A few years later, in my smooth-sailing nonchallant life, another prophecy came. Remember in the last installment of the author's notes, I'd declined in having faith because the possibilities of going for a surgery were nearly non-existent and there was nothing else that served as a tangible reason to believe that my legs were going to get healed.

Waiting and hoping for the day my legs were just going to get straight all of a sudden was too much of a torturous and vague hope for me.

I tried in several ways to come up with different scenarios and manners in which my legs were going to get healed. I thought that perhaps, I was the one who was being close-minded. So often times, I tried to remind myself that God can heal my legs in any way possible — ways that are even exceedingly above my imagination.

My healing may not even come in the form of a perfect straightening of my legs. I tried not to streamline my chain of thinking to just one scenario. Then I realized that this much anticipated healing could even be a permanent cessation of my leg pain.

I can just wake up one day and realize that I've not felt any pain in my legs in the past five years. This was another form of healing. The presence of the surgery scars wouldn't even matter anymore because the pain had long vanished. So I went on to hope for something like that.

But the pain didn't go away.

Occasionally, I felt some of the most excruciating leg aches that I never imagined I would feel. So what else was left for me to hope for? Which other realistic healing scenario could I come up with? How else was I supposed to give room for the feeling of hope and expectancy? I didn't know anymore.

So I went back to status quo — floating in nothingness. I was unbothered.

Until one afternoon.

My friend called me on the phone and asked me to come outside of the school's hostel. I kept asking her 'why' but she wouldn't tell me why. I was reluctant to step outside of my room especially because I'd had a stressful day but I buttoned my shirt and stepped outside of my hostel to meet with my friend at the venue where she asked me to meet her.

When I got there, I saw that she was with a guy. And this guy was someone I used to talk to. But for some reason known only to me, I decided to keep him out of my circle. My reason was sort of silly though but that's not the main point.

So when I saw the two of them, I gave my friend a puzzled look and my non-verbal message was clear: "bro, what's going on here? Did you call me to come outside to meet a man?"

The funny thing was, I had a hunch that that was the reason she'd called me to come outside because before I left for my hostel to rest earlier in the morning, I saw her with the same guy sitting outside and the examination hall and talking but I walked away and acted like I didn't see the two of them talking.

Anyways, my friend judged me to calm down and not panic. She told me to take a seat. I did. The guy looked at me. I looked back at him or at least I tried to. The air between us was super awkward. I could feel it so deeply that I knew this particular air had gone past its airy form. It had morphed into a solid element.

Then he told me that he knew we were not on good terms and he knew that I was avoiding him. So he asked me several times to tell him what he'd done wrong. The truth was, he'd done me no wrong. My reason for cutting him off was more of a personal and weird reason so what was I supposed to say to him?

All I could do was lie. I told him nothing was wrong with us. Eventually, we buried the hatchet without him knowing what caused me to drift from him.

Then we went on to the matter of the day — the real reason why my friend has called me on the phone to step outside of the hostel. And to be honest, the reason shocked me to the core. After that day, I saw that guy in a different light.

Apparently, the reason why my friend had been outside with him for hours was because he'd been speaking words of prophesy to her — as though he were some fortune teller or a shaman. For hours, he'd been telling her things about her life and that of her family's that no one else — not even me knew about. The guy could see beyond the ordinary and he had the gift of prophesy.

Thus, in summary, I was called outside to equally receive my dose of prophecy — to be told things that only I knew about myself. After we settled the rift between us, the guy started his conversation with me by asking me a question:

"What is the problem, Oju? What are you so afraid of? Why have you become so sad? This has been going on for a while now... since SS2. What's the problem?"

The question did many things to me but mostly, it threw me aback and shocked me to the core. Not only because it was so true and accurate but also because it opened my eyes to something that I hadn't realized about myself. I knew for the longest time, I have never been genuinely happy but I didn't know when it all started neither did I know what led to such sadnesslk and here was a random dude telling me in precise details that my sadness started at a certain period in my life.

It pushed me to think very deeply and recollect events from years ago. This was how I was able to decipher that the sadness was coming from all the insecurities and disappointment I felt concerning my legs. My mind flashed back to the times when I became conscious of my walking, how I'd endlessly observe myself in the mirror and try to change my manner of walking and the heightened insecurity that came from the several dashed hopes.

So I answered his question although I don't remember what I said precisely. In fact, my answer was a jumble of incoherent words because I hadn't completely figured it out in that moment. But I said something that had to do with my legs being the cause of my sadness.

