Authoress Favy

Title:The Boy Who Chased Butterflies, The Girl Who Caught My Heart❤️
POV: Amara
I was seven the first time I saw Chike properly. He was in the compound next to ours, chasing a yellow butterfly like his life depended on it. His knees were coated with red dust, one slipper missing, his laughter wild and careless.

I sat on the veranda, chewing sugarcane, pretending not to watch him. But when he tripped and rolled in the dust, I burst out laughing so hard the sugarcane nearly fell from my mouth.

He stopped, turned, and glared at me with the seriousness only children know.
“What’s funny, Amara? he barked, dusting himself off.

“You,” I teased, still laughing. “You look like a goat chasing after food.”

He frowned, but then a smile crept onto his lips. That was the day he stopped being just the boy next door.

POV: Chike
From that day, I made it my mission to make Amara laugh. I’d pull faces, climb trees I had no business climbing, and share the mangoes I stole from Mr. Okoro’s yard. She’d giggle until her dimples appeared, and every time, it felt like I had conquered the world.

We grew into friends, the kind who knew each other’s secrets. She knew where I hid when my father scolded me. I knew the songs she sang when she thought no one was listening.

And one afternoon, under the mango tree in the center of our compound, we carved A + C on the bark with a rusty nail. To anyone else, it was just childish mischief. But to me, it was a covenant.

POV: Amara
Life in the village had its rhythm—morning market sounds, evening drums from the square, mothers shouting children’s names into the dusk. But for me, life’s rhythm was Chike.

He walked me to school barefoot on the red soil road. He shared his roasted corn with me after long days. He carried my heavy books, even when his arms shook under their weight.

The women in the village teased us. “Chike and Amara, husband and wife!” they’d sing. I would blush, rolling my eyes, but deep down, it didn’t feel like a joke. It felt like truth waiting for its time.

POV: Chike
The day I almost lost her is burned in my memory. Her father got a new job in another town and told her family they might move away.

I hid under the mango tree that night, clutching the slingshot Amara had given me for my birthday. My chest ached like I was being torn in two. I prayed with words that stumbled out of me: “Please God, don’t let her go.”

When the move was canceled weeks later, I knew my prayer had been answered. That night, I whispered to myself, I won’t lose her. Not now, not ever.

POV: Amara
As we grew into teenagers, something unspoken grew with us. We no longer raced to the stream—we walked slower, side by side, letting our hands brush, then linger. He no longer called me “naughty Amara.” His voice softened when he spoke my name.

One evening, we sat by the stream, watching the orange sun sink behind the trees. The air smelled of wet earth, and silence wrapped around us. Chike reached for my hand and held it. No words were spoken, but in that moment, the whole world seemed to pause.

POV: Chike
That night, I gathered courage. I looked at her and whispered, “One day, Amara, I’ll marry you.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes like I was being silly. “You? You can’t even finish your garri without asking me for fish.”

But I wasn’t joking. My heart knew what my childish words could not fully express.

POV: Amara
But life is never as gentle as first love. We fought. We drifted. There were months when pride stood taller than affection. Yet somehow, we always found our way back—because the roots of our bond were planted too deep to be easily pulled out.

Years passed. I left for the city for school. He stayed back for a while, helping his father with farming. Letters came and went, but silence too often filled the gaps. Still, every time I returned home for the holidays, his presence was the first thing I searched for.

POV: Chike
Years later, when I walked into our compound and saw her again—Amara, now a woman—the world stopped. She was no longer the little girl with braids. She carried herself with grace, but her dimple was still there, lighting her face when she smiled.

In that instant, I knew my childhood promise wasn’t a dream. It was destiny.

So under the mango tree—the same one where we carved our initials years ago—I knelt, hands trembling.

“Amara,” I said, my voice breaking, “will you marry me?”

POV: Amara
Tears blurred my eyes. My heart beat like the drums in the village square during festivals. I saw not just the man before me, but the boy who chased butterflies, who carried my books, who prayed under this same tree so I wouldn’t leave.

Yes, Chike, I whispered, my voice trembling with laughter and tears. “Yes.”

And just like that, the boy who once chased butterflies had finally caught my heart.

the beginning of forever.

Title:The Story of Samson
A long time ago, God’s people, the Israelites, were in trouble because the Philistines were ruling over them. Then God sent a very special baby named Samson. Even before he was born, God chose him to be strong and to help His people.
As Samson grew, God gave him amazing strength. He killed a lion with his bare hands, and he even defeated a thousand soldiers using just the jawbone of a donkey! Everyone knew Samson was the strongest man alive.
But Samson made some mistakes. He fell in love with a woman named Delilah, who tricked him into telling the secret of his strength: his hair had never been cut. When his hair was shaved, Samson lost his strength, and the Philistines captured him, blinded him, and made him a prisoner.
While in prison, Samson prayed to God. His hair began to grow back, and one day the Philistines brought him to their temple to laugh at him. Samson prayed again, asking God for strength one last time. God answered, and Samson pushed down the pillars of the temple, defeating many Philistines.
Samson died that day, but he fulfilled the mission God gave him to begin saving Israel from their enemies.
Lesson: Samson was strong because of God, not himself. We too must always depend on God for our strength.

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In Emerging reports, Yul and May Edochie's first son is dead.

This is honestly painful.

Dear men and women, as much as possible and you can, please keep your marriage intact.

Satan will always wait for the time of disunity to strike the family.

Resist him by all means and fight for your home.

This kind appeal is for both Men and Women. No one is excluded.

May the soul of this young rising star rest in peace