Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts

Sunday, 6 July 2025

"The Patient Flame" - A Story of Waiting, Burning, and Becoming

INTRO:

It’s the ache between two people who met too soon, parted too early, and learned that love doesn’t always promise a home.

Here’s the story of Ọzọchi and Ehiọkhẹ.

______________________

THE PATIENT FLAME

Ọzọchi believed that love was a slow-burning fire.

He first met Ehiọkhẹ in the cramped, buzzing halls of a Lagos tutorial center in February 2017, the air thick with the scent of textbooks and sweat. She was 16, sharp-witted with a quiet grace; he was 19, driven but tender-hearted.

He saw Ehiọkhẹ bent over a JAMB form, her pencil tapping a rhythm against her teeth as she calculated post-UTME cutoffs. The overhead fan churned the scent of their shared ambition: ink, stale bread from rushed breakfasts, and the coconut oil she used to tame her edges.

For those few months, something bloomed between them—unspoken, fragile.

Then, like a sudden gust scattering embers, they were both admitted to universities that same year.

Her, to UNILAG for Nursing.

Him, to UNN for Agric Economics, far away in Nsukka.


THE DISTANCE THAT TESTED HIM

UNN greeted him with harmattan dust and too many soft-spoken girls who didn’t understand why he’d retreat when their fingers brushed while sharing lecture notes.

His roommate, Emeka, would groan, "Ọzọ, even monks date!" as yet another pretty Mass Communication student sighed over his quiet refusal to attend weekend crushes.

What they didn’t see was the Nokia 3310 he charged nightly like a sacred duty, its green message light blinking sporadically through Nsukka’s power cuts.

They missed how he’d press his forehead against the hostel window during Lagos thunderstorms, as if his body could steady the crackling connection when she whispered, “Network’s bad, let’s talk tomorrow.”

While his classmates chased fleeting flames, he kept his heart fixed on Lagos—on the girl who didn’t promise him anything but somehow owned him completely.

He buried himself in books, in late-night calls with her, in the stubborn belief that what they had was worth the wait.

His friends called him a committed fool.

"She’s not even your girlfriend!" they’d say.

But Ọzọchi would just shake his head and smile.

“There’s only one fire I’m tending.”

Most of all, they never understood how he marked time—not in semesters, but in her clinical rotations at LUTH; not in birthdays, but in the way her voice changed when she said, “Just passed 300-level,” with that exhausted pride.


THE YEARS BETWEEN

For eight years, they spoke—through texts, calls, laughter, and fights.

Silences came, heavy with unsaid things, but they always found their way back.

In 2020, he finally confessed what she had always known: “I love you.”

She hesitated.

“I feel it too,” she admitted in 2023. “But how do we make it work?”

Their fights followed patterns as familiar as malaria symptoms:

“You’re comparing me to ghosts,” she said during his NYSC in Ogun, when he mentioned a corps member’s wedding.

“No,” he said. “I’m comparing me to the man I promised you I’d become.”

Her family was to relocate to Benin two days after her induction in April 2025, a ceremony she had personally invited him to.

The day of her nursing induction, he noticed three things:

How her hands didn’t tremble when pinning the cap—steady, even now.

The new gap between her front teeth from a bike accident she never told him about.

And that, after eight years, he still couldn’t look directly at her smile without feeling scorched.

Her goodbye hug lasted exactly four heartbeats.

“You make waiting feel holy,” she whispered.

“But I can’t be anyone’s religion.”


THE FINAL FLAME

Coming Soon

Now, standing at his NYSC lodge in Ogun, Benin’s coordinates blink on his cracked phone screen.

Ọzọchi types his final confession with soil-stained fingers from that day’s farm work:

“You were never the fire—just the light by which I saw myself burning.”

He presses send.

Then he waited—not as the boy who hoped, but as the man who finally understood.

Walks to the stream.

Watches the sunset bleed into water.


Written by Chidubem Egwudike 

Wednesday, 11 June 2025

The Bolt to Ajah: A Story of Vibes, Scriptures, and Subtle Signals 



Chapter One: Deadlines & Detours 

The Lagos sun had just started its descent when Tonie’s phone buzzed. He squinted at the screen, expecting a client follow-up or a project update. But instead:

"Hi! I booked a ride for you without your consent. Enough of the excuses. Come see me. I'll apologise when you get here."

He chuckled, tossing his pen aside. A lady had summoned him to Ajah — no explanations, just coordinates. A ride booked on his behalf, a signal fired into the sky of his routine life.

He leaned back, stretching the fatigue out of his spine. Amidst the whirl of Lagos hustle, someone wanted him present. Not virtually. Physically.

So he did what he always did when his compass spun — he pinged Marta.


