Chapter 1
If anyone had told me that Zephan bobby would one day be the reason my heart kept me up at night, I would have laughed so hard my ribs would ache.
In fact, I might have sent them to Pastor brian for deliverance prayers.
Zephan and I grew up practically breathing the same church air. His mother was a deaconess in church while my mum attended a different church from ours. I have never seen or heard him talk about his dad, my dad didn't equally attend the same church with us just like my mum it was just i and my siblings who did so. We attended the same Sunday school, children camp, choir rehearsals — you name it.
But from day one, I couldn't stand him.
Not because he was terrible-looking — far from it. Even as kids, Zephan had this annoyingly perfect skin, the kind that made every photo look like he'd been edited. No, my problem with him was that he was the kind of boy who made a habit of getting under my skin.
Anastasia, your voice is too loud in the choir. People in the back row can't hear themselves sing," he'd say with that sly smile, knowing full well that I would retaliate back.
And of course, I always did.
"Zephan, maybe if you actually sang on key for once, you wouldn't be so worried about my volume."
The rest of the choir kids would giggle, and he'd just wink at me like he'd won a prize.
We were those kids the Sunday school teachers loved to separate during group activities. If Zephan was in Team Faith, I'd be in Team Hope. If he volunteered to carry Bibles, I'd mysteriously be asked to arrange hymn books — on the other side of the hall.
It worked… until youth camp, 2013.
That year, they stuck us in the same team by mistake. We were assigned to perform a skit on "The Prodigal Son," and somehow Zephan got to be the narrator. Which meant I had to look at him for the entire performance.
It was torture.
By the time we were both in our late teens, I thought our little rivalry would die naturally. After all, we were older now, busy with university entrance exams and figuring out who we were. But Zephan had a different plan.
He started… being nice.
At first, I thought it was some kind of trap. He'd carry my bag after choir rehearsal. Offer me rides home when it rained. Drop subtle comments on my Instagram like, "Blue really suits you" or "You should post more often."
And I, being me, rolled my eyes and kept my guard up.
Then, one Sunday after service, he walked up to me as I was helping the ushers arrange the church.
"Amara," he began, tone unusually serious, "I like you."
I froze, chairs in hand. "Okay?"
He chuckled. "No, I mean… I really like you. I've liked you for a while now."
"Zephan, don't start. This isn't funny."
"I'm not joking."
I looked at him, searching for the usual mischief in his eyes, but found something else — sincerity.
Still, I wasn't buying it. "You're three years late. Maybe if you'd asked in Sunday school—"
"I'm asking now," he interrupted.
And that was the beginning of what I like to call The Longest Chase in History.
For the next three years, Zephan kept trying. Birthdays, random gifts, surprise visits when I was sick, voice notes of him singing worship songs he knew I loved, and yes he was good at playing the piano— the man was relentless.
Everyone noticed. Aunties in church began asking when our wedding was. Friends kept telling me to "just give him a chance already."
But I had my reasons. My trust wasn't something I handed out like church flyers, and Zephan's history of playful teasing still lingered in my mind.
Yet… somewhere in year three, something shifted.
It was a rainy Friday evening after choir practice. The rest of the group had left, and we were both stuck under the church's small porch, waiting for the downpour to ease. The air was cold and smelled like wet sand.
"You know I'm not going anywhere, right?" he said, looking out into the rain.
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean… you can keep saying no, but I'm not giving up on you. Not because I want to prove a point, but because I know what I feel. I know who I want."
There was no smirk. No wink. No playful tone.
Just Zephan, being real.
And for the first time, I didn't know what to say.
That was the moment the walls around my heart started to crack. I didn't tell him then, but something in me shifted. For the first time in years, I started imagining what it might be like… to say yes.
Alright — I'll continue Part One right where we stopped, keeping the tone human, modern, and natural until it crosses 2,000+ words.
If there's one thing about Lagos rain, it doesn't care about your plans.
It poured for almost an hour that evening, and in that time, Zephan talked.
Not the kind of small talk we were used to — no teasing about my choir robes being too big, no jokes about me missing high notes. Instead, he asked me real questions.
"What's the one place you'd love to live if you could move tomorrow?"
"Why don't you post online?"
"What's the scariest thing you've ever had to do?"
I answered, reluctantly at first, then more openly. It felt… easy. And in that moment, I realized something terrifying: I liked him.
Of course, I didn't admit it. I was Anastasia Johnson — stubborn by nature, professional heart-guarder. If my feelings had a gate, it would have been made of titanium.
But Zephan didn't need to know that the rain had washed away more than just dust from the church compound.
By the next Sunday, he was back to his usual persistence. He sent me a link to a playlist he'd titled Songs for Amara.
It had everything from Ed Sheeran to TY Bello.
I rolled my eyes when I saw it — and then listened to every track. Twice.
The thing about church communities is that everyone notices everything. Auntie Rose, who sowed clothes for the choristers had started giving me knowing smiles whenever Zephan walked by. Uncle judge, our choir director, would 'accidentally' pair us for duets.
Even my best friend, Kemi, wasn't subtle.
"Babe," she said one afternoon over shawarma, "you know this guy has been in love with you for ages, right? It's not normal. Men don't do consistency anymore."
I sighed. "Kemi, he's Zephan. My childhood rival, a well-known play boy, someone who_
"Your future husband if you stop forming," she cut in.
I laughed, but that laugh stuck in my throat for the rest of the week.
The turning point came during our church's Christmas carol night.
I'd been asked to do a spoken word piece, and while I was nervous, I wasn't going to let it show.
When it was time, I stepped on stage and spotted him in the crowd — camera in hand, recording like it was the most important performance in the world.
I delivered my piece, heart pounding, and as I stepped down, he met me at the side of the stage.
"You were incredible," he said, voice low so only I could hear.
I smiled — an actual, genuine smile that wasn't sarcastic. "Thanks."
And just like that,for some reasons I wanted to give in. He met with my best friend Kemi, begged her to talk to me, his friends in church were not left out, he begged everybody who knew me to talk to me,he was ready to give up his females friends for me but I still didn't bulge, I was guarding my heart. I was scared I didn't want to be used especially when I knew he had so many females around him
"Fine boys benefit I guess "
It didn't happen overnight. But a month later, on a quiet evening after midweek service, I finally gave in.After much persuasion from friends I had to give in
We were sitting on the church steps, the compound almost empty. The Harmattan air was crisp, the kind that made your skin feel tight.
"Zephan," I began, not looking at him. "If I said yes… what happens then?"
He looked surprised, but he recovered quickly. "Then I get the privilege of loving you properly."
I swallowed. "And if I say no?"
"I keep trying until I run out of breath."
I turned to face him. "Fine. You win."
His grin could have powered the entire street. "So that's a yes?"
"It's a yes."
He didn't hug me, didn't make a scene. He just sat back, smiling like he'd been waiting his whole life for that moment. And maybe he had. He only said thank you for giving me a chance Anna
Deep within me I hoped for the best cause yes I accepted him not out of love but pity. I didn't want to seem like a bad person and I wanted to know wat it feels likes to date someone head over hills for me. Maybe I acted like a bad person without even realising.
The first weeks of dating were surreal.
We went from casual Sunday banter to late-night video calls, from arguing over hymn choices to sending each other funny reels at 2 a.m.
He'd pick me up for choir rehearsals, sometimes with iced coffee in the cup holder. He learned the exact way I liked my plantain — slightly burnt at the edges — and never forgot.
For the first time in years, I felt… safe.
And just when I thought nothing could ruin the bubble we'd built, I was reminded that life has its own plot twists.
But that, I would learn, was still ahead of me.