooked noodles?”

I laughed. “You like the noodles.”

“I tolerate them because I love you.”

That word again — love. It always sounded truer when she said it.

I reached for her hand. She didn’t flinch. Her fingers wrapped around mine like they had a memory of doing it a thousand times before.

“I want to marry you, Lola,” I said plainly.

She didn’t laugh this time.

It depends on how well you passed the test. However, I personally think you have done well.”

---


Monday morning at Bext Advertising was a battlefield disguised as a workplace. The hum of printers and keyboards masked whispered conversations and side glances sharper than a tailor’s needle.

Kole slipped into his usual seat, trying to ignore the fluttering butterflies from the weekend’s unexpected rendezvous with Edith. But the office had other plans.

Chuks was already waiting, leaning over Kole’s desk with that trademark grin.

“Ah-ah! Tell me everything, my guy! The birthday ‘hangout’ — how many bottles of wine, how many cheeky looks?”

Kole sighed, masking his awkward smile.

“Just the two of us, Chuks. No party. No wild stories.”

Chuks whistled low. “Ms. Edewor knows how to keep a man guessing.”

Before Kole could respond, Teni appeared by his side, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

“Care to explain why your phone’s been glued to your hand since Friday?” she asked, tone half teasing, half serious.

Kole glanced at her, suddenly aware of the watchful eyes of their coworkers.

“It was… a work thing.”

Teni didn’t buy it. “Work thing or Ms. Edewor thing? Because I’ve heard some interesting rumors floating around.”

“Rumors?”

“About you. About the promotion you suddenly got. And a little birdie says there’s some leaking of client info happening.”

The air thickened.

Kole felt the weight of suspicion pressing down. “I don’t know anything about leaks.”

Teni’s gaze softened. “Look, I’m just warning you. Edith’s world is complicated. You don’t want to get caught in the crossfire.”

Kole nodded slowly. The game was bigger than he thought.

As the day wore on, messages buzzed in from Edith — professional, sharp, and sometimes, just a little too personal.

The line between ally and adversary blurred.


The following week felt like a Lagos traffic jam — slow, tense, and impossible to escape.

Kole sat at his desk, eyes flicking nervously to his phone. Another anonymous message had hit the office group chat:

“Someone’s been leaking client pitches. Bext’s losing trust. Heads will roll.”

Whispers circled like vultures. Fingers pointed. And Kole’s name was mentioned more than once.

Edith called him into her office, the door closing with a soft but final click.

She looked tired — the mask of control slipping just a little. “Kole, I need to know the truth. Are you involved?”

He met her gaze steadily. “I swear, I’m not.”

Her eyes searched his, then softened. “Good. Because I’m counting on you.”

Back at his desk, Teni slid a USB stick across. “

"I found something.”

I didn’t hear Lola come in until she was standing in the doorway with that crooked smile of hers, hugging her shawl around her shoulders.

“Your people sent rain to delay me,” she said.

I stood up and took the shawl from her shoulders, folding it over a chair. “You still came.”

“I always come.”

That was true. Even on days when her mood was low or the traffic was unforgiving, she showed up. That was who Lola was — dependable like the turning of time.

I motioned for her to sit, and she curled her legs up beside me on the bed. I could smell her cocoa butter and something warm — maybe puff-puff oil from the road.

We were quiet for a while. Comfortable quiet. Her hand slipped into mine naturally, and I held it like I was holding something I didn’t ever want to lose.

“I missed you this week,” she said, her head resting lightly on my shoulder.

I hesitated.

“Me too,” I said. “More than I thought.”

She looked up at me. “You’ve been far lately. In your head, I mean. Like your body is here, but your mind is walking somewhere else.”

I looked away. Rain still fell, softer now. The kind of sound that makes you speak from the heart.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” I said. “About everything. Life. Us. The future.”

Her eyes stayed on me, patient and open.

“You know how long we’ve been doing this, Lola?”

She smiled. “Since JSS3. Since you tried to impress me with a Love Doctor poem during assembly.”

I laughed. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything.”

She always did.

I turned to her more fully. Held her hand tighter.

“You’re the one I prayed for before I even knew what prayer was. You’ve seen me at my worst, and you stayed. You’ve seen me dream stupid things and still called me your man. I’ve made mistakes, I’ve doubted myself, but you’ve never made me doubt us.”

“Femi—”

“Let me finish,” I said, gently.

“I don’t know what life will throw at us next. But I know this one thing: I love you. Not the kind of love that fades when things get hard or new faces show up. The kind that stays. I love you like you’re my home. And I’m not going.”

She was quiet, her eyes glassy now.

“Even when the phone had only one bar and you were whispering under your pillow?”

I smiled, eyes closed. “I remember your mother threatening to seize the phone.”

“She did, once. I still texted you with the neighbor’s Nokia.”

We both laughed quietly, and the memory settled in the space between us like an old photograph — a reminder of the road we’d walked. A long road. A loyal road.

