"True love isn't about perfect people; it's about two imperfect hearts choosing grace over and over again."
From that day at the cyber café, Bright and Adamma's friendship grew like sunrise — gentle, certain, and radiant. They became each other's routine without even trying. When Bright skipped a lecture, Adamma would send a message that read, "You better not be avoiding knowledge, future CEO."
He'd reply, "CEO of your heart, maybe."
She'd roll her eyes but couldn't stop smiling.
---
Their first real "date" happened by accident. Bright had gone to the cafeteria to buy food when he saw Adamma arguing with the vendor about change.
"Madam said fifty naira," Adamma insisted.
The vendor crossed her arms. "Sister, rice don cost!"
Bright appeared beside her like a knight armed with humor. "Excuse me, do you give a discount for beautiful customers?"
The vendor smirked. "Only if beauty go pay NEPA bill."
Adamma burst out laughing, clutching her tray. Bright paid for both their meals, and they found a corner seat.
As they ate, they talked about everything — childhood dreams, favorite teachers, embarrassing campus stories. Bright told her about the time he mistakenly called his lecturer "mummy," and she laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink.
"I still can't believe you said that!" she gasped.
"I was praying she'd adopt me, not fail me," he replied.
Adamma shook her head, smiling. "You're impossible."
"And you're irresistible," he said without missing a beat.
She blushed and looked away, pretending to focus on her food.
---
After that, little "accidental" dates became their norm — evening strolls after class, buying roasted corn and coconut, studying together till night. They'd sit under the big mango tree, talking about life and the future.
One breezy evening, Bright brought her a small notebook tied with a ribbon.
"What's this?" Adamma asked, surprised.
"Your dreams journal," he said. "Write every big thing you want God to do. When they happen, we'll tick them off together."
She opened it, smiling wide. "You really believe we'll tick them off?"
He nodded. "We serve a big God, remember?"
Something in her heart melted. She whispered, "Bright, you make faith look easy."
He smiled. "Because you make hope feel possible."
---
Their friendship soon crossed into something deeper. There was a new awareness in their glances, a quiet longing in every goodbye.
One rainy evening, after fellowship, they stood under the eaves of the chapel, waiting for the downpour to stop. The rain hit the roof in heavy rhythms, the kind that made the world seem smaller, more intimate.
Bright looked at her — water droplets glistening on her hair, her eyes calm as always.
"Adamma," he said softly, "you know how people talk about peace? The kind that passes understanding?"
She nodded. "Yes."
"That's what I feel when I'm with you. Peace — the kind I didn't even know I was missing."
Her heart skipped. She didn't speak for a long time. Then she whispered, "I feel it too."
He smiled, a slow, tender smile that reached his eyes. "Then let's promise something — no matter what comes, we'll never stop choosing each other."
She looked up at him, eyes glistening, and nodded. "By God's grace, we won't."
The rain slowed to a drizzle, but neither of them moved. In that moment, their silence said more than a thousand love songs ever could.
---
Weeks later, Bright decided to make things official. He planned it carefully — not expensive, but thoughtful. He borrowed a friend's guitar and invited Adamma to the quiet garden behind the chapel.
When she arrived, confused, he smiled and said, "Welcome to my grand concert. Audience of one."
She laughed. "Bright, you can't even play guitar."
"Details, details," he said dramatically. "It's the thought that counts."
He strummed something vaguely resembling a chord, then stopped and sighed. "Okay, let's skip the music before I chase away the Holy Spirit."
Adamma laughed so hard she almost cried.
Then Bright grew serious. He stepped closer, his voice soft but steady.
"Adamma, I've prayed about this. You're not just someone I like — you're someone I'm grateful for. You make me want to be better, pray better, dream better. You're peace in human form."
Her eyes filled with tears. "Bright…"
He smiled gently. "I don't have all the riches in the world yet, but I promise you'll never lack love, laughter, or prayers if you walk this journey with me."
She took his hands in hers, tears slipping down her cheeks. "Bright, you already have the only riches that matter — faith and heart. I don't need more than that."
For a long time, they stood there in quiet joy — two souls finding home in each other.
---
Their love became the talk of campus — the couple who prayed together, laughed together, and still found time to tease each other endlessly.
During exams, Bright would text her: "Remember, the Holy Spirit knows your question number."
She'd reply: "Tell Him to reveal it before my pen runs out."
Their love was real, raw, and rooted in something higher than themselves.
> "And now abide faith, hope, and love, these three; but the greatest of these is love." — 1 Corinthians 13:13