THE SOUND OF SHATTERED GRACE

“Even the strongest wall falls, not by one blow, but by a series of strikes.”

Iyonsi never thought love could move so quickly. The first days with Grace were like morning sunshine—warm, fresh, and full of promise.

She was the kind of girl whose replies came faster than his heartbeat, always popping up on his phone screen just seconds after he had pressed send. Two seconds, sometimes less, and her laughter-filled messages came dancing into his chatbot like a melody.

He would lie on his bed late at night, his phone glowing in the dark, smiling at her words. She had a way of typing that wasn’t just letters and emojis—it was rhythm. He felt as though she was inside his chest, drumming his heart with her presence. Every “hi😊” carried a joy deeper than paragraphs of poetry.

In those early months, he thought nothing could shake what they had. Not distance, not whispers, not even time itself.

But love, like glass, shines brightest before the crack appears.

The crack came slowly.

It started with Iyonsi’s restless heart. He had always been faithful in church, careful with his image, and determined to live as a Christian. But temptation doesn’t always arrive as a storm—it comes as a drizzle, soft and harmless, until the soil beneath begins to flood.

There was another girl. Not love, not even serious interest—just a fleeting admiration. She had smiled at him one afternoon, and he, without thinking, tapped the little green button: “like.” A simple click. A nothing-action. But in love, small things weigh heavily.

Iyonsi didn’t confess immediately. For weeks, he carried the weight of that mistake like a stone in his pocket. Every time Grace laughed at his jokes or leaned her head on his shoulder, guilt pricked him like thorns. And still, he was afraid.

What if she left? What if she thought he didn’t truly love her?

Yet the longer he kept it, the heavier it grew. Until one evening, trembling and broken, he told her the truth.

Grace’s eyes changed that day.

At first, silence. Then a sigh. Then distance.

“You should have told me earlier,” she said softly, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“I was scared,” he admitted. His chest felt like it was caving in.

“Scared of losing me?”

“Yes.”

She looked away. Her phone buzzed on the table, and for the first time in months, she didn’t silence it. She let it ring, loud and cruel between them.

“You didn’t protect me from pain,” she whispered, almost to herself. “You only delayed it.”

And that was when the messages began to slow.

From two seconds to two minutes.

From two minutes to two hours.

From two hours to whole evenings of silence.

Iyonsi noticed every gap, every delay. He stared at his phone like a man waiting for rain in the desert. The joy of instant replies was gone; now, each message felt like it traveled through miles of reluctance before reaching him.

But it wasn’t only the “like.”

Rumors started swirling, as they always do. A friend told a friend, who told another. Some stories were true, others twisted. Whispers that Iyonsi was entertaining someone else. Claims that he wasn’t serious about Grace. Accusations that he had crossed lines too far with her, even though they both knew intimacy had stayed within kisses, hugs, and that one unforgettable night when lips and hands had wandered close to dangerous territory.

Grace’s heart became heavy with doubts. Which part of the rumors were lies? Which were truths?

Iyonsi tried to explain, tried to clarify, but explanations are weak when trust begins to crumble.

He could feel her slipping, like sand through his fingers.

One evening, desperate, he cried to a friend. Tears streamed down his face as he admitted his fear of losing her forever. He didn’t know Grace had called that same night. For one moment, she had reached out, but he had missed the call. By the time he remembered, the door had already closed—she had blocked him again. It felt like drowning. Still, he couldn’t stop loving her.

Everywhere he went, he carried her memory. Her laughter haunted the quiet hours. Her absence echoed in his prayers. And the guilt—oh, the guilt—was a constant shadow.

He would check her WhatsApp status late at night, even when he told himself not to. He would stare at her last seen, wondering who else she might be talking to, wondering if another man now filled the space he once occupied. He muted her updates, but still returned to look. Obsession wore the mask of love, and he was caught in between.

Yet in his prayers, God whispered something unexpected. “Celebrate her on her birthday.” The thought came like a spark in his heart. A saxophone, a cake, a pair of shoes—symbols of joy, not sorrow. It didn’t matter if she took him back. It didn’t matter if rumors stained his name. What mattered was that love, true love, was not about grasping but about giving.

He resolved to honor her life, even if her heart no longer belonged to him.

And so, with trembling hands and unsteady faith, Iyonsi began to plan.

“The crack may be small, but water finds its way in.

At first, it was only whispers.

Two boys at the back of the fellowship hall, nudging each other and snickering whenever Iyonsi walked past. A girl at the market who looked at Grace with pity, shaking her head as if she knew a secret Grace did not.

It was small things—thin shadows creeping along the walls of their relationship. Rumors are strange creatures. They don’t need legs, yet they travel faster than feet. They don’t need proof, yet they wear the mask of truth.

They don’t need permission, yet they sit boldly in people’s mouths, feeding on every breath. Iyonsi began to notice the change not only in Grace but in everyone around them. One afternoon, as he scrolled through his phone, a message popped up from a friend: “Bro, I heard something. You need to clear this thing before it scatters.”