Chapter Two: Marta, the Measured 

Marta wasn’t the type to gasp or gossip. Her responses were curated, like jazz solos — unpredictable, but deliberate.

He sent her the screenshot of the message. Expected laughter, maybe a meme. Instead, she typed:

“Try to loosen up there.”

Three seconds. That was all it took. She had thrown him a lifeline disguised as levity. Marta always knew when he needed to be reminded: life was more than calendars and KPIs.

Tonie stared at her message, smiled, and leaned into the warmth behind it. She wasn't pushing him toward or away from anything. Just helping him notice.


Chapter Three: The Company Offer 

Later that night, mid-scroll through chats and music playlists, he texted Marta again:

“I want to come and keep you company.”

He didn’t expect much — maybe a “lol” or a “behave yourself.” But Marta replied:

“Normally, I like company.”

Simple. Delicate. Open-ended.

There it was again — the subtle dance. She hadn't invited him, hadn’t shut him down either. Tonie read the message three times. There was room in her words for curiosity to grow.


Chapter Four: Genesis on the Island 

The Bolt was weaving through the Lekki traffic, Tonie half-listening to the driver’s playlist when he remembered the earlier exchange. In a moment of honesty, he texted Marta again:

“So... a lady booked me a ride to come visit her on the Island.”

He expected banter. Maybe mock jealousy. But Marta replied with scripture:

“You are a man and you need a woman.” “It is not good for a man to be alone...”

Genesis 2:18. As clear as prophecy, but wrapped in casual banter.

Tonie smiled, half surprised, half intrigued. Marta hadn’t condemned or commended. She'd contextualized. There was no judgment — just biblical framing.


Chapter Five: The Eve Question 

As the Bolt neared Ajah, he sent one more message:

“So are you saying you’re my Eve in Ajah?”

No reply.

And yet, it wasn’t silence. It was intentional. Marta’s kind of silence said things words could never wrap their arms around.

She wasn’t flustered. She wasn’t dodging. She was simply allowing him space to reflect.

That’s who Marta was — a lighthouse, not a lifeboat.


Chapter Six: Reflections in Transit 

Tonie looked out the Bolt window as the Island skyline melted into evening shadows. He wasn’t sure if the trip to Ajah was about the woman waiting for him, or the woman not texting back.

Maybe Marta’s scripture wasn’t about her or him, but just truth. Maybe she wanted him to remember that connection mattered — with anyone — and being alone too long made men forget they needed softness.


Chapter Seven: Home Again, Wiser 

The visit happened. It was cordial. Eventful. But not earth-shattering.

On his way back, he texted Marta:

“You’re right. It’s not good to be alone.”

She responded with just one emoji: 🕊️

Tonie smiled. That’s how Marta spoke. No noise. No performance. Just clarity.

And perhaps — in some quiet, deliberate way — love too.



Epilogue 

Some people are plot twists. Marta was poetry.

And the Bolt to Ajah? Not just a ride. A lesson.

“Try to loosen up there…” she’d said.

Turns out, loosening up let the truth in.




Written by Chidubem Egwudike

Friday, 25 December 2020

Christmas Love by Jimin of BTS - Mp3 Download


 Jimin of the Boy band BTS, surprises the ARMY with a new solo song titled Christmas Love, on christmas eve (Dec. 24), which he produced along side with Slow Rabbit and his band mate, RM.

Sunday, 29 November 2020

Music: Ob2ice Feat Oluwa3nity - Only Love


Tags

#HIP-HOP/RAP #POP RAP #EAST COAST RAP #MOTIVATION #FOCUS

Description:

Only Love is an inspirational rap song intended to get the younger generation to wake up to their call of being the FUTURE!

Corruption, hate, greed, jealousy, and other deadly vices have eaten so deep into the fabric of our society.

Saturday, 23 May 2020

Vincent Agbodike: Christ's Passion


In us You gave it all
By us we lost it all.
We rejected the blame
Putting Your efforts to shame.

In full force the gate of hell let loose
Pouring upon us her virtues in deuce;
Death, misery, hardship, sorrow, pain
Wickedness, hatred, vanity. Sin!

Thursday, 2 February 2017

Relationship Matters: Thinking about boyfriend and girlfriend relationship called "dating".


By Chisom Michael Ibada


Is it wise for the young youths and teenagers to be into
boyfriend and girlfriend relationship called "DATING" but
not yet to face the reality - "MARRIAGE"

I was with young youths and teenagers this evening in
the Mass service at St Williams Catholic Church and
after the Mass I was discussing with some of them as
they were carnally inclined, and one of them ask me "Do
you have a girlfriend?" and I said no that I do not, and
they were like surprise to hear that, stating that it is
very hard to see people like me singled minded that it
makes life too boring, I laugh haha.