THE BATTLE FOR A SAINTESS | PART TEN
The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the tall glass windows of Excel’s private sitting room, casting long golden streaks across the polished marble floor.
The light slid gently across the edges of the polished furniture and the thick, patterned rug beneath their feet.
Beyond the compound walls, the distant hum of a generator drifted faintly through the warm air.
Above them, a ceiling fan rotated slowly, its steady whir stirring the cool air scented with faint jasmine rising from a delicate vase resting on the center table.
Orean remained still, yet the tension between them grew thick, like thunderclouds gathering before a storm.
Orean did not flinch. Instead, his tone lowered, steady as a river flowing beneath ice.
Orean (peaceful):
"I’m not looking at your outward body. I’m gazing at the spirit within you."
The calmness in his tone spread across the room like gentle light pushing against shadows.
Excel’s eyes narrowed again, but somewhere beneath her hardened exterior, something unsettled flickered.
Excel rose slowly from the sofa.
Her sandals tapped lightly against the marble floor as she took several measured steps across the room, stopping near the window where the fading sunlight framed her silhouette in gold.
The breeze brushed against her hair as she turned slightly, gaze narrowing with quiet challenge.
She drew a steady breath, voice sharpening with skeptical calm, each word edged as though testing the ground beneath him.
Excel (skeptical):
"So... you’re now God? Only God knows a man’s heart."
The sunlight illuminated the side of her face while shadows clung to the other. Her eyes narrowed again, studying him with a focus that sharpened the air between them.
She leaned in slightly, curiosity tightening into something more intentional. Her tone carried quiet insistence, careful but direct—like she was reaching for the truth beneath his silence.
Excel (probing):
"But tell me—what have you seen in me?"
The question floated through the air like a test. Orean slowly rose from his seat, the leather sofa sighing softly as his weight lifted.
Yet he kept a respectful distance, careful not to invade the invisible boundary between them.
His hands remained open at his sides as he drew a quiet breath, voice warm with sincerity and careful observation, as though he was naming something delicate he didn’t want to disturb.
Orean (sincere):
"I see compassion. I see a caring heart. I see someone who carries love."
The golden light shifted slightly as the sun lowered toward the horizon.
Excel’s expression held steady, yet deep within her eyes something flickered again—an emotion quickly buried beneath control.
Orean stepped slightly to the side so the sunlight no longer cast shadows across her face. His voice softening into a calm, reflective tone—gentle but certain.
Orean (softly):
"You have the fruit of the Holy Spirit. ‘love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, and temperance.’"
The sacred list settled into the room like a quiet declaration of heaven’s standard. The atmosphere changed subtly.
Even the soft hum of the air conditioner seemed distant for a moment as if the room itself listened.
Orean paused, his gaze resting on her as something gentler settled in his expression. A quiet breath passed through him, his voice softening with warmth, sincere and unguarded.
Orean (warmly):
"When I look at you, I don’t just see a president. I see someone who know these things. Someone who practices the fruit of the Holy Spirit."
The sincerity in his voice created a strange silence afterward. Excel’s posture remained composed, but her gaze drifted briefly toward the floor before returning to him.
Orean continued, the quiet authority of conviction guiding his tone.
Orean (calmly):
"The angel described a woman whose life bore righteous fruit. A woman who pulled people toward Christ, not away from Him."
His words seemed to press gently against the walls of resistance around her heart. The curtains rustled again as evening air entered the room.
Outside the compound, the fading daylight began stretching the shadows longer across the road.
Orean’s eyes remained steady. His voice softened with humility.
Orean (thoughtful):
"I never imagined that a president like you could truly love God. Even in my country, I’ve never seen our president face to face. But now here I am… speaking with one."
The admission carried no pride, only wonder. Excel watched him carefully, her expression unreadable.
In the unseen realm, forces of darkness stirred uneasily at the growing light of truth spoken within the room.
A faint smile touched Orean’s lips, quiet and unforced, as though something deeper than the moment had stirred it. His tone warm with quiet gratitude, steady and unshaken.
Orean (gratefully):
"This is nothing but the hand of God."
The moment lingered. The sunlight dimmed slightly as the afternoon edged toward evening.
For the briefest second, Excel’s composure trembled—so subtle it might have been missed by anyone less observant.
A flicker of inner conflict crossed her face. She turned away slightly toward the window.
She held a quiet breath, thoughts pressing inward, her voice forming only within—low, strained, and shadowed with the weight she carried.
Excel (troubled):
"If only this man knew the darkness I walk in... he would never stand here speaking such things."
The breeze pushed the curtain inward again, brushing against her arm. The air conditioner’s hum seemed louder now, filling the silence left by her thoughts.
Orean lifted his chin slightly. His voice broke the quiet again, careful and respectful.
Orean (hopeful):
"Please… can you help me locate the woman the angel spoke about?"
The request hung in the air between them. Excel remained near the window, looking outward briefly toward the compound walls beyond the glass. Her reply came measured and controlled.
Excel (composed):
"I will help... but... what’s her name?"
The question seemed simple, yet the air tightened as though the room sensed something approaching.
Orean released a quiet breath. His eyes held hers firmly now. His voice fell softly but clear, carrying a quiet certainty that left no room for doubt.
Orean (soft):
"Her name is… Excel."