Iyonsi’s heart skipped. He typed back quickly: “What did you hear?” The reply came: “That you’ve been moving with another girl. That Grace isn’t your only one. And that you two… went far.” Iyonsi dropped his phone like it had burned his hand. “Went far.”

Those two words pierced him more than any insult could. He knew what the friend was implying: that he and Grace had crossed the final line, the one they had both prayed and promised not to. It wasn’t true—not fully.

Yes, they had kissed, touched, even lost themselves in moments of passion that ended with guilt and whispered prayers for forgiveness. But they hadn’t gone all the way.

Still, rumors don’t care about details. Rumors are like smoke: once it rises, everyone assumes there’s fire, even if it’s only ashes. Grace heard them too. She didn’t tell him at first. She just grew quieter, her eyes heavier.

Sometimes, when they were together, she would look at him with a searching gaze, as if trying to see through his skin into his soul. Finally, one evening, she asked. “Are people right about you?” Iyonsi froze.

“What… what do you mean?” “That you’ve been with someone else. That you don’t truly love me. That you just want… things.” Her voice trembled, but it was not weakness—it was fear trying to guard itself. Iyonsi shook his head violently.

“No. Grace, no. It’s not true. You are the one I love. You’re the only one. Yes, I made mistakes, yes, I failed in some areas, but not like that. Please, don’t believe them.” Grace looked away.

“But you did like someone else.” His lips went dry. The past mistake returned like a ghost. “Yes… but that was nothing.

A foolish thing. I told you the truth. Isn’t that proof I love you?” Her eyes glistened. “Or proof that you were scared you would be caught.” The words stung like whips.

He reached for her hand, but she pulled it back. After that night, things worsened. Every message he sent felt like knocking on a locked door.

Sometimes she replied hours later with short answers: “ok”, “I see”, “alright”. The warmth was gone. Iyonsi couldn’t eat properly.

At work, his colleagues joked that he was “in love sickness,” but they didn’t know it was more like “love dying.” He spent evenings staring at his phone, checking her last seen, wondering what she was doing, who she was chatting with.

Jealousy burned in him, even though he had no proof of anything. He muted her updates, yet found himself clicking back to watch them secretly.

Each picture she posted felt like a knife: a new hairstyle, a smile with friends, even a Bible verse. All reminded him she was living, breathing, moving further away from him.

One Sunday after service, as Iyonsi walked out of the church, he overheard two young men. “Isn’t that the guy? The one Grace was with?” “Yes. They say he messed up badly. Poor girl.”

He clenched his fists until his nails bit his palm. Anger boiled in him, but he kept walking. Confrontation wouldn’t kill the rumor; it would only feed it. Yet inside, he was breaking.

That night, he prayed long, lying face down on his bedroom floor. “Lord… please… you see my heart. You know I love her. You know I didn’t mean to destroy this. Why is it crumbling? Why do lies sound louder than truth?” His tears wet the floor.

He remembered the verses about David crying to God, and for the first time in years, he felt like David himself—a man crushed not by enemies with swords but by whispers sharper than spears.

Meanwhile, Grace sat on her bed, staring at her phone. Messages from friends buzzed in. Some told her to let him go. Some said she deserved better. Others warned her about his “reputation.”

She remembered his laughter, his saxophone, his prayers, his arms around her. She also remembered the sting of betrayal, the confession of “liking” another girl, the fear that he might not be trustworthy. Her heart was at war.

She typed a message: “I forgive you. I’m not angry. But it’s too late.” Then she stared at it for a long time before pressing send. Iyonsi read it in silence. His chest tightened.

Forgiveness without restoration was like sunlight he could see but not touch. It warmed nothing inside him. Still, he whispered to himself, “At least she forgave me… at least she’s not angry.”

But the emptiness in those words rang louder than hope. Rumors kept spreading, but now the real battle was inside them. For Grace, it was the battle to trust again.

For Iyonsi, it was the battle to let go of fear. And in the middle, God watched, silent yet near, waiting for their hearts to lean on Him more than on each other.

“When the wind carries fire, no one knows which tree will burn next.

“It is not the thunder that breaks the heart, but the silence that follows.”

The phone used to ring like a heartbeat between them.

Message. Reply. Message. Reply. A rhythm so fast and smooth that Iyonsi sometimes wondered if Grace even had a life beyond their chat. But now, silence ruled.

Iyonsi sat in his room, staring at the two grey ticks on WhatsApp. Not blue, not unseen, just there—two grey lines mocking him. Hours passed. He refreshed the app, locked the screen, unlocked it again, as if impatience could speed up a reply.

When at last her response came, it was a single word.

“Ok.” No emoji. No warmth. No rhythm.

It wasn’t the absence of messages that killed him most; it was the absence of her eagerness. Once, she had answered in two seconds. Now, she answered in two hours. The silence between those seconds became a graveyard where his hope was buried.

Grace, on her pa