“I still mean everything I said back then, you know,” I said. “You’re the one I want. Always.”

She looked at me then — really looked at me. And nodded.

“I know, Femi.”

But even in that quiet moment, even in the warmth of her presence, I couldn’t ignore the unease sitting at the back of my chest.

It wasn’t attraction.

It wasn’t even temptation.

It was something I couldn’t name. A feeling like a door had quietly opened — one I hadn’t knocked on. And behind it stood a woman with calm eyes and a card that felt heavier than paper should.

Lola leaned her head on my shoulder, and I rested my cheek against her hair.

Outside, a generator sputtered to life. Somewhere far off, a mosque began the evening call to prayer. The night was settling in, and everything felt as it should.

But even as I held the woman I’d promised forever, my mind drifted — just for a moment — to Naomi Ajayi.

And the way she said, “You may call me in case you need anything.”


---



The rain had started just before 8 p.m. — soft at first, then heavier, drumming steadily on the zinc roof. I had already changed into my joggers and was sitting on the edge of the bed, listening to it. There’s something about rain that always brings silence with it. The good kind.

I didn’t hear Lola come in until she was standing in the doorway with that crooked smile of hers, hugging her shawl around her shoulders.

Yes, it would be adultery.

In as much as one wants to avoid falling for such a temptation, the lure of survival will always pose as an unavoidable factor.

Are you saying all the news about violence and killings in Plateau state are false?

Are you saying also that the violence and killings in Benue state are exaggerated?

Why is the middle belt singled out for false reports?

She pushed the door open with her elbow, holding a nylon bag in one hand. Her voice was light, teasing, but she studied me carefully. She always did.

“I knocked,” she added, stepping in. “Twice.”

“Sorry,” I said, quickly sliding the card under a book on the table. “I was just… thinking.”

“About what?” She dropped the nylon bag on the floor and joined me on the bed, adjusting her position until she was sitting comfortably, her legs folded beneath her.

“Work. Just work stuff,” I replied.

She gave me a look — not suspicious, not sharp — but the kind of look that says, I know you better than that. Still, she didn’t press.

Instead, she reached into the nylon bag and pulled out two bottles of malt and a roll of chin chin wrapped in newspaper.

“I stopped by Mama Ife’s place,” she said, handing one bottle to me. “She said you didn’t come by last Sunday. She was already forming sermon.”

I smiled. “I was working double shift.”

Lola popped the cap off her malt and took a sip. “That woman doesn’t care. To her, if you're breathing, you should be eating her food.”

I laughed. Then quiet fell again.

Lola had a way of filling a room — not by being loud, but by being solid. Constant. She was like rhythm. She was home. From the day I told her I loved her behind the school lab in SS2, nothing had ever really shaken us. Not distance. Not temptation. Not even time.

But tonight, something felt different.

“You’re quiet,” she said softly, watching me.

“I’m just tired,” I replied, rubbing my temple.

Lola reached over and gently held my hand. Her thumb brushed against my palm, slow and steady. She didn’t ask again. She didn’t have to. Her silence said enough.

“Remember when you used to call me every night after prep?” she said suddenly. “Even when the phone had only one bar and you were whispering under your pillow?”

"Have you ever made love to an older woman before?" She asked.

Silently, Kole shook his head.

"Will you be afraid to do it if you were given the opportunity?"

What a question! It was a strong one; so strong it could break a wall.

"I want you to be sincere," she said Coolly.

"No. I will not be afraid to explore."

Edith smiled as if that was the answer she was waiting for.

"Well, you have a chance right now, young man."

He sighed. Slowly, he walked to where she sat. It was a chance he would not allow to.slip by.

Edith.was expectant. She welcome his kiss. Oh,.that was a nice one, she thought.

Kole's right hand went to her left boob. He caressed it gently. He was surprised Edith had started moaning already.

But that actually goaded him to be more daring. He slipped his hand under her top and fondled the boob. The hand moved to the right boob to do similar handling. Her breath were coming in whiffs. His heart too was racing. What a momentous time!

She led him to her bedroom. Silently, with air of lust hanging thickly in the air, they undressed. Now, he could see the boobs without any clothing serving as obstruction.

Edith's boobs were large and flabby. In normal times, he would have considered them to be unattractive.

But this was not a normal time.

He fondled them and sucked the nipples. Edith's moans had become louder. By the time he got down to penetrating her vagina with his penis, her moans were so loud he was afraid neighbours would hear.

They kept on and on. He never knew the woman that was so dutiful at the place of work could be so crazy for love-making. And from him. What a paradox.

It was about two hours later when she allowed him to go. Like a Sun that had been blazing for hours and was now ready for setting, she became satisfied.

“Will there be a next time?” he asked.

She smiled, that mysterious smile again.

It dpends on how well you passed the test. However, I personally think you have done well.”