ALTAR OF DRIFT | PART TEN
The ocean stretched endlessly before them, its vast surface breathing in long, patient rhythms. Waves folded gently onto white sand, dissolving into soft foam before retreating again.
Palm trees swayed under a clear, open sky, their leaves whispering as the wind passed through.
Elara stood barefoot near the shore, toes sinking slightly into the cool sand, the breeze lifting strands of her hair as Zionel approached from behind, holding two glasses that caught the sunlight.
The hush between them felt intentional, almost sacred, as the sea seemed to lean closer.
Zionel’s voice broke the stillness with ease, carrying a quiet gratitude shaped by calm reflection.
Zionel (lightly):
“I think this might be the most peaceful silence I’ve known.”
The water hissed softly at their feet as she accepted the glass, the faint clink of crystal marking the moment.
Elara’s smile lingered, but her eyes carried depth beyond it, as if listening to something unseen. Her voice was soft and content, yet full of quiet wonder.
Elara (content):
“And yet… my heart feels loud.”
Their laughter rose gently and fell just as quickly, absorbed by the open air.
They stood side by side, shoulders nearly touching, watching the sun dip lower, its gold melting into orange before surrendering to the horizon.
The sea reflected the fading light like a living altar, and the wind carried the day away.
That night, the rooftop was quiet, wrapped in the soft hush that comes only after the city finally exhales.
Below them, distant traffic murmured like a low river, headlights sliding along the roads in thin ribbons of white and red.
The sounds rose and fell in steady patterns, never intruding, only reminding them that life continued beyond the height they stood on.
The concrete floor of the luxury storey building still held a trace of warmth from the day, radiating gently through the soles of their feet.
A lazy night breeze drifted across the open space, lifting the edges of Elara’s hair as she stood near the railing, the city spread beneath her like a quiet offering.
The moon hung full and unashamed above the skyline, its pale authority spilling across rooftops, glass windows, and silent antennas.
Zionel leaned against the short concrete wall, one hand resting on its cool surface, his gaze fixed upward.
Though his shoulders were relaxed, his stillness carried weight, as if his thoughts were reaching far beyond the city lights and into something eternal.
Elara stepped closer, her slippers brushing softly against the concrete, the sound barely audible beneath the hum of the night.
She tilted her head back, moonlight pooling in her eyes, and a gentle smile formed as her fingers traced the railing, feeling the chill of the metal seep into her skin.
The quiet gathered around her words before they were spoken, her tone tender and unforced.
Elara (softly):
“Tonight… the moon looks so beautiful.”
Zionel turned toward her slowly, as though moving too quickly might break the moment.
Moonlight traced the line of his face, settling in his eyes as they rested on her. He straightened from the wall, his presence deliberate, unhurried.
For a heartbeat, he remained silent, the city holding its breath with him, his gaze moving across her face as if etching the moment into memory.
A breeze passed between them, carrying the faint scent of night air and distant flowers rising from somewhere far below.
His voice followed, low and sincere, cutting gently through the stillness.
Zionel (quietly):
“You look more beautiful than the moon.”
Elara’s breath caught, the air stalling in her chest as surprise flickered across her face. The city lights shimmered beneath them, and even the wind seemed to slow.
Her smile faltered, then returned softer, warmer, her eyes dropping briefly as her fingers tightened around the railing before she looked back at him.
Her voice came half-laughing, half-whispering, teasing yet sincere.
Elara (teasing):
“You always say things like that… as if you truly mean them.”
Zionel closed the small space between them, his movement calm, certain. He rested his forearms on the railing beside hers, turning fully toward her.
The concrete, the city, the moon—all became quiet witnesses as his voice slowed, each word weighted with intention.
Zionel (calmly):
“I don’t say them to sound good. I say them because they are true. The moon only reflects light… but you carry warmth.”
Elara swallowed, her chest rising gently as she drew in a breath. The distant sounds of the city faded into a soft blur, leaving only the whisper of wind and the shared rhythm of their breathing.
