Chapter 10: Walls Filled with Cracks
917 Words
The next few days passed in a quiet haze.
Bhola kept her routine, but something inside her had shifted. Not like a door swinging wide open, but like a c***k in the wall—barely visible, but undeniable.
Joshua had prayed in front of people for her. Fought for her. Protected her name, not with anger, but with truth.
And somehow, that did more damage to her walls than all the smooth talkers of her past ever could.
She hadn't messaged him since Sunday.
But he hadn't messaged her either.
And that, oddly enough, made her respect him more.
Wednesday afternoon. ~~~
The campus garden. Wind soft. Students scattered around reading and laughing. Bhola stood beneath a mango tree, watching petals drop like confetti.
Joshua walked by, Bible in one hand, a journal tucked under his arm.
He saw her.
She saw him.
Their eyes met, but neither smiled right away.
Joshua gave a small nod, respectful, and kept walking.
Bhola hesitated... then turned.
"Joshua!" she shouted.
He stopped and waited.
She approached slowly.
"I didn't say... thank you," she said awkwardly.
"You didn't have to," he replied gently.
"I wanted to."
Joshua studied her, his expression unreadable.
Then, after a pause, he said, "You okay?"
"I think so," she said. "I still feel... shaken. But also like something broke off me that needed to go."
He nodded slowly. "Sometimes deliverance doesn't look like shouting. Sometimes it looks like clarity."
She nodded, lips pressed together. "You prayed like you knew what I needed before I could say it."
"I didn't," he said. "But I fasted the day before."
Her brows rose.
"Something in me felt... unsettled," he explained. "So I told God I'd fast for 24 hours. Just water. Just worship. I didn't know it was for you until that moment."
Bhola swallowed, chest tight.
He fasted... for her?
That hit deeper than flowers, deeper than compliments.
That was covering.
And covering was rare.
A sudden gust of wind scattered yellow leaves across the sidewalk. A couple nearby laughed as they ran to catch their books.
Bhola stepped back, hugging her arms. "It's getting chilly."
Joshua took off his hoodie without hesitation and handed it to her.
"No," she said quickly. "I'm fine."
"Doesn't look like it," he said, still holding it out.
She hesitated, then took it slowly.
The fabric was warm, the scent like sandalwood and soap.
She slipped it on. It swallowed her. Comfortingly.
Joshua didn't say it, but he enjoyed the sight of seeing Bhola in his hoodie.
Joshua glanced at the open stone prayer bench nearby.
"Wanna sit?"
She nodded.
They walked silently.
After a few moments, Joshua whispered, "Can I pray with you?"
Bhola hesitated.
Then gave a small nod.
Joshua reached out his hand. Not forcefully.
Open. Waiting.
She looked at it.
Then—without overthinking it—she slid her hand into his.
It fit perfectly.
Warm.
Firm.
Safe.
He bowed his head. She followed.
His voice came low, steady:
"God... thank you for cracks in walls. For light that finds its way through. For mercy that meets us when we're too tired to run anymore."
"Thank you for Bhola. Not just her strength, but her softness. Her story. Her fight. Remind her she doesn't have to carry herself alone."
"I don't know what you're doing here, Lord. I won't rush it. But if this friendship has purpose... reveal it. Clearly.Amen."
Bhola's eyes stayed closed longer than his.
She didn't want to let go.
Not yet.
That night, she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, wearing Joshua's hoodie like a blanket of safety.
She could still feel the warmth of his hand.
Still hear his voice in prayer.
She hadn't known how much her heart longed for a love that was patient. Not performative. Not driven by hormones or hunger—but by heaven.
She didn't know if she loved Joshua.
But she did know this: the cracks in her walls were spreading, and she wasn't sure she wanted to seal them up again.
"God," she whispered, "what are you doing with us? Are we just passing through each other's lives? Or are you building something?"
Across Campus~~
Joshua sat alone in his dorm.
The room was dim. Bible open. A glass of water on the desk. He was two days into a three-day fast now—not because he needed answers right away.
But because his heart wouldn't sit still.
He didn't want to fall for the idea of Bhola.
He wanted clarity.
God's clarity.
He flipped to Isaiah 30:21.
"Your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, 'This is the way, walk in it,' whenever you turn to the right or to the left."
He closed his Bible, exhaled, and whispered, "I don't need fireworks. I just need direction."
Then he wrote in his journal:
"We held hands in prayer today. It felt weighty. Not romantic. Not yet. But... right. I've been asking God not to give me what I want—but what's wise. If she's the one... I want to know by the Spirit, not the butterflies."
Thursday came and went quietly.~~~
But Friday morning, Bhola caught herself doing something she hadn't done in years:
Smiling.
Without a reason.
Just... smiling.
When she opened her Bible, it fell to 1 John 4.
"There is no fear in love. But perfect love casts out fear."
She reread it.
Then whispered: "Lord, if you're writing something new here... help me not run from it."
- Writer