The ticking of the wall clock suddenly became audible in the stillness. The atmosphere compressed like a tightening coil.
Outside, a distant horn echoed along the road beyond the compound gate as evening light deepened into amber.
Neither of them blinked.
Excel’s brows tightened. Slowly, she turned from the window. Her gaze locked firmly onto Orean’s eyes.
The golden light shifted across her face as she drew a breath, her voice breaking through the stillness of the room.
Excel (shocked):
“What did you just say?”
Orean stiffened slightly at her reaction, his shoulders relaxed slightly, though concern flickered across his face.
His hands remained loosely clasped before him, thumbs brushing together as if steadying himself. He drew a quiet breath, tone gentle but edged with concern, careful and respectful.
Orean (calmly):
“Please… I hope everything is alright?”
His gentle tone settled softly into the room like calm water poured over fire.
Excel studied him carefully, her sharp gaze scanning every line of his face while the quiet afternoon light shimmered across the marble floor.
Somewhere deep within unseen realms, a faint disturbance stirred—as though darkness had suddenly become aware of a holy presence standing inside the house.
Excel began walking slowly toward him, her footsteps quiet against the polished floor. She studied him closely, as though searching for something hidden beneath his calm demeanor.
The sunlight caught her face, revealing a faint flicker of uncertainty beneath her otherwise composed expression.
Her tone controlled and even, though a subtle tension threaded beneath it—like she was testing the ground before taking another step.
Excel (measured):
“Are you sure the name of the person you’re looking for is Excel?”
The question hung in the air like a blade suspended in silence. The breeze brushed the curtains behind her and stirred the jasmine scent across the room.
Orean’s eyes remained steady, his presence calm and unmoved while unseen spiritual currents shifted quietly around them.
Orean nodded without hesitation. His voice was firm and grounded, carrying quiet certainty without the need to press.
Orean (steady):
“Yes, please. Do you know her?”
Excel’s eyes narrowed slightly. Somewhere beyond human sight, shadows stirred uneasily, sensing something about this stranger they did not understand.
Excel tilted her head slightly as though amused by the moment. Her lips curved faintly into a subtle smile, yet her eyes remained cold and unreadable.
Her tone was light with curiosity, edged with something sharper beneath.
Excel (curiously):
“Can’t you see her?”
Orean blinked slowly, confusion flickering across his face. A small crease formed between his brows. His voice rose carefully into the quiet room.
Orean (carefully):
“Are you trying to say... you’re the one?”
The question carried cautious disbelief. Excel’s eyes shifted away from him immediately, and she released a slow breath. Her voice dropping into something colder.
Excel (coldly):
“I don’t know. Ask your God.”
The dismissive words slid through the room like frost. Orean remained still while the curtains rustled softly behind her.
Yet beyond the natural calm of the sitting room, unseen forces stirred restlessly—darkness whispering, light quietly pressing closer.
She stepped toward the hallway that led deeper into the house. The smooth fabric of her gown swayed gently behind her as she moved.
Just before she could pass through the space between them, Orean reached out and gently held her hand.
His grip was steady—not forceful, but firm enough to stop her. Her skin felt unnaturally warm beneath his touch. Orean’s tone entered the moment softly.
Orean (quietly):
“I’m sorry for stopping you. I am not worthy to touch you… but for God’s sake, please help me.”
Excel froze. For a brief second, something trembled behind her eyes. Deep within invisible realms, something ancient recoiled at the sincerity in his words.
Her heart pounded within her chest. Inside her, something unfamiliar stirred—something she could not name. A resistance.
Authority that usually flowed through her veins like unquestioned command felt strangely restrained around him.
And worse… she felt drawn toward him. If it were any other man, she would have ordered the guards to seize him immediately.
But this one—something resisted her authority. And something within her spirit leaned toward him instead of pushing him away.
Her eyes lingered on his hand holding hers. Orean watched her silence carefully, sensing the storm building behind her calm exterior. His voice rose again, gentle and patient.
Orean (gently):
“Why are you so quiet?”
The simple question seemed to strike deeper than expected. Excel suddenly pulled her hand away, stepping back quickly. The air shifted as though a fragile moment had shattered.
She folded her arms tightly across her chest, her chin lifting slightly. Her voice cut through the air, clipped and edged with warning, like restraint held just barely in place.
Excel (sharply):
“Hey! Don’t push your luck, or I’ll have you thrown out of my house.”
The sharpness of her warning echoed across the marble floor. Yet beneath the firmness of her words, something weaker lingered in her tone.
A brief silence followed.
Orean inclined his head slowly in quiet humility, shoulders easing as though he was gently stepping out of the moment rather than ending it.
He drew a steady breath, voice calm and respectful, softened by gratitude and restraint—like someone choosing peace over lingering.
Orean (calm):
“I am sorry. May the Lord reward you for your kindness. I’ll take my leave now. Stay peacefully.”
The gentleness of his farewell softened the atmosphere like quiet rain falling after tension.
He turned toward the main door, his sandals brushing softly against the polished marble floor.
Yet as he moved, something unseen trembled—darkness uneasy at the thought of him leaving the place too soon.
And the invisible battle between heaven and darkness silently continued inside the quiet room.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Written by Agbemawle Atsu Norvishi
© All Rights Reserved. Shared freely to bless and inspire.
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