She studied his face, searching beneath his words, as if listening for confirmation beyond sound. Her tone turned thoughtful, quiet with vulnerability.
Elara (thoughtfully):
“Do you ever get afraid, Zionel? That moments like this… can change?”
The night seemed to pause as he lifted one hand from the railing. He hesitated, then let his fingers rest lightly against hers, the contact steady, grounding.
His reply came after a measured silence, shaped by faith rather than fear.
Zionel (firmly):
“I do. But I also believe that when God gives a moment, He gives grace to keep it. The Bible says, ‘The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?’”
Elara listened, her lips parting slightly as the Scripture settled into the space between them. Her shoulders eased, and she nodded once, slowly. The moonlight softened her expression, and the air felt cleaner, lighter.
Her words came soft and earnest, steady with desire.
Elara (softly):
“I want that… to walk in that light with you. Not just in words. In life.”
Zionel glanced briefly toward the moon again, its glow steady and watchful, then returned his gaze to her.
His fingers tightened gently around hers, a quiet seal on something unspoken yet understood.
His voice was low and steady, calm yet commanding quiet attention.
Zionel (steady):
“Then let’s ask him. Right here.”
Together, they turned toward the moon. Zionel bowed his head first, and Elara followed, their hands still joined.
The breeze moved through them, cool and reverent, as though the night itself leaned in to listen. The rooftop felt set apart, lifted above the noise of the world.
Zionel’s voice rose in prayer, steady and heartfelt, carrying reverence and devotion.
Zionel (praying):
“Lord, thank you for this moment. Thank you for light in the darkness, and for love that reflects you. Teach us to walk wisely, to see clearly, and to remain in your truth. Keep our hearts anchored in you. For in Jesus name we pray. Amen.”
Elara’s tone followed, softer but unwavering, carried gently into the open sky.
Elara (fervent):
“Guide us, Father. Let our steps please you. Let nothing pull us away from your will. We trust you. For in Jesus name we pray. Amen.”
Silence followed—peaceful, full, unmarred. The moon continued its watch above them, the city resting beneath its glow. The air felt lighter, as if something unseen had settled into place.
Zionel lifted his head first, a faint smile forming, calm etched into his features. Elara looked up too, her eyes shining, her spirit steadied.
They remained there a while longer, side by side, hands still linked.
The night wrapped them gently as the wind whispered across the rooftop, and the world below carried on, unaware of the quiet covenant formed under the moonlight.
Weeks passed.
The city welcomed them back into its familiar rhythm.
Church services continued. The sanctuary filled with voices and footsteps. Teachings flowed from the pulpit. Members multiplied. Laughter echoed through their home.
Meetings were held. Prayers were answered. Doors opened. Everything appeared aligned—steady, ordered, blessed.
One evening, after service, the sanctuary stood dim and hushed. The lights were lowered, casting long shadows across the floor.
Zionel stood alone at the altar, the polished surface cool beneath his hands. He clasped them slowly, exhaling as the last echoes of the service faded into silence.
His whisper rose into the still air, sincere and unguarded.
Zionel (whispering):
“Lord… thank you for order. Thank you for peace. Keep our hearts aligned with you.”
From the back of the sanctuary, Elara watched him. Her expression was unreadable, caught between reflection and restraint.
The soft hum of the air conditioning filled the room, steady and impersonal, brushing against the quiet like a distant tide.
They bowed their heads together, the space between them small but noticeable.
Their voices blended in prayer—low, sincere, reverent—lifting gently toward the ceiling and settling back into the room. The atmosphere felt calm, almost settled, as though everything had found its place.
As the lights dimmed further and the doors closed behind them, the sanctuary rested in silence. The air was still. The altar remained untouched.
And beneath the order, beneath the calm, beneath the answered prayers, the drift—subtle and unannounced—had already begun.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Written by Agbemawle Atsu Norvishi
© All Rights Reserved. Shared freely to bless and inspire.
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