When the world began to heal after COVID, I stepped out for street work for the first time, overjoyed to finally reunite with my brothers and sisters in person. Hugs were shared, laughter echoed, and spirits soared as we celebrated being together again after countless Zoom meetings. In the midst of it all, there he was—a man who approached while I was explaining to some older sisters how stressed I was because my baby girl had moved to Joburg for work. His eyes lingered on me, quietly noticing me in a way that felt different. Later, as we crossed the road together with the group, a sister from the other side stopped to greet us and, out of the blue, asked him, “Is this your wife?” Confused and caught off guard, I quickly blurted out, “No!” Days turned into weeks, and he kept coming to street work, looking for me, only to find I had started working in town instead. But fate wouldn’t let us drift apart. At a combined activity with his congregation, he made sure to find me, to greet me, to cross paths with me again and again. Until one day, courage met opportunity—he finally got my number. And from that moment, the rest became our love story.