Then he proceeded to ask me if I had faith. I expressed my frustration and in the process of doing so, I started to cry. The shedding of tears wasn't much of a surprise to me. I was still bleeding. The wounds accrued from the disappointments and crushed hopes were still fresh. Floating in nothingness and nonchalance for years didn't mean that I'd healed or gotten over the disappointments.

In that moment as I wept, I knew I wasn't in that floating state anymore. The nonchalance was merely masking how I'd truly felt and it wasn't a mask that I'd consciously or willingly worn. It was more of an adaptation and a resignation from delving into endless feelings of hope — hopes which get crushed pretty quickly.

Anyway, that afternoon, it was clear that I was still hurting. My friend clasped my knee in a consoling manner as I cried. After saying all I could say in response to the question of the prophesying guy before me, he went on to give me the same thing everyone else gave me — the tantalizing yet torturous feeling of expectation called hope. He told me this:

"Before we go home on holiday, your legs will be healed. Call your dad to tell him of this good news and tell him with so much as though it has already happened."

That was the height of all the hope-inducing words I'd ever heard in my life. The time frame was too specific. It felt too real and too imminent. In the past, I'd heard something similar. Someone had told me that my legs would heal while I was still a student in my university.

That prophesy also had a time frame included in it but it wasn't as specific as the time frame given in this particular prophesy. In my head, my thought was, 'so you mean to tell me that in the next two weeks, my legs will be straight? They'll be healed? My feet will stop curving inwardly every time I walk?' (This happened during examination period so the end of the semester was quite near).

It was really crazy to me and I wondered how that was going to happen so soon when it was just a few days left to the end of the semester. There were a lot of feelings and emotions inflicted on me from the word I'd received. Doubt was one of them but the curiosity of wanting to know if it was really going to happen and how it would feel like if it really happened made me expectant.

So I chose to believe him.

When I left for my hostel later on, I called my dad on the phone like the guy had told me to. I was scared. I wondered what was going to happen if I gave my dad this call and raised his hopes only for nothing to happen afterward. Would that make me an idiot? I didn't like the thought of it.

I recalled all the guy had said about my dad and how he thinks about me all the time. He'd even talked about how my parents have spent so much money on my legs and everything related to it that if such money were to be accumulated together, it could purchase some very luxurious material things. The guy was right. And this was exactly why I didn't want to raise my father's hopes up for nothing.

Eventually, I called my dad. I decided to do as a way of taking a leap of faith.

When he picked the call, I tried my best to visualize the healed version of myself so I sounded as joyful as possible.

"Dad! I have good news for you! Guess what?!" I said, jumping all around the corridor like an hyperactive kid. Whereas deep down, I was very scared of letting my dad who'd made so many sacrifices for me go through this cruel emotion called hope and then feel this sentiment for nothing. He didn't deserve that as a parent.

"What's that dear?" My dad asked, trying to match my level of enthusiasm. Then I went on to declare my future miracle. "Before I come home for the holidays, my legs will be straight!"

"Amen! So shall it be! Glory to God!" My father said with affirmation. "Who told you that?"

"Someone prophesied it to me. I've been told subsequently by people that my legs will be healed."

"That's good to hear. Thank God for that."

My dad was happy and then he went on to give me some word of advice. He told me to be strong in faith and I should believe in God and always pray about my legs. We had a heart-to-heart conversation and it was something beautiful.

After the call, I felt great and overflowing with hope. I kept hoping and hoping for that day to come.

The days rolled by and by and so did my chain of thoughts fluctuate. At times, my serotonin would be on a high. Other times, I didn't even think of the prophecy and I just lived on. I didn't want to box God or do the thinking on God's behalf. I wanted him to perform his miracle in whatever manner he deemed fit. Perhaps it was my excessive thinking and being unable to completely rest in God that had been depriving me of my miracle.

Sometimes, I'd remember the prophecy and simply feel hopeful. I didn't want to stress myself too much. I just wanted to believe it without adding the burden of my own weighty thoughts.

I finished my examinations and the semester came to an end. When I got home on the evening of the vacation day and was offloading my luggage from the Uber vehicle, I remembered the prophecy and realized that the semester was already over. I was now back at my father's house and my manner of walking was still the same as before. I still got occasional leg pains months after. Everything was still the way it was.

Nothing changed.