I will use this guy called ademola to gist you people

There is this guy I've been talking to, right? Before anybody asks, yes, we're in the talking stage. You know how these things work. You meet someone, you start talking, and before you know it, you're discussing things you probably wouldn't tell someone you met yesterday.

And we were becoming close and close and more closer

Anyway, I cannot even lie to you people. I like this guy.

And when I say I like him, I mean I actually LIKE him.

I genuinely enjoy talking to him. We talk about random things, laugh over nonsense, share stories, and somehow, even the most ordinary conversations become interesting when it's him.

At some point, I started getting used to his presence.

You know that thing where something happens during your day, and the first person you want to tell is that one person? Yeah, that was happening to me.

If something funny happened, I wanted to tell him. If I had a bad day, talking to him somehow became part of what I looked forward to.

So naturally, I started thinking about what we were becoming..

I mean, we were getting along. I liked him, and from the way things were going, I thought the feeling was mutual.

Or so I thought.

Now, tell me why this man decided to give me the plot twist of my life.

One day, we're talking, and he tells me his ex has come back.

Like his ex

The woman he told me he will never get back to.

And then he went on saying gibberish like,he likes being loyal to one woman

So I should just stand here and clap because you've suddenly remembered that you believe in loyalty?

Why are you now texting me Mr loyalty??

I was genuinely pained.

Because, in my head, I'm wondering what exactly we've been doing all this time.

All those conversations. All those little moments. All the times I thought we were getting closer to something real.

And now you're telling me your ex is back, and you want to be loyal to one woman?

So what was I doing here;

But honestly, it hurts.

And I think what hurt the most was that I had already started imagining a possibility with him.

I had started looking forward to seeing where things would go. I had allowed myself to like him without constantly reminding myself that we were still in talking stage

And now, I had to remind myself of exactly that.

We weren't together.

But I still couldn't help feeling disappointed.

Because how do you go from being someone I was excited about to someone I now have to convince myself to stop liking?

How do I explain to myself that the same conversations that made me happy can now remind me of something I never got to have?

I'm not even angry that he wants to be with his ex. Na him sabi and People are allowed to make their choices. But I'm not pained oo

But ade,ade,ade hmmm

I'm not pained oo I swear

But beware of people bearing Ademola oo,they will later leave you for their ex

Be warned!

So, dear subbies, if you see me online ,posting nonsense.

I'm fine.

P.S. If God no wan punish you, tell us your ex is coming back in your talking stage. Some of us are here with genuine intentions,and innocent hearts 😒

Thank you for reading😔

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but abeg, stop embarrassing yourself.

And before you start looking around, I’m not talking to anybody in particular.

If you feel attacked, that one is between you and your conscience.

Because honestly, some of you are doing too much.

You will enter somewhere and immediately start doing things that make everybody uncomfortable.

Nobody even called your name.

But you have already started.

Please, rest.

I was somewhere recently and I watched someone forcing a conversation that had clearly died since.

The person would say something.

The other person: “Hmm.”

Silence.

Then this person would bring another topic.

“Ah, so how is your sister?”

“She's fine.”

Silence again.

But no.

They continued.

Please allow it to rest in peace.

Sometimes just sit down.

Look at your phone.

Look at the wall.

Count the ceiling fan.

Anything.

Just leave the person alone.

And some of you don't know how to take a hint.

Someone will literally be giving you one-word replies.

“Okay.”

“Yeah.”

“Lol.”

“Hmm.”

And you're there typing paragraphs.

“My dear, I feel like something is wrong. You don't seem like yourself. Did I offend you? If I did, please tell me…”

Omo.

They just don't want to talk to you.

Please breathe.

And before somebody says, “But what if they are going through something?”

That's different.

I'm talking about when the person has consistently shown you that they don't want the conversation.

Read the room, abeg.

Then there are people who love forcing friendships.

You just met someone and already:

“That's my bestie.”

Bestie where?

You people don't even know eachother full names.

You saw each other twice and you're already posting birthday appreciation like you knew each other since ages.

“Since day one, you've always been there for me…”

Which day one?

Yesterday?

Please calm down.

And let's not forget the ones who want everybody to notice that they are not bothered.

These ones kill me.

They will post:

“I'm actually at peace with everything.”

Then another post:

“People should stop testing me.”

Then:

“Some people think I don't see what they're doing.”

