Chapter 8: A Voice from the Past
1047 Words
Bhola didn't sleep much.
Even after the call with Joshua... even after the peace of the chapel... the past came crawling back in the night like it always did.
This time, with a name.
Elijah.
She stared at her phone screen again. His message still sat there, untouched.
"Hey stranger. Saw something that reminded me of you. Hope you're doing well. Would love to talk if you're open."
Open? What nerve.
What right did he have to ask for open?
He was the one who had slammed the door shut—with his wandering hands, guilt-laced apologies, and Sunday morning repentance that never quite made it to Monday.
And now, out of nowhere, this?
Janelle wasn't in the room. Perfect timing.
Bhola tapped her phone open and hovered over the keyboard.
Every wise instinct told her not to reply. But something deeper—more dangerous—itched inside her. A need to prove something.
That she was stronger now.
That she wasn't broken anymore.
She could look him in the face and feel nothing.
Before she could overthink it, her fingers moved:
"Hi, Elijah. I'm doing okay. What did you see that reminded you of me?"
Three dots appeared instantly.
Elijah replied:
"Saw someone with your laugh in a bookstore. Same shy smirk. Made me miss what we had."
Miss?
What we had?
They had no love. They had lies. Boundaries broken. Conviction manipulated. A warped version of Christianity where his pleasure was labelled God's will.
And yet, there it was again—that persuasive tone. So warm. So rehearsed. So dangerous.
Bhola sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the screen.
She could block him.
She could also answer just once more—make it clear she'd moved on.
A second reply typed itself:
"It wasn't real, Elijah. Whatever you're remembering—it wasn't healthy. We weren't good for each other."
Another three dots.
She waited.
Elijah responded:
"Maybe. But that doesn't mean we can't talk. People change. I have."
The devil could quote Scripture, too.
She then looked to the past,~~
Suddenly, she was twenty years old again.
Back in his car, parked outside a worship night, where he told her:
"If we're gonna be married one day, it's okay to go a little further now. God knows our hearts."
She remembered shaking. Saying no. Then yes. Then she cried after he dropped her off. And the next day, he texts:
"Don't beat yourself up. We're covered by grace."
She carried the guilt.
He carried none.
~~~~~~~~~~
Bhola tossed the phone on her desk like it was a grenade.
She didn't cry.
She wanted to cry—but something else rose instead.
Anger.
Righteous anger.
Not at Elijah. Not even at herself.
At the lie.
The lie that said love was supposed to wound first, then apologise later.
She fell to her knees beside her bed and prayed—not pretty, not polished. Just raw.
"God, why is he back now? I'm finally healing, finally breathing again—and he shows up like a ghost with flowers."
Silence.
Then she felt a whisper in her heart:
"Because healing must be tested to become real."
She sat back and wiped her eyes.
The next day, she saw him.
On campus.
At the chapel courtyard.
Of all places.
Elijah.
Dirty Blonde hair swaying with the light wind, in a button-up shirt and those same crooked dimples. The ones she used to think were sweet. Now they just looked manipulative.
He approached her like they were old friends.
"Bhola," he said, voice honeyed and familiar.
She didn't answer at first.
"I thought I'd swing by the university bookstore," he continued, "see if they had any of those devotionals we used to read together."
She folded her arms. "What are you doing here?"
"I just wanted to talk. In person. Get closure."
"Closure?" she repeated sharply. "That's convenient."
Elijah shifted, keeping his smile. "I know I hurt you. But I've been going through changes. Real ones. God's been dealing with me. I'm not who I was."
"Good," Bhola said coolly. "But I'm not either. And I don't need to revisit that chapter to know I never want to live in it again."
Elijah's jaw tightened. "I thought Christians believed in restoration."
She stepped closer, calm but fierce.
"Restoration isn't the same as reconciliation. I forgive you. But we don't need to walk together again."
A few students nearby paused, sensing tension. One of them was Joshua—though Bhola didn't see him yet.
Elijah lowered his voice. "You always had a way of punishing people when you didn't get your way."
Her eyes flashed. "Excuse me?"
Joshua appeared, stepping forward slowly.
"Hey," he said to Elijah, tone level but unmistakably protective. "You good here?"
Elijah turned, recognising him instantly.
Joshua didn't smile.
Elijah forced one. "We were just talking."
Joshua looked at Bhola. "Everything okay?"
She nodded, but her eyes betrayed her tension.
Elijah's smirk faded. "Well... I guess I'll let y'all get back to whatever this is."
Joshua didn't move until Elijah disappeared down the sidewalk.
Only then did he turn fully to Bhola.
She exhaled. Her hands were shaking.
"I wasn't expecting that," she said. "He just... showed up."
Joshua didn't ask questions. He didn't need the full story.
Instead, he gently said, "Come sit for a bit."
They sat on a bench behind the prayer garden, silence folding around them like a soft blanket.
Bhola finally whispered, "I thought I could handle it. I thought I was over it...."
Joshua looked at her gently. "Healing doesn't mean you never feel the sting. It means you finally know how to walk away."
She looked at him.
Joshua continued, "That's strength, Bhola. Not weakness..."
Her throat tightened.
"I'm sorry you saw that," she said.
"I'm not," he replied. "Because now I know how to pray better."
That shook her.
Not fight for me.
Not let me handle it.
Not tell me everything.
Just prayer.
Just presence.
End of chapter 8 ~~~
Joshua's Journal
"Her past showed up with a smile and old tricks. But she stood taller than I've ever seen. I won't be her hero. That's not my role. But I will be her shield in prayer. God, thank You that she didn't stand alone."
- Writer
