The Hallelujah Challenge I Didn't Sign Up For

It was one of those afternoons that felt too sunny to be taken seriously. You know, the kind of day where your shadow looks taller than your dreams and the breeze is trying to flirt with your dress. I was just minding my business — emphasis on minding my business — when one tall, dark, and striking 6ft3 specimen of God’s architectural brilliance stopped me in my tracks.

“Excuse me, how tall are you?”

For a split second, my brain froze. That was not the usual opener, and honestly, I liked the audacity of it. So I tilted my head, smiled a little, and said, “Let’s know yours and subtract an estimated figure to guess mine.” Then, for curiosity’s sake, “Why do you ask?”

He looked at me, confident and smooth like coffee in motion, and said, “You look so good.”

Now, I tried to subdue a blush — tried. But before I could even process that, he hit me with, “You know Hallelujah Challenge?”

I nodded, already intrigued and lowkey amused.

He said, “I’ll like to take a photo of you so that by next Hallelujah Challenge, I’ll present it to God as my prototype of the woman I want.”

Listen. I felt my entire bloodstream turn into pink mist. There was no recovery plan. My brain packed up and left my body. Who says that kind of thing with a straight face?

I did the only sensible thing: started walking away before my knees betrayed me. The sun was still shining, but I promise the heat at that moment wasn’t from the weather.

Then behind me, I heard, “I’m Raphael.”

Without turning back, I replied, “I’m Grace.”

And in perfect cinematic timing, we both said, “Nice to meet you.”

Somewhere in the background, I’m sure angels were humming ‘What a beautiful name it is…’ because honestly, that moment was peak, holy-coded rizz.