Then

“Anyway, God knows my heart.”

My dear.

If you're at peace, why are we getting hourly update..

You're not at peace.

You're online fighting for your life.

And please, stop posting indirect messages.

If you have something to say, say it.

Don't post

“Some people need to grow up.”

Then spend the next six hours checking who viewed it.

You know who you're talking about.

Just call their name and save us the stress.

Another thing that gets me is people who will enter a place and start forming what they are not.

You don't have to pretend you don't know something just because you want to look sophisticated.

You don't like garri?

Fine.

You don't like it.

But don't start saying, “I don't really do local food.”

Shut up!!!

Nobody is judging you.

And don't even get me started on people who cannot admit when they're wrong.

You can literally show them evidence.

They will look at it.

Look at you.

And still say:

But

No but.

You are wrong.

Say “I'm sorry” and let's all forget about it

Life will continue.

Actually, I think some people just enjoy suffering unnecessarily.

They know someone doesn't like them.

They know the friendship is one-sided.

They know the relationship is stressing them.

They know the person doesn't respect them.

But they will stay there.

Then every night:

“God, why me?”

My dear, you saw the red flag.

You even waved at it.

Please.

Sometimes you have to remove yourself from the situation.

Sometimes you just stop replying.

You stop forcing.

You stop explaining.

You stop trying to prove that you're worth keeping around.

And you move.

Because honestly, there are some things that are not worth the embarrassment.

Don't beg someone to choose you.

Don't force yourself into someone's life.

Don't chase conversations.

Don't compete for attention.

And abeg, don't embarrass yourself trying to impress people who are not even thinking about you.

Most people are busy thinking about themselves.

You're the one at home replaying the interaction 20 times.

They probably think I'm weird.

They have forgotten you already.

Go and sleep.

If you saw yourself somewhere in this article, please don't be angry.

I'm not saying you're a bad person.

I'm just saying...

do better.

Thank you for reading 🥹💕

My parents are both teachers, which means I have spent my entire life being taught in one way or another. But when I think about it now, the things they taught me went far beyond schoolwork, assignments, examinations, and all those things teachers usually worry about.

They taught me life.

My dad is the cool one.

He is the kind of father I can sit down with and discuss almost anything. We talk a lot. I can gist with him, tell him something that happened, ask him questions, share my thoughts, and somehow the conversation just keeps going.

He listens.

He explains things.

He has taught me that communication matters. That sometimes, people don't need you to immediately fix everything; sometimes, they just need someone who will listen.

And then there is my mother.

GODDDD.

My mother is one ferocious lion.

She does not take nonsense. Not even small nonsense.

My mother does not have “calm down” in her vocabulary. If she is angry, she is angry. If she has made up her mind, nothing you would ever say that she will listens. If she says something, you better have a very convincing reason before you attempt to argue.

But underneath all that fire is one of the strongest women I know.

She taught me discipline.

She taught me to have standards.

She taught me not to allow people to treat me anyhow.

She taught me that being kind does not mean being weak and that loving people does not mean accepting every kind of behaviour from them.

My parents are very different people.

My dad taught me how to communicate.

My mum taught me how to stand my ground.

My dad is the person I can talk to for hours.

My mum is the person who will remind me that, whatever happens, I need to have sense.

And somewhere between the two of them, I became me.

They didn't just teach me lessons from books. They taught me through their lives, their mistakes, their sacrifices, their discipline, their patience, their arguments, their laughter, and even those moments when I thought, “These people will not let me breathe.”

Now that I'm older, I understand that some of the things I complained about were actually lessons.

The correction I didn't like.

The advice I ignored.

The rules I thought were unnecessary.

The conversations I didn't understand at the time.

The constant reminders to do better.

They were all shaping me.

And that is the beautiful thing about teachers.

You may forget some of the things they taught you, but you don't always forget how they shaped you.

My parents have taught hundreds of students, but their first student was me.

Two teachers.

Two completely different personalities.

Two different ways of loving.

But one beautiful result

me.

So today, I don't just want to wish my parents a Happy Teachers' Day because they are teachers by profession.

I want to celebrate them because they have been my teachers long before I understood what teaching really meant.

Thank you for teaching me.

Thank you for correcting me.

Thank you for listening to me.

Thank you for believing in me.

Thank you for giving me both softness and strength.

And most importantly, thank you for raising me with love, even when that love came disguised as “Come here, I will not beat you..

