Ambient restaurant, soft music. Two heart beats, meant to resonate.

The journalist stared at her round face. Her eyes danced with many stories. He wondered how long he had been staring, all he knew was that he had never felt that way before. Never.


As she looked up, to catch his gaze, he flushed. His thoughts ran amok. He tried to silence the butterflies in his tummy all to no avail. He would write a story about her, he mused.

“But she’s a nun, you can’t fall in love with a nun! Get over yourself and this crush,” his other self suggested.

He saw reason with the argument, he however knew he might never feel this way about any other person, ever, again.

——-

She wondered what he thought of her. If he found her attractive, if what she saw in his stare was indeed love, want. 

She would say more prayers for him, she couldn’t add another person to her list of “crushes”. She would pray for grace to keep her word, her bond.

Her stomach fluttered, her drink spilled.

—–
He stood up to help her, in that moment, that still second in time, their eyes locked.

“Sister, let me help you clean the spill,” said the waitress, Sisi Vero.

She heard her but wasn’t sure she could comprehend anything. Vero stylishly pushed the Sister aside while whistling “Ije love”.

Vero would nag in days to come about the tension between one Oga Editor and a reverend sister. She would tell everyone who cared to listen what transpired that evening. She would say she wishes the Nun wasn’t one.

The Sister would lose focus over the next few mass celebrations.

The Journalist would write endless versions of the same story on his column in Thisday newspaper.

Life after some seasons would return back to normal.

However, if you ever come across he article, remember, you read it first, here!
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