September 17th
It felt like home, hearing her voice again. Mum's voice always calms the storm — even when I'm standing in one. And right now, the waves are starting to rise. But if there's one thing she taught me, it's this: when the waves roar, that's when you look up — never down.
I sat on the low stone wall beside the old chapel ruins, the sun warming my back as I waited for the call to connect.
It had been almost a month since I moved into campus, and I hadn't spoken to Mum in nearly two weeks. Life had picked up speed — with classes, morning prayers, Anita's strange moods, and Darrey's drama — but I missed her.
The call connected.
"My sunshine!" she exclaimed, and instantly, the warmth of her voice melted the tension I didn't even realize I'd been carrying.
"Mum," I smiled. "I've missed you."
She clicked her tongue. "Of course you have. You haven't called me in two weeks. Should I start fasting?"
I laughed. "Please don't. You'd drag Heaven down."
"Oh, I already did," she said with a playful tone, "the minute you left for school."
Then her voice grew gentle. "But really. How are you?"
I told her everything — the morning prayer walks, Tony, Mayumi, Darrey's threats, even Anita's strange behavior.
She listened without interrupting, the way only she could. Then said,
"Sandra, remember what I always told you — spiritual fire always draws spiritual flies. People hate what they don't understand. And demons rage where their grip is threatened. This is not the time to dim your light, baby. This is when you burn brighter."
"I just didn't expect the resistance to come so soon," I admitted.
"It's not resistance — it's confirmation," she said. "You're hitting something real. And it's stirring the shadows."
"I'm scared for Anita," I whispered. "I think she's battling something deep. But she won't talk about it."
"She will," Mum said softly. "When it hurts enough to come to the surface, she'll need someone anchored. Be that anchor. Don't push — just pray."
"I love you, Mum."
"I love you more. And Sandra?"
"Yes?"
"Don't stop. Don't slow down. Watchmen don't retreat. They rise."
That night, around 11:40 PM, Darrey and his clique were gathered behind the boys' hostel, music pounding from a Bluetooth speaker, drinks scattered, and laughter loud and careless.
But then the air shifted.
The speaker began glitching — skipping, stuttering, then cutting off completely.
"Hey! What's wrong with the speaker?" one of the guys asked, smacking it.
Another checked his phone. "There's full battery. It just… stopped."
Then a strong wind blew — sudden, unnatural. Bottles tipped. Jackets flew. Someone cursed.
"What kind of breeze is this?" Darrey growled.
One of the guys shivered. "It's like... the air is thick. You feel that?"
Before Darrey could respond, they all heard it — distant… soft… rhythmic.
Praying voices.
It was coming from beyond the field. Close. Persistent. Intense.
"Are they praying again?" Darrey said, his face hardening. "At this time?"
He stood up abruptly. "They think they can just take over the whole school with their fake holiness. They think they're untouchable."
"Bro, let's just leave it," one of the guys said, uneasily.
But Darrey's eyes were blazing. "No. This ends. Tomorrow, I'm making it official."
***
Mum was right. This isn't just spiritual pushback — it's warfare. But I'm not afraid. Not anymore. Because while Darrey's voice is loud, God's whisper still thunders louder. Let the enemy stir — our altar is lit.