Happy Teachers' Day to my first teachers.

My dad

My mum

I am who I am today because both of you taught me in your own beautiful, chaotic, unforgettable ways.

I love you both. ❤️🥹

Chapter Four — The Misunderstanding

The next morning started normally.

At least, I thought it would.

I woke up late.

My alarm had been ringing for almost fifteen minutes before I finally opened my eyes.

I stared at my phone.

7:42 a.m.

I sat up immediately.

Fatimah: “Oh my God.”

I jumped out of bed.

Today was the day our African Poetry group was supposed to submit the first draft of our presentation.

And I was not ready.

Not even close.

I grabbed my hijab, pulled my bag from the chair, and started searching for my notebook.

Nothing.

I checked under my pillow.

Nothing.

Under my bed.

Nothing.

Inside my bag.

Still nothing.

Then my phone buzzed.

Mariam: “WHERE ARE YOU?”

Another message.

Mariam: “Fatimah!”

Another.

Mariam: “If you are sleeping, I will personally come and drag you out.”

I quickly typed.

Fatimah: “I'm coming.”

Mariam: “we have been waiting for you..”

I frowned.

Then another message entered the group chat.

Arafat: “Everybody should please remember the African Poetry meeting immediately after linguistics.”

Azeenat: “Please. Some of us have lives.”

Michael: “My life is currently suffering because of this assignment.”

Alameen: “even you,your section is the simplest.”

Michael: “just rest!.”

Then I saw Daniel's message.

Daniel: “Fatimah is probably still sleeping.”

I stared at the screen.

Fatimah: “I'm not.”

His reply came almost immediately.

Daniel: “Good morning to you too.”

I rolled my eyes.

Fatimah: “Good morning.”

Daniel: “You slept well?”

Fatimah: “Yes.”

I immediately stopped myself.

No.

I was not going to encourage him.

I locked my phone and enter the bathroom.

8:19 A.M.

The lecture hall was already almost full.

One hundred and fifty students.

Students pretending they had completed their assignments.

Mariam spotted me from the middle row.

Mariam: “Finally!”

I dropped into the seat beside her.

Fatimah: “hey.”

Mariam: “You know you we have been waiting for you right?.”

Fatimah: “well I slept late,I couldn't sleep because of our draft right?”

She looked at me.

Mariam: All of us actually slept late”

I ignored her.

Arafat leaned forward from the row behind us.

Arafat: “Fatimah, did you bring the African Poetry draft?”

Fatimah: No,I sent it to daniel and I guess he would have printed it out.”

Arafat stared at me.

Arafat: “ooh I forgot.”

Fatimah: “yeah.”

Mariam slowly turned toward me.

A voice came from behind us.

Daniel: “I printed it and submitted it already.”

I turned.

Daniel was standing there with his backpack.

Fatimah: “You've submitted it already?”

He lifted a notebook.

Daniel: “yep,I came to school early ”

Fatimah: “You did?” wow I didn't expect this from you”

Daniel: “Yes and I'm always the cool guy”

He stand beside her

Fatimah: “hmph”

Arafat looked at all of us.

Arafat: “Mrs. Okafor said we need to submit the complete presentation draft today.”

David: “well I already did”

Fatimah: “I didn't even know we were supposed to submit it today.”

Mariam: “That's because nobody reads announcements.”

Fatimah: “I read announcements.”

Arafat immediately looked at me.

Arafat: “You didn't read this one.”

Before I could reply, Dr. Idowu entered.

Everyone became quiet

LINGUISTICS

The lecture started.

I opened my notebook..

For almost forty minutes, everything was peaceful.

Then Dr idowu began taking attendance.

He called names one after another.

Dr. Bello: “Aisha babalola.”

A girl near the window raised her hand.

Aisha: “Present, sir.”

Dr. Idowu: “Alameen Yusuf.”

Alameen: “Present.”

Dr idow: “Arafat Ibrahim.”

Arafat: “Present, sir.”

He continued.

Soon, he reached my name.

Dr idowu: “Fatimah Bello.”

I raised my hand.

Fatimah: “Present.”

Dr idowu:chuku adaeze

Adaeze: present sir

Dr idowu: Margret Okafor

Margret: present sir.

Then the lecturer continued.

Everything felt normal.

Until my phone vibrated.

I ignored it.

It vibrated again.

