The Hookup
That Changed Everything
A story about two souls, a night of chemistry, and the clarity that followed.
Actions & Intentions
🌒 The Quiet Drift
The first thing Tola noticed wasn’t the silence. It was how comfortable it had become.
She used to wake up on Sundays with a hum in her spirit - worship music playing, messages downloading, her notes open to last week’s sermon. Now, the only sound was her kettle whistling.
She told herself she was taking a break. “Rest,” she called it. “Reset.” But deep down, she knew what it really was - retreat.
Her prayers had shortened too. They used to run like rivers. Now they came in fragments.
“God… please make this ache mean something.”
When she saw Daniel’s posts online — smiling at events, holding Amaka’s hand, serving in church — she felt something sour crawl up her throat. Not quite jealousy. Not quite grief. Just the ache of being forgotten by someone who still lived in her prayers.
So she deleted her church group chat. Muted the devotion reminders. And told herself that maybe God understood why she needed space.
“Return to Me, for I have redeemed you.” — Isaiah 44:22 (NIV)
✝️ Daniel’s Polished Faith
Daniel had perfected the look of spiritual stability.
Ironed shirts. Warm smiles. Perfect attendance. He could pray in public with the kind of eloquence that made people nod with admiration.
But Amaka saw the cracks.
Sometimes, after serving, he’d sit quietly in his car — engine off, playlist humming low. She’d ask what was wrong, and he’d say,
“Nothing. Just tired.”
But it wasn’t fatigue; it was dissonance.
Because every time he held Amaka too long, kissed her too deeply, he felt a voice whispering, “You know this isn’t peace.”
And afterward, when he’d whisper, “God, forgive me,” he wasn’t sure if he was apologizing to Heaven or to the mirror.
Amaka once said, “I feel like we love God differently.”
He laughed it off. “Maybe that’s good — balance.”
But she didn’t laugh. “No, Daniel. Balance isn’t always truth.”
Still, on Sundays, he was everyone’s Daniel — steady, dependable, godly.
And when he lifted his hands in worship, even Heaven must have wondered if he still believed what he was saying.
“People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” — 1 Samuel 16:7 (NIV)
đź’” Mirrors and Substitutes
Tola’s therapist had told her to “write her way through it.”
So she did.
Every night, she wrote - not about Daniel, exactly, but about the hollow space where he used to fit.
She wrote about Amaka’s bright confidence, her own shrinking self-worth, and the way loneliness can trick you into confusing attention for affection.
Then Femi came along.
He was easy to talk to. Thoughtful. Gentle in ways Daniel never was.
He brought coffee to her office. Sent memes at midnight. Knew when to stop asking questions.
With him, Tola laughed again — the kind of laughter that hides exhaustion.
One Friday night, after a movie, he brushed her hair from her face and said,
“You don’t have to pretend you’re over him.”
She smiled, soft and unsteady. “I’m not pretending.”
He didn’t believe her. Neither did she.
That night, lines blurred. Not because she wanted to rebel, but because she wanted to feel whole again.
And for a few minutes, she did. Until she didn’t.
When she woke up the next morning, the silence felt heavier.
Her body, colder. Her spirit, dull.
She tried to pray, but guilt makes poor company for sincerity.
“Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.” — Psalm 51:10 (ESV)
“I will heal their waywardness and love them freely, for My anger has turned away from them.” — Hosea 14:4 (NIV)Â
🕊️ The Man Who Leads in Guilt
Daniel was tired of guilt, so he disguised it as service.
When the worship leader texted, “Bro, can you lead prayer tomorrow?” — he didn’t hesitate.
“Yes,” he replied.
Because leading sounded nobler than confessing.
That Saturday night, he wrote Amaka a love note:
“You’ve brought calm into my chaos.”
But as he folded the paper, he knew — calm wasn’t connection. Peace wasn’t purity.
Amaka had noticed too.
“You always seem far away,” she said, stirring her drink. “Even when you’re right next to me.”
He reached for her hand. “I’m just… trying to get it right.”
“Right for who?” she asked softly.
That night, Daniel stood before the congregation, mic in hand. His voice didn’t tremble.
“Father, thank You for Your mercy.”
And hundreds echoed, Amen.
But in his heart, he whispered, “Why do I feel so far from You?”
Later that night, his journal page carried a single line beside Romans 7:19:
Romans 7:19: “For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing.”
He underlined it twice, then wrote below it:
“Lord, I’m trying to be the man they think I am.”
He closed the book and exhaled, the air thick with shame and performance.
“Having a form of godliness but denying its power.” — 2 Timothy 3:5 (NIV)
🌧️ The Unraveling
Tola woke before dawn, heart racing. Her hands trembled as she checked her phone — missed calls from Femi, unread messages from Daniel.
Daniel’s text blinked up at her again:
“You crossed my mind during worship today. Hope you’re okay.”
She almost laughed. Worship. The irony stung.
She told herself she needed space.
Space to think.
Space to breathe.
But what she really wanted was numbness.
She found herself scrolling through Daniel’s stories again — his smile radiant, Amaka’s laughter golden beside him.
They looked happy. Too happy.
Her body felt strange — heavier, unsettled. She thought it was stress, maybe fatigue. But when she checked her calendar, her breath caught.
She counted days once. Then twice.
Silence.
Then a whisper, barely audible:
“God, no. Not now.”
She sat on the floor, arms around her knees, rocking softly — not crying yet, just trying to breathe.
The phone buzzed again. Daniel’s name glowed.
Tola stared at it, frozen between answering and disappearing.
She pressed the power button until the light died.
Outside, the morning sun crawled over her blinds — too gentle for what was breaking inside her.
And for the first time in months, she wanted to pray again. Not because she felt holy. But because she didn’t know what else to do.
“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” -Psalm 34:18 (ESV)
🔥 Reflection
Healing rarely looks neat.
Sometimes, it’s relapse wrapped in repentance.
Sometimes, it’s silence - the kind that sounds like abandonment but is really reconstruction.
Tola’s loneliness and Daniel’s performance were born of the same emptiness - trying to earn what was meant to be received.
Grace doesn’t ask for perfection. It asks for honesty.
And sometimes, the holiest thing you can do is stop pretending you’re fine.
“Where sin increased, grace increased all the more.” -Romans 5:20 (NIV)
Ask yourself:
- Am I healing, or hiding?
- Have I mistaken distance for safety?
- Do I serve because I love God - or because I’m afraid He’s disappointed?
Even in the chaos, even in the fall, grace is never absent - it’s just waiting for your surrender.
We all carry fragments of Daniel and Tola — the one who hides behind service, and the one who runs when grace feels too holy to face.
Both are searching for peace in substitutes: validation, affection, distraction. But peace is not found in performance or distance. It’s found in surrender.God doesn’t withdraw when we fall short; He waits — patient, gentle, steady.
Even when we stop showing up, His presence never clocks out.Let this be the week you pause before the spiral — to breathe, to pray, and to let grace reach where guilt has built its walls.
“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.
And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” — Philippians 4:5–7 (NIV)
Next: Episode 4
Clarity in the Storm
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Am I healing or hiding? This question is still ringing in my head
“Have I mistaken distance for safety?” Read it twice and it seems as though I was asking myself that same question