Happy Sunday!

Part 4 (Final): The Man Who Rated Every Sunset a 7/10

A year to the day since Nadia's first comment on his account, Desmond arrived at their usual bench with his notebook, exactly as always, though Nadia noticed he seemed considerably more nervous than his typical relaxed demeanor.

"You're fidgeting," she observed. "You never fidget. Even that time you accidentally gave a sunset a negative score, you remained perfectly composed."

"That was a rounding error, and deeply regrettable," Desmond said, though his attempted deflection lacked his usual confident delivery. "I have something to show you tonight. A special posting, if you will."

He opened his phone, showing her a draft post he'd clearly been preparing carefully a photo of tonight's sunset, still forming, alongside a caption unlike anything he'd ever posted before.

Final rating pending. Currently negotiating whether tonight deserves a perfect score, contingent entirely on someone's answer to a question I'm about to ask.

"Desmond" Nadia started, understanding dawning.

He knelt carefully in front of the bench, retrieving a small ring from his jacket pocket, sunset light catching warmly against the metal.

"A year ago, you commented on a photo, accusing me of harsh sunset criticism," he said, voice steadier now despite obvious emotion. "I've spent every evening since profoundly grateful you did. You turned a strange, therapeutic ritual into something genuinely meaningful, something I actually look forward to every single day, rather than simply enduring as scheduled self-care. Nadia, will you marry me?"

Tears spilled freely down Nadia's cheeks as she pulled him up into her arms. "Yes," she said immediately, laughing and crying simultaneously as the sunset blazed spectacularly behind them. "Completely, genuinely, yes."

Desmond slipped the ring onto her finger, then turned back toward the sunset, still visible behind them in its full, brilliant glory.

"Well," he said, glancing at his phone's draft post, "I believe this settles the pending rating question entirely."

He typed quickly, finalizing the caption before showing it to her: 10/10. Absolutely perfect. Considerable bias involved, given she said yes, but I maintain the score is entirely, objectively justified.

"Your followers are going to lose their minds," Nadia said, laughing as she read the caption.

"Let them," Desmond said, pulling her close. "I've been building toward this exact, perfect score for an entire year. I think it's earned."

They married the following spring, their wedding held, appropriately, during golden hour on the very pier where their unlikely relationship had first properly begun. Desmond's final wedding-day sunset post read simply: Rating system officially retired. Nothing will ever top this one.

As they danced together beneath the fading evening light, surrounded by friends, family, and much to their amusement several strangers who'd traveled specifically to witness the conclusion of "Sunset Couple's" year-long, deeply beloved internet romance, Nadia understood profoundly that sometimes the most absurd, seemingly pointless rituals could lead toward the most genuine, unexpected happiness imaginable.

THE END 🌅💍💛✨

Part 3: The Man Who Rated Every Sunset a 7/10

Six months into their relationship, Nadia had become such a fixture in Desmond's evening ritual that his followers had started noticing comments beneath his posts increasingly asking about "the woman in the background" who occasionally appeared at the edge of his photos, laughing at something clearly off-camera.

"You've become a minor celebrity," Nadia told him one evening, scrolling through his growing comment section. "People are shipping us. There's a hashtag."

"A hashtag," Desmond repeated, amused. "What's the hashtag?"

"#SunsetCouple. Deeply original."

"I'm slightly disappointed by the lack of creativity," Desmond said, "though I suppose I can't fault their enthusiasm."

Their relationship had deepened considerably beyond the initial charm of the sunset bit Desmond gradually opening up more about his grief, his father, the difficult year that had preceded their meeting; Nadia sharing her own struggles with a demanding job and the loneliness of moving to a new city without an established support system.

"I think," Desmond said one evening, watching an unusually spectacular sunset paint the sky in brilliant oranges and purples, "this one might actually break my scoring system entirely."

"High praise," Nadia said, smiling.

"Extremely high praise," Desmond confirmed. "Possibly a 9. I'd need to consult my notes to confirm I haven't already used that score."

"You keep notes on your previous scores?"

"Extensive records," Desmond said solemnly. "Someone has to maintain proper scoring integrity."

Nadia laughed, leaning against his shoulder as the sunset continued its spectacular display. "I love how seriously you take something so deliberately ridiculous."

"It stopped being purely ridiculous somewhere along the way," Desmond admitted, wrapping an arm around her. "Now it's mostly just... this. Evenings with you, watching something beautiful together, regardless of what score I eventually assign it."

"That's surprisingly sincere for someone who once docked a sunset two points for 'competitive clouds,'" Nadia observed, smiling up at him.

"I contain multitudes," Desmond said, grinning. "Deadpan comedy and genuine sincerity, in careful, balanced proportion."

to be continued... 🌅💛

Watch this video for better understanding of the price you must pay

https://youtu.be/C1cr7We1i6o?si=5QQSgGS1GqEgyaEx

Part 2: The Man Who Rated Every Sunset a 7/10

They watched the sunset together that evening, Desmond narrating his critique aloud with the same absurd seriousness he brought to his posts, Nadia laughing harder than she had in months at his increasingly elaborate justifications for docking points.