And again.

I finally checked.

The African Poetry group chat had exploded.

Ruqoyah: “Guys, what's going on?”

Yusuf: “Who changed the document?”

Azeenat: “What document?”

David: “The presentation draft,Mrs Okafor just sent message to the group that group seven submitted the wrong document and also submitted two different versions.

I frowned.

Then another message appeared.

Samuel: “The version submitted isn't the one we agreed on.”

My heart sank.

He frowned.

Daniel: “What?”

Fatimah: "This is not possible.”

David: she also said everybody is presenting tomorrow!!!

Another message appeared.

Arafat: “Someone submitted a completely different draft.”

Mariam: “Who submitted it?”

Then Peace replied.

Peace: “Daniel did.”

Daniel immediately responded.

Daniel: “I submitted what Fatimah gave to me.”

Michael added:

Michael: “But Fatimah and Daniel were handling the final copy.”

My stomach dropped.

AFTER LINGUISTICS

The moment Dr. idowu dismissed us, our group gathered outside.

There were almost twenty of us.

Arafat.

Mariam.

Azeenat.

Ruqoyah.

Zara.

Hafsat.

Khadijah.

Amira.

Naomi.

Esther.

Peace.

Deborah.

Favour.

Aisha.

And the boys—

Daniel.

Alameen.

Christian.

David.

Samuel.

Michael.

Ibrahim.

Yusuf.

Nathan.

Kelvin.

Tobi.

The corridor suddenly felt too small.

Arafat: “Can somebody explain what happened?”

Nobody answered.

Michael: “The two versions of documents submitted to the department isn't ours.”

Azeenat: “How?”

Daniel: But I submitted one document!

Tobi:How is this possible?

David: “I don't know.”

Yusuf: “Who had the final copy?”

Everyone looked at Daniel.

Then at me.

Daniel crossed his arms.

Daniel: “i printed out what she sent to me ”

I looked at him.

Fatimah: “huh?”

Daniel: “Yes.”

Fatimah: “But I sent you the final corrections.”

He looked confused.

Daniel: “You didn't.”

I stared at him.

Fatimah: “I did.”

Daniel: “No, you didn't.”

Fatimah: “Daniel, I sent it yesterday.”

Daniel: “You sent me the first version.”

My face changed.

Fatimah: “What?”

He pulled out his phone.

Daniel: “This is what I received.”

He showed me the message.

My eyes widened.

That wasn't the final version.

It was an old copy we first did

Fatimah: “That's not what I sent you.”

Daniel: “It came from your number.”

Fatimah: “I know what I sent.”

Daniel: “Then explain it.”

Naomi stepped forward.

Naomi: “I don't think we need this right now. We need to figure out how to do this.”

Daniel looked at her.

Daniel: “Well, we should ask the person who is involved in this.”

I stared at him.

Fatimah: “You're accusing me.”

Daniel: “I'm not accusing you.”

Fatimah: “You literally are.”

Christian stepped between us.

Christian: “Guys, calm down.”

Mariam: “Everybody should calm down.”

But nobody was calm.

Michael: “This is the worst group assignment I've ever experienced.”

Arafat immediately turned toward him.

Arafat: “Shut up! You did nothing.”

Alameen: “Enough, guys. We have the presentation tomorrow. Is this what we want to be doing? Let's find a way to fix this.”

Christian looked around.

Christian: “What do we do?”

Aisha spoke up.

Aisha: “We have to start the draft again.”

Esther checked the time on her phone.

Esther: “There's no time. It's already 2:30, and we have the presentation at 8 tomorrow morning.”

Naomi thought for a moment.

Naomi: “Wait. Let's all go home and revise what we need to say. Esther, Arafat, Azeenat and I will recheck the draft again. I guess it got mixed up somewhere.”

Yusuf nodded.

Yusuf: “I'll follow. We have no time to draft another one. We're going to see if the files got mixed up.”

Aisha: “Fine.”

Samuel looked around at everyone.

Samuel: “Nobody should fight. This is our mark.”

Peace suddenly checked her phone.

Her eyes widened.

Peace: “Guys! We've been summoned. Check the class group!”

Everyone pulled out their phones.

Hafsat: “Oh my God! Mrs. Okafor is calling us. I'm scared. I don't want to fail this course!”

Some of them immediately started panicking.

Arafat: “Calm down, guys. Maybe she just wants to ask us a question. Let's go.”

