I WANT TO MARRY A VIRGIN

*Part 1: The Promise* Derrick Nwankwo was not the kind of man who followed trends. At 32, he had built a quiet life in Abuja, working as a software consultant by day and mentoring teens in his church’s youth fellowship by weekend. His apartment was modest, neat, and always smelled like cinnamon tea. But there was one thing about Derrick that stirred both admiration and debate: he had made a vow in his early twenties — he would only marry a virgin. To many, it sounded archaic. Even judgmental. But to Derrick, it was sacred. It wasn’t about purity tests or outdated pride — it was about keeping a promise he had made to God after a painful heartbreak that almost wrecked him. He had loved before, deeply, and had been cheated on, lied to, humiliated. In the quiet night that followed the breakup, he had prayed, wept, and asked God for something rare: a woman who would choose him with the same kind of intentional love he was willing to give — not just emotionally, but in body and spirit. And now, years later, he was still waiting. His friends laughed at him, especially Kunle, his best friend since university. “Guy, you dey find virgin at 32? Be honest, you go marry spirit?” Derrick would only smile. “If she exists, God will bring her.” But even Derrick was beginning to wonder if he’d asked for too much… --- *Part 2: The Meeting* It was a Sunday afternoon when Derrick met her. Church had just ended at Living Grace Ministries. The sun was high, and the parking lot buzzed with chatter, laughter, and the low hum of car engines. Derrick had just finished speaking with a group of teenage boys about self-discipline when he noticed someone unfamiliar standing near the fellowship bulletin board. She wore a modest floral dress, simple flats, and had her natural hair in a neat bun. Her skin glowed in the sunlight, but it was her eyes — large, curious, and kind — that caught Derrick’s attention. She looked lost. He walked up, keeping his tone gentle. “Hi. You look like you’re searching for something.” She smiled, visibly relieved. “Yes, actually. I’m trying to find the youth volunteer coordinator. I’m new here.” “I’m Derrick. I help run the youth fellowship. You’ve come to the right place.” Her smile widened. “I’m Amaka. I just moved to Abuja from Enugu. I used to teach Sunday school there.” Their handshake lingered. For the first time in years, Derrick felt something shift — not lust, not infatuation — something deeper. A calm curiosity. Respect. Over the next few weeks, Amaka became part of the fellowship. She was graceful, always early, and never sought attention. The kids adored her. So did the other volunteers. But for Derrick, she became more than a colleague. She became a question. Could she be… the one? But Derrick wasn’t the only one asking questions. Amaka had noticed him too — his calm leadership, the way he listened more than he spoke, how he avoided flirting like most single men in church. She had seen his ringless finger and wondered why a man like him was still alone. One evening, after a long day of youth prep, they sat on the church steps watching the sunset. The air smelled of dust and rain. “Can I ask you something personal?” she said softly. He nodded. “Sure.” “Why aren’t you married?” Derrick exhaled. He could lie. Or laugh it off. But he didn’t. “Because I made a vow. To wait for a woman who has kept herself. Not just physically, but emotionally too.” She was silent for a long moment. Then she whispered, “What if she’s out there, waiting too… afraid to be judged?” He turned. Their eyes met. And for the first time, neither of them looked away. --- --- *Part 3: The Past and the Fear* In the days that followed, Derrick found himself praying more than usual. He asked God for clarity, for patience — and for courage. Amaka occupied his thoughts in quiet ways: the way she laughed with the children, the way she avoided shallow gossip, the way she always prayed before starting any task. He wasn’t falling fast. He was falling deep. One Friday evening after fellowship, they took a walk down a quiet street near the church. The air was cool, and the streetlights flickered gently. Amaka was unusually quiet. “What’s on your mind?” Derrick asked. She hesitated. “You’re different, Derrick. Most men I meet want to know if I can cook, if I’ll submit, or if I’m ‘wife material.’ But you… you see through me.” He smiled. “That’s because there’s something worth seeing.” She stopped walking. “I want to tell you something,” she said. “But I’m scared it might change everything.” He turned to her, heart tightening. “I’m listening.” Amaka looked down. “I’ve never been with anyone. Not emotionally. Not physically. I don’t say it to brag. In fact, it’s made my life harder. People think I’m rigid… or hiding something. But I chose this path for myself. And sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever find someone who understands why.” Derrick stared at her — stunned, humbled, speechless. It felt like a dream. “I made the same choice,” he said quietly. “And I’ve waited… hoping God would send someone who didn’t see that as strange, but as sacred.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “So… you don’t think it’s foolish?” “I think,” he said, gently taking her hand, “it’s the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever told me.” That night, they didn’t kiss. They didn’t rush. They just stood under the streetlight, holding hands like two people who had waited a long time to be understood — and finally were. --- *Part 4: The Pressure* Word got around, as it always does in church circles. Suddenly, everyone had something to say. “Derrick, you better be sure oh. These quiet ones ehn, na dem get secret pass.” “Amaka? That one looks too holy. She fit be pretending.” Some were subtle. Others weren’t. Even his best friend Kunle, though supportive, had doubts. “Guy, be real. You know how rare that kind of woman is in this city? Make sure you’re not just seeing what you want to see.” Derrick didn’t respond with anger. He just listened, then prayed harder. Amaka, on her part, was facing her own fire. Aunties asked when she would “stop forming sister Mary.” Her colleagues at work mocked her behind her back, calling her “Sister Holy Ghost.” One even tried to tempt her with a married man, claiming, “If you don’t taste, how will you know what you’re missing?” She cried some nights, not from regret, but from the weight of it all. Still, she held firm. Their relationship grew slowly — no kissing, no sleepovers, no late-night temptations. Just long talks, shared dreams, reading scripture, and learning how to love without rushing. But the real test came from within. One evening, after a long prayer walk, Derrick spoke honestly. “Sometimes, I’m afraid,” he said. “Of what?” Amaka asked. “That maybe we’re setting ourselves up for disappointment. What if the reality doesn’t live up to the purity we’re both holding on to? What if the waiting makes us expect perfection?”.