Separate Worlds
Lagos did not wait for anyone.
It did not pause for heartbreak. It did not soften for exhaustion. It did not care if you had slept.
At 5:12 a.m., the call to prayer from a distant mosque blended with the hum of generators switching off one after another in Yaba. A danfo bus honked angrily at a tricycle blocking its path. Somewhere, a woman shouted, “Change! Who get my change?!”
Valerie was already awake.
She sat cross-legged on her bed, her back resting against the wall, her Bible open on her lap. The room was still dim. The faint glow of early morning filtered through thin curtains that did little to soften Lagos sunlight.
Her roommate, Tami, was still asleep, one leg thrown dramatically off the mattress as if she had been fighting spiritual warfare in her dreams.
Valerie traced a line in her Bible with her finger. Psalm 127:1.
Unless the Lord builds the house…
She swallowed.
“God,” she whispered, her voice soft but steady, “I don’t want to build something You’re not in.”
Her prayers were never loud nor dramatic. She loved praying calmly. She believed it gave her the liberty to hear God when he wants to speak to her.
But there was one thing she feared more than anything else.
Marriage to a pastor.
Her chest tightened just thinking about it.
Flashbacks did not come as full scenes anymore. They came in fragments.
Her father’s study door always closed.
Her mother sitting at the dining table long after midnight, food untouched. Church members calling during dinner.
“Daddy will be late again,” her mother’s quiet voice.
Valerie at nine years old, pressing her ear against her parents’ bedroom door. The argument.
“You’re married to the church, not to me.”
Silence. Then crying.
By the time Valerie turned sixteen, her mother had left. And her father? He preached harder.
She shut her Bible gently.
“I will never marry a pastor,” she muttered under her breath.
By 8:17 a.m., Valerie was fully dressed in a structured linen two-piece set she had designed herself — sand-colored with delicate hand embroidery along the sleeves. Her natural hair was styled into a low puff. Minimal makeup. Gold hoops. She looked soft. But she was steel inside.
Her fashion brand, Vale Atelier, had grown slowly but steadily since she moved to Lagos after university in Calabar. She had studied Mass Communication. But fashion was the thing that made her breathe.
Her small studio space in Surulere smelled faintly of fabric starch and new thread. Rolls of Ankara, silk, and organza leaned against the walls. A mood board covered in magazine cutouts and scripture verses hung near her cutting table.
Tami burst in at 9:03 a.m. holding iced coffee.
“Val! Omo ehh, traffic today is wicked! I almost fought conductor!”
Valerie smiled faintly. “You and fighting every morning.”
“I will fight. This Lagos will not kill me quietly.”
Tami was loud. Life-of-the-party loud. A worship leader on Sundays, chaos coordinator Monday to Saturday.
“Are you coming for young adults service tonight?” Tami asked.
Valerie hesitated. “Maybe.”
“Maybe ke? You need to mingle. You can’t marry thread and needle.”
Valerie didn’t respond.
Because mingling meant questions. Questions meant men. Men meant intentions. And intentions meant risk. Risk she was not ready for.
Do not forget to like, share and even restack.
LEKKI, LAGOS
Across town in Lekki, Purity was adjusting camera lenses.
“Bro, that shot from last week? Mad,” said Daniel, tapping through photos on his phone.
Daniel was one of his closest friends- instrumentalist, sarcastic, perpetually half-laughing.
Beside him, Joel the singer, always observant leaned against the wall.
“You dey travel again?” Joel asked.
Purity nodded. “Reverers trip. Benin City this time.”
Reverers was a missions collective that partnered with churches globally medical outreaches, worship conferences, discipleship training.
Purity served as volunteer photographer. He loved capturing what God was doing in quiet corners of the world.
His tech job paid well- product strategy at a growing Lagos startup - but missions gave him perspective.
“You go marry camera one day,” Daniel teased.
Purity laughed. “Better than marrying headache.”
But even as he said it, something in him felt… unsettled. At 35, he wasn’t desperate. But he was ready.
He had drifted from God once. At 15, he stopped attending church after his secondary school friends convinced him faith was for weak people. University in Benin became parties, girls, ego.
Until one night. Alone and empty .
He had whispered, “God, if You’re real…”
And God answered with his presence. He never left again.
Now he served in media at church every Sunday. Quietly consistent. Emotionally steady. His parents were still married. Still prayed for him every morning.
“Any babe?” Joel nudged.
Purity shrugged. “When God says.”
Daniel groaned. “This one is too spiritual.”
Purity smiled but didn’t argue. Because he meant it.
That evening, in two different parts of Lagos, both of them booked flights to Benin City.
Valerie was going for her cousin’s introduction ceremony.
Purity was going to visit his parents before traveling for missions.
Neither knew. Neither sensed. That the same airport would become the first page of their story.
That night, Valerie lay awake.
Her phone buzzed.
Tami:
If you see husband in Benin, don’t run o.
Valerie rolled her eyes and typed:
I don’t want husband. I want peace.
But as she placed her phone down, she whispered quietly:
“God… if You have someone for me, let him not take You from me.”
Across town, Purity closed his laptop and looked out over Lekki’s night skyline.
“Lord,” he murmured, “I don’t want a wife that competes with You. I want one that runs toward You.”
He had no idea his prayer was crossing paths with someone else’s.
The next morning, Murtala Muhammed Airport was loud as always. Flights were delayed. Children were crying. Announcements were overlapping making it hard for you to hear your own flight announcement.
Valerie adjusted her carry-on strap and checked her boarding pass.
Purity picked up his camera bag and joined the boarding queue.
Same destination. Benin City.
And neither of them knew that timing was already moving.
To be continued…
Thank you for reading🥹🥹
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