They all hurried toward Mrs. Okafor's office.

THE DEPARTMENT OFFICE

Mrs. Okafor sat behind her desk.

The submitted document was on her table.

Everyone stood around the office.

Mrs. Okafor: “I am disappointed.”

Nobody spoke.

Mrs. Okafor: “You were given a simple assignment.”

Silence.

Mrs. Okafor: “Instead, I received two different versions.”

She looked at the group.

Mrs. Okafor: “Who was responsible for the final submission?”

Arafat looked at Daniel.

Daniel looked at me.

I looked down.

Mrs. Okafor: “Daniel?”

Daniel: “I had the final document, ma.”

Mrs. Okafor: “And who worked on it with you?”

He paused.

Daniel: “Fatimah.”

The room became quiet.

Mrs. Okafor looked at me.

Mrs. Okafor: “Fatimah?”

Fatimah: “Yes, ma.”

Mrs. Okafor: “Did you send him the final corrections?”

I opened my mouth.

Then stopped.

Fatimah: “I... I believe I did.”

Daniel looked at me.

Daniel: “You believe?”

I turned toward him.

Fatimah: “What do you want me to say?”

Daniel: “The truth.”

Fatimah: “I am telling the truth!”

His voice rose.

Daniel: “Then why don't you have the message?”

I froze.

Everyone looked at me.

I checked my phone.

The message wasn't there.

The final document wasn't there either.

My face went pale.

Fatimah: “I sent it.”

Daniel: “Then where is it?”

Fatimah: “I don't know.”

Daniel shook his head.

Daniel: “Exactly, I'm tired of explaining myself for something I didn't do.”

Fatimah: “And I'm tired of being treated like I'm lying!”

Mrs. Okafor raised her voice.

Mrs. Okafor: “Enough!”

The room fell silent.

She looked at both of us.

Mrs. Okafor: “Until this is resolved, neither of you will represent this group alone.”

She picked up the paper.

Mrs. Okafor: “And the day of the presentation has been has been moved tomorrow morning

Arafat: "yes ma ?”

Mrs. Okafor: well how you do it is none of my business and you guys are going to be the second group to present tomorrow!

Everyone: ma

Arafat stepped forward.

Arafat: “But ma, we were supposed to present after group 6 ma .”

Mrs. Okafor: “Yes. But you submitted two versions, which you were not supposed to do. That is your punishment.be prepared if not it will affect your scores.

She looked at all of us.

Mrs. Okafor: “If you cannot solve your personal disagreement, solve it for the sake of your grade.”

OUTSIDE THE OFFICE

The moment we left, everyone started talking.

Michael: “We're finished.”

Alameen: “yes we are”

Amirah: After everything we have done.

Nathan:what can we do guys?

Aisha raised her hands.

Aisha: “Can everybody stop panicking?”

Alameen:This is our fucking grade we are talking about man!

Samuel: “How are we supposed to present tomorrow when we don't even know which version is correct?”

Azeenat: “We need to find the original file.”

Ruqoyah: “And figure out who changed it.”

Hafsat looked frustrated.

Hafsat: “How do we do it? I hate the fact that this is happening to me. I don't like being among you guys.”

Naomi looked at her.

Naomi: “Ooh, calm down. If you don't want to be part of this group, you can leave.”

Michael nodded.

Michael: “Exactly. Leave.”

Hafsat immediately turned toward him.

Hafsat: “Shut up, Michael.”

Michael scoffed.

Michael: “You do not tell me to shut up. You shut up.”

Hafsat's eyes widened.

Hafsat: “You guys heard him right. I'm going to have your tongue thrown to my father's dogs, idiot.”

Michael laughed bitterly.

Michael: “All this rich man's pikin attitude. Fuck off.”

Azeenat stepped forward.

Azeenat: “Michael, can you just apologize?”

Samuel suddenly shouted.

Samuel: “Enough!”

Everyone became quiet.

Samuel: “We do not have time for this nonsense you guys are doing! We have to figure out a way to handle this.”

Naomi sighed.

Naomi: “How do we do this?”

Samuel threw his hands up.

Samuel: “We would have been on it if you guys could just keep quiet and come together as one. Argh!”

Azeenat checked the time.

Azeenat: “It's 3 o'clock. We have just a few hours.”

The presentation was tomorrow.

Nobