The cab pulled up in front of the old hostel gate.
It was quieter than she remembered.
Same peeling walls.
Same loud roommates.
Same burnt rice smell lingering in the corridor.
But Angela felt different.
She wheeled her bag in.
The prayer flyers on the door.
The dusty mirror that once caught her weeping at 2 a.m.
Even the socket that nearly sparked a revival and a fire.
> "Home," she whispered.
---
Tamara screamed when she saw her.
> "ANGIEEEE!! Oh my days, campus was DRY without you!!"
They hugged so tight the bed squeaked.
Tamara pulled back, looking serious.
> "Please tell me you didn't let that Lekki fine pastor trap you into joining one of those 'you're my Esther' movements."
Angela laughed.
"No, babe. I left with the Holy Ghost — not a hotel robe."
---
Later that night, fellowship resumed.
No flyers. No podcast lights.
Just a keyboard, 14 plastic chairs, and people hungry for God.
Angela took the mic to pray.
Something broke in the room.
Not show. Not hype.
Just power.
When she finished, the room stayed silent.
And from the far back?
He clapped.
Slow. Quiet. Steady.
Angela turned.
Peter.
No hoodie. No hat. Just a man who had been… waiting.
---
After service, he walked up to her.
> "Didn't want to interrupt earlier.
But welcome back… You look full."
Angela tilted her head.
"Full?"
He nodded. "Not heavy. Just… complete."
She smiled.
Said nothing.
Because closure had already happened — and she wasn't going to reopen a sealed door.
---
But someone else had been watching.
A tall guy.
Level-headed. Calm.
His name was Malik.
Final year Law.
Sings in the worship team.
Doesn't talk much — but when he prays? Walls fall.
He approached Tamara that night.
> "Is Angela back-back? Or just visiting?"
Tamara smirked.
> "She's back. And before you say anything, don't come with 'God said she's my wife'—"
Malik raised both hands.
"God didn't say anything. But my spirit is at attention."
Tamara giggled.
> "Good. Because that's a woman who's been through fire. If you're not coming correct, don't come at all."
---
Meanwhile, Angela got back to her room, dropped her phone, and whispered:
>>> "Thank You, Father. For not letting me drown in applause."
She didn't know about Malik yet.
Didn't know Peter still prayed for her.
Didn't even care what people were saying online anymore.
She was back.
Not chasing revival but jst becoming it.