Episode 5 – Falling Softly
Valerie stared at her ceiling long after the first call ended.
The conversation had stretched far beyond what she expected—9:02 p.m. becoming 11:47 p.m. without her noticing. She still held the phone loosely in her hand, turning it over occasionally as if releasing it would sever something delicate that had only just begun to exist. She had told herself it would be quick, a polite check-in, the kind of conversation that ends with goodnight and silence.
It had not ended that way.
Conversations with Purity refused to stay contained. They unfolded like fabric slowly being unrolled, revealing textures and patterns she had not noticed at first. They began with the simplest things- work, church, the frustrations of life in Lagos, particularly the infamous traffic that seemed to possess a personal vendetta against productivity. He joked about it. She responded with laughter. The sound of her own laughter surprised her, not because it was unfamiliar but because it was genuine. It was the kind of laughter that loosens something inside you, reminding you what it feels like to speak without performing, without carefully crafting every response.
As the minutes passed, the conversation shifted. Naturally. Slowly. They began to speak about things beneath the surface.
“I think people underestimate discipline,” Purity had said at some point.
“In what way?” she had asked, curled on her bed with the phone pressed to her ear. The ceiling fan rotated above her, casting faint, shifting shadows across the room.
“In love. In purpose. In faith,” he replied. “People act like feelings are foundations. They’re not. Feelings are beautiful. Necessary. But they are unreliable as structure.”
The words lingered with her.
She thought about her own experiences, relationships where intensity masqueraded as depth, where emotional highs burned bright and then faded, leaving nothing solid behind. Passion had once seemed like proof of something real. But passion alone had not built anything lasting. It had left gaps, uncertainties, places where trust struggled to take root.
Her chest warmed slightly as she considered his perspective. He spoke like someone who had wrestled with life and returned softer, not harder. That distinction mattered. Hardness pushes people away. Softness invites them in, but only if it is anchored in strength.
When they finally said goodnight, neither of them rushed to hang up.
“You sleep early?” he asked gently.
“I try to.”
“Good. You need to rest.”
“You too.”
There was a small pause.
“I’m glad we met again,” he said quietly, almost as if speaking to himself. The words caught her off guard.
“Me too,” she admitted.
And then the line went silent.
She remained lying there, staring into the darkness of her room. Sleep did not come immediately. Thoughts did- quiet, reflective thoughts that refused to be ignored.
What was this?
Friendship? Something more? It was too early to label it, too fragile to rush. Yet she could not deny the softness it created inside her- the awareness that someone was beginning to see her. Not just the curated version she presented to the world, but the quieter parts as well.
The parts that worried. The parts that dreamed. The parts that guarded their heart carefully because experience had taught them to do so. To be seen in that way is powerful. It is also vulnerable. There is risk in being known.
Risk in allowing another person access to the places we usually keep hidden. But there is also beauty in it—if handled with care, if approached with respect and intentionality.
***
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Three days later, Purity boarded a flight at Murtala Muhammed International Airport. He adjusted his camera bag on his shoulder and exhaled slowly. Missions always centered him. Service reminded him that life was larger than personal ambition- larger than comfort, larger than the small anxieties that sometimes crowded his thoughts.
He was traveling for outreach in Kigali, documenting moments of faith and community- hands lifted in prayer, volunteers distributing food, a child laughing despite circumstances. Images told stories, and stories mattered. He believed that deeply.
Yet this trip carried additional emotional weight. Someone would be waiting for his calls. Someone whose voice had begun to matter in ways he was still learning to understand.
His phone buzzed just before boarding.
It was Valerie.
Safe flight.
He smiled, a small, genuine smile.
Thank you. I’ll text when I land.
She watched the three dots appear, disappear, then appear again- the digital rhythm of thought and hesitation.
I’ll miss our 9 p.m. calls.
His thumb hovered over the screen. The admission warmed something inside him. It was small, but meaningful.
I’ll miss them too, he typed. We can still talk. Time differences might change things, but we’ll make this friendship work.