"The color gradient here is genuinely lazy," he said, gesturing at the horizon with theatrical disappointment. "Barely trying. I'm docking two full points."

"You're impossible to please," Nadia said, delighted. "This is objectively beautiful."

"Objectively beautiful and a solid 7 aren't mutually exclusive," Desmond said solemnly. "I maintain high standards precisely because I respect the craft."

"The craft of... the sky existing?"

"Someone has to hold it accountable," Desmond said, grinning despite his deadpan delivery. "It's gotten complacent, coasting on natural beauty alone."

Nadia found herself utterly charmed by his particular brand of humor, and their evening pier meetings quickly became a regular occurrence, Desmond's absurd sunset scoring continuing alongside genuinely warm, easy conversation that revealed considerably more depth beneath his comedic bit.

"Can I ask what actually started this?" she asked, several weeks into their new routine. "The sunset rating account, I mean. It seems like a strangely specific commitment."

Desmond's expression grew momentarily more serious. "My therapist, actually. Suggested finding a small, low-stakes daily ritual after a difficult year my father passed, work was overwhelming, general life chaos. Rating sunsets seemed appropriately absurd and pointless enough to actually stick with consistently."

"I'm sorry about your father," Nadia said gently.

"Thank you," Desmond said. "It's been almost two years now. The sunset thing started as something to anchor my evenings, honestly. Somewhere along the way it became genuinely enjoyable, rather than simply therapeutic obligation."

"I'm glad it worked," Nadia said sincerely. "Though I confess, I'm also glad it eventually led to me finding out you sit twenty feet from my apartment every single evening."

"Fate, clearly," Desmond said, smiling warmly. "Or considerably lucky urban planning that put our respective sunset-viewing spots so conveniently close together."

Their relationship deepened steadily over the following months, Nadia gradually joining Desmond's evening ritual as a genuine, cherished habit rather than simply an amusing bit, both of them finding real comfort and connection in the simple, consistent practice of watching the sky together.

to be continued... 🌅💫

The Man Who Rated Every Sunset a 7/10

Nadia noticed the account by accident, scrolling through a local photography hashtag someone who posted a photo of the sunset every single evening, without fail, always accompanied by the same dry, deadpan caption: a score out of ten, rarely above a 7, with a brief, oddly specific critique.

6/10. Adequate orange. Clouds unnecessarily competitive with the main event.

7/10. Solid effort from the sky today. Minor docking for a plane contrail ruining the composition.

4/10. Frankly, embarrassing. The sky should be ashamed.

She found herself checking the account daily, genuinely delighted by the commitment to the bit, until one evening she recognized the exact spot in a photo the pier near her apartment, the same bench she sat on most evenings herself.

I think we might be reviewing the same sunset from twenty feet apart, she commented, only half-expecting a response.

Alarming. Have you been secretly judging my scoring methodology this entire time? came the reply within minutes.

Only slightly. I think tonight's was at least an 8. You were harsh.

The cloud formation was derivative. I stand by the 6.

Derivative of what, exactly? It's a cloud.

Exactly the kind of question that suggests you don't take sunset criticism seriously enough. Perhaps we should discuss this in person, so I can properly educate you on the finer points of atmospheric grading.

Nadia laughed out loud on her own porch, genuinely charmed by the absurd confidence. Are you asking me to critique sunsets together, or is this an elaborate way of asking me out?

Can't it be both? I find multi-purpose invitations considerably more efficient.

Tomorrow evening, then. Same bench. Bring your rating system.

I never leave home without it.

The following evening, Nadia arrived at the pier to find a man already settled on the bench, notebook open, watching the horizon with theatrical seriousness.

"You must be the secretive sunset critic," she said, sitting down beside him.

"Desmond," he said, extending a hand without looking away from the sky. "And you must be the woman who thinks derivative cloud formations deserve extra credit."

"I stand by my generous scoring," Nadia said, grinning. "Someone has to balance out your excessive harshness."

to be continued... 🌅💛

Media personality Tomike has questioned the practice of parents taking their children’s nannies to restaurants and social events while they are dressed in their work uniforms.

In a video shared online, Tomike said she finds the practice humiliating and wondered why it appears to be more common in Nigeria than in other countries.

She said she prefers her nannies to dress neatly when accompanying her children outside, noting that she sees them as part of her family and a reflection of her household.

“I personally find it very humiliating. It’s giving, ‘I’m the nanny and I am the nanny,’” she said.

Tomike said she believes there should still be boundaries between employers and domestic staff, but argued that this should not prevent parents from treating their nannies with respect and dignity.

She also criticised people who believe nannies should always be reminded of their position, saying she would rather create an environment where those caring for her children feel valued and respected.

According to her, once someone takes responsibility for caring for her children, she considers them part of the family and treats them accordingly.

President Tinubu is currently on vacation in France.

Answers to certain prayers don't come swiftly sometimes; some are like money saved in the bank, God will answer them when he feels is the right time for you, because he knows the best.

Never relent in praying keep saving your prayers in heaven's bank of Christ, Jesus loves you! Happy weekend ❣️