A pause.
Then her reply:
I’d like that.
And just like that, distance shifted. It no longer felt like absence. It felt like anticipation the space between calls becoming room for reflection rather than emptiness.
He boarded the plane.
As it climbed into the sky, he looked out the window at the shrinking city below. Thoughts stirred. He was excited for the mission, for purpose, for service. He believed in the value of showing up for communities and documenting moments of grace.
But he was also thinking about her.In a grounded way- the way you think about someone when they begin occupying space in your emotional landscape.
He closed his eyes briefly.
“God,” he whispered, “keep my heart aligned.”
Connection without direction becomes chaos. Feelings without discipline become instability.
If this was something, truly something, it would require intentionality. Not rush.
Back in Lagos, Valerie eventually placed the phone on her nightstand and turned onto her side. Sleep came slowly. Thoughts surfaced- questions rather than conclusions.
What was happening between them?
It was too early to decide. Too fragile to define. Relationships of substance do not always announce themselves with dramatic declarations. They begin softly, in conversations, in moments of understanding, in the gradual recognition that another person matters.
That recognition is not weakness. It is humanity.
To care for someone is to risk something. To open space where feelings can grow. To acknowledge that connection, while beautiful, requires boundaries and wisdom.
Valerie did not rush to conclusions. She allowed the possibility to exist.
To be continued…
Well!! Well!! Well!! Just because I’m nice, I added a bonus chapter and it’s kinda longer soooo enjoyyy🤭🤭. Tell me thank you in the comments oo and also share to others bikonuuu. Let’s get to 30 subscribers this weekend.
Bonus Episode
Episode 6A– In Love
The calls became the safest part of Valerie’s evenings.
9 p.m. Lagos time.
It became ritual.
She would finish work in her small studio in Lagos, tidy the scattered fabric pieces, and sit on her bed with the phone in her hand. Sometimes she waited, watching the time tick closer. Other times he called exactly on schedule, his voice sliding through the speaker like something familiar.
“Hi,” he would say. “Hi,” she would reply.
It never felt forced. That was the dangerous part.
Conversations with Purity had depth without pressure. They spoke about ordinary things- her fashion designs, his missions work with Reverers, Lagos traffic deserved its own category of suffering.
“Hi,” he said. Her voice warmed through the speaker. “Hi.” There was a small pause- not awkward, but meaningful.
“How was your day?” he asked. She described it. Work. A new design she was finishing.
“There is this client who asked me to make a dress for his girlfriend . Tell me why Oga called me this afternoon to cancel and refund him. He said she broke up with him and so he didn’t see the need to gift her again.” She paused to move the phone to the other ear.
“I told him I really feel bad for him and i understand that this would be painful but I’m not her and I should not suffer for her sins. I already finished sewing the dress why should I refund him fully? Who will wear the dress? Wetin concern me concern their break up?”
When she finished, he laughed softly. “You make everything sound dramatic.”
She narrowed her eyes, though he couldn’t see it. “Excuse you.”
“Lagos clients are not for the weak.”
She smiled despite herself. “True. You have to be mad to handle mad people. Omo ehhh I just wanna be on an island sipping coconut juice instead of suffering here in Lagos begging one client to sew with me.”
He laughed loudly this time.
The conversation flowed. Like something that had always existed.
She told him about her business dreams- expanding her brand, creating designs that told stories. Not just clothes, but art. He encouraged her.
“You should,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “Here you go again.”
“No, I mean it. You have talent.” Her chest warmed. Compliments from him were different.
He saw her work. He saw her effort. But she was still careful.
She didn’t want to rush. She didn’t want to misinterpret things. Friendship first. That was safer. Or so she told herself. Because deep down, she wanted more. She just wasn’t ready to admit it.
One evening, the conversation turned serious.
“I think we’re becoming close,” he said. Her heart skipped.
“Close?” she repeated.
“Yes.” She swallowed. “We talk. That doesn’t mean…..”
“I know what it means.” She hesitated.
His voice softened. “I like you, Valerie.”
The words hung in the air. Honest.
She didn’t respond immediately. Not because she didn’t feel the same. But because admitting it would change things. Friendship would shift. Expectations would grow and Vulnerability would increase.
She wasn’t sure she was ready.
“I like you too,” she finally said.
Her voice was quiet. He smiled, she could hear it. “Good.” She rolled onto her side, phone pressed to her ear.
“Don’t get any ideas.” He laughed. “I have ideas.” She gasped dramatically. “Purity!”
“Relax. Good ideas.” She narrowed her eyes. “Lies.”But she smiled.
Because she liked this. The tension. The playfulness. The way they built something slowly.
I think I’m loving Purity and Valerie a lot oo🤭🤭. Should we go with the hashtag #VP abi #PV abi #Varity?? because it’s like we have a wedding to plan soon🥹😂
Rwanda did not look like the Lagos Purity had left behind.
Lagos was noise and horns and danfo conductors shouting like the world was ending. Rwanda, from the pictures and shaky videos he sent, looked quiet. Green. Almost disciplined in its beauty.
Valerie would sit cross-legged on her bed in the apartment she shared with Tammy in Yaba, her laptop open, her phone propped against a stack of sketchbooks, watching him turn his camera around slowly.
“See the hills,” he would say, his voice low and pleased like he personally created them. “Val, it’s like God took a paintbrush and just… omo.”
She would roll her eyes. “You are sounding like a motivational speaker.”
“I’m serious. It’s beautiful. The roads are so clean. You people should come and learn.”
“You people?” she would gasp. “Lagos people? So you’ve forgotten us already?”
He would laugh softly. “Never.”
It had been five weeks since he left for Rwanda with Reverers. Five weeks of time difference confusion, bad Wi-Fi, missed calls, long voice notes, and learning how to love someone you could not touch.
Three months. That was how long he would be gone.
She had told herself she would not let it get to her. She had promised herself she would not be the girl waiting by her phone. She had work.
Her brand was growing. Orders were increasing. She had officially joined media at church and, somehow, within weeks, found herself coordinating creative direction for the young adult service visuals. It made her heart beat in a way she had not expected.
Still, every night, around 10:30 p.m., she would find herself glancing at her phone.
And most nights, right on cue—
Purity: Can I call?
She would wait three minutes before replying.
Valerie: If you want.
Hard girl. Always a hard girl.
That Tuesday night, rain was hitting the windows in soft sheets. The generator downstairs was humming because NEPA had done their usual.
Her phone buzzed.
Purity: Video call?
She inhaled slowly before typing.
Valerie: Okay.
His face appeared, slightly pixelated, hotel room lighting warm against his skin. He was wearing a plain black T-shirt, hair slightly rough like he had run his hands through it too many times.
He smiled. The kind that made her stomach tighten.
“Hi.” She refused to smile fully. “Hello, missionary.”
He grinned wider. “You miss me.”
“Omo ehh. Please. Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Valerie.” She looked away from the screen dramatically.
“Val.”
“Purity, what?”
“You miss me.” She tried not to laugh.
“Okay fine,” she sighed. “Small.”
He leaned back against the headboard. “I miss you.” The way he said it did something to her chest.
“How was today?” she asked quickly, deflecting.
He exhaled. “Long. We had outreach in one rural community. We did photography training for some of the young guys there, then evangelism in the evening.”
“Photography training?”
“Yeah. Teaching them how to use basic cameras. Some of them have never held one before. You should have seen their faces when they saw their shots on screen.”
She softened. “Awww send some to me o.”
He reached for his second phone. “Check your WhatsApp.”
She opened the images. Young boys, maybe seventeen, eighteen, holding cameras like treasure. Wide grins. One blurry sunset shot that was actually stunning.
“Purity,” she whispered. “This is beautiful.”
“I know.”
“Look at this composition,” she murmured, zooming in. “He framed the light so well.”
“You see why I like you?” he teased. “You notice details.”
She scoffed. “Abegggg.”
He grew quiet, watching her study the photos.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing. I just… I like watching you think.”
Her heart misbehaved.
She straightened her face. “Don’t start.”
“Start what?”
“This your soft voice.”
He laughed. “You’re the one that’s always forming hard girl.”
“I am not forming.”
“You are. You think I don’t know?”
She crossed her arms. “Know what?”
“That you like me.” She tried to glare but her lips betrayed her.
“Purity.”
“Yes?”
“Focus on your missions work abeg.”
He chuckled. “Okay ma.” Silence fell, but it was comfortable.
“Tell me about church,” he said gently.
She shifted on the bed. “It was good.”
“Just good?”
She hesitated. “I joined media officially.”
His eyes lit up. “Wait. Properly?”
“Yes.”
“Valerie.”
“What?”
“That’s huge.” He grinned
She shrugged. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. You’ve always preferred hiding behind your work. This is you actually stepping into community.”
She didn’t respond immediately.
“I don’t like crowds,” she muttered eventually.
“I know.”
“They drain me.”
“I know.”
“But when I’m working in media… I don’t feel exposed. I feel useful.”
He smiled softly. “That’s because you’re built for purpose, not attention.”
Her throat tightened.
“You’re making it deep,” she whispered.
“It is deep.” She looked at him, really looked.
“Why are you like this?”
“Like what?”
“So intentional.”
He shrugged. “Because I wasted too many years not being.”
She knew about that part of his life. The drifting. The fifteen-year-old rebellion. The years of distance from God.
Sometimes when he talked about it, there was a quiet regret in his voice.
“Purity?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you ever feel like… maybe God will require too much from you?” He paused.
“Why are you asking that?”
“I don’t know.” She did know.
Her father’s face flickered in her mind. Church members praising him. Her mother crying quietly in the kitchen. Her chest tightened.
Purity leaned forward slightly. “Val.”
“Hmm.”
“God never takes without sustaining.” She swallowed.
“Sometimes,” he continued softly, “the call is heavy. But He doesn’t give you a call without grace for it.”
She forced a small smile. “You’re sounding like Pastor Ade.”
He laughed. “Please. I don’t mind oo.” She froze for half a second before relaxing.
“Relax,” he said gently. “I’m joking.” She nodded, but something in her stomach twisted.
He noticed. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Valerie.”
She exhaled sharply. “I just… I don’t want a life where ministry swallows everything.” He studied her.
“Are we talking about your dad?” Her eyes flicked up.
“Maybe.” He nodded slowly.
“I can’t fix what he did,” Purity said carefully. “But I can promise you something.” She waited.
“If God ever calls me to something that threatens my ability to love you well, I will sit with Him about it.” Her heart thudded.
“That’s not how calling works,” she whispered.
He smiled faintly. “You’d be surprised.” Silence.
“Anyway,” she said abruptly, “let’s talk about something lighter. Give me gist.”
He laughed softly. “Okay. So today, one of the team members tried to cook jollof rice for the Rwandan guys.”
Her eyes widened. “Ha! Nigerian jollof?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Let’s just say… we have embarrassed ourselves internationally.” She burst into laughter.
“Was it that bad?”
“Val. It was rice and regret.” She laughed harder, covering her face.
On the other end of the room, Tammy walked in holding a bowl of cereal. She paused dramatically.
“Ahn ahn,” Tammy said loudly. “Again? Every night? God when?”
Valerie hissed. “Tammy go away.”
Purity grinned. “Good evening Tammy.”
“Sir please,” Tammy said, flopping onto Valerie’s bed. “Three months you’re in Rwanda. Three months you people are doing Romeo and Juliet. Is it fair?”
Valerie tried to push her off. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“I’m oppressed!” Tammy cried dramatically. “Look at them. Smiling like two goats in love.”
Purity laughed deeply.
“Tammy, I’ll bring you chocolate when I return.”
“Make it Swiss. Not nonsense.”
“Deal.”
Tammy narrowed her eyes playfully. “Valerie, if you don’t marry this one ehn, I will.” Valerie’s face went hot.
“Tammy!”
“What? I’m just saying.”
Purity raised his hands. “I’m not available o.”
Tammy gasped. “Already forming loyal.” Valerie’s chest fluttered.
Hard girl. Remember.
“Abeg leave us,” Valerie muttered.
Tammy winked at the camera. “Goodnight lovers.” She left the room humming dramatically.
Purity shook his head. “Your friend.”
“She’s too much.”
“I like her.”
“Of course you do. She’s loud.”
“And you’re quiet. Balance.” She softened again.
“Purity?”
“Yes.”
“Three months is long.”
He looked at her carefully. “It is.”
“You won’t… change?”
“Change how?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged
His voice lowered. “Valerie.” She held his gaze.
“I am not talking to you because you’re convenient.” Her breathing slowed.
“I am not talking to you because you’re around.” He leaned closer to the screen. “I’m talking to you because I see you.” Her chest tightened painfully.“And I don’t stop seeing you because I’m in another country.”
Silence filled the space between them, thick and alive. She looked down, blinking rapidly.
“Don’t make me emotional,” she muttered.
He smiled softly. “Hard girl.”
“Shut up.”
“I like you, Valerie.” Her heart pounded.
“I like you too,” she whispered. It was the first time she had said it that plainly. And something shifted.
Over the next weeks, their conversations deepened.
They began doing Bible study together twice a week. He would send her a passage in advance. One night it was Ephesians 5.
She frowned at her screen.
“Submission again?” she groaned.
He laughed. “Read the full context.” They spent forty-five minutes dissecting it.
“It says husbands love your wives as Christ loved the church,” she said thoughtfully. “That’s sacrificial.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s not domination.”
“No.” She grew quiet.
“Val?”
“Hmm.”
“If we ever build something… it will not look like fear.” Her throat tightened.
“I don’t want fear,” she whispered.
“Then we won’t build it.”
One evening she said softly, “If you were here right now…”
He exhaled slowly.
“I know.”
She swallowed.
“I’d probably be less productive.”
He chuckled gently. “Val.”
“Hmm.”
“We guard this properly.” She nodded.
“I don’t want to build something we can’t present to God boldly,” he continued.
Her heart steadied.
“You’re right.”
“I want to miss you the right way.” Tears stung unexpectedly.
“That’s so annoying,” she whispered.
“What is?”
“The fact that you’re disciplined.”
He laughed.
“But it’s attractive,” she admitted.
His voice lowered. “You have no idea.”
Her breath caught. “Okay goodnight,” she blurted suddenly.
He laughed again.
“Runaaway soldier .”
“Yes.”
“Goodnight Valerie.”
“Goodnight Purity.”
After the call ended, she lay staring at the ceiling. Three months. It no longer felt like distance. It felt like building.
And somewhere deep inside her, beneath the hard girl persona and childhood wounds, something fragile and hopeful was growing.
Something that scared her. Because it felt permanent.
And she was not sure she knew how to hold permanent things without losing them.
Outside, Lagos hummed. Inside her chest, love was quietly taking root. And neither of them yet knew that the very God they were honoring in their discipline was preparing to test the foundation they were laying.
Something was shifting. And it was coming sooner than either of them expected.
Authors note: Whoooshhh!!!! I blushed so hard writing this😂😂
They’re sooo cute. Brace yourselves for the next chapter because you’re gonna cry, smile, Awwwnnn and even laugh in the next episode. Drop a lovely comment for our ship joorrr🤭🤭
Do not forget to share on your WhatsApp status pleaseeeee. It’ll mean a lot to me.
Aaawww!!!! Purity is such a godly man!! Where did you get those lines???
Why am I feeling the feelings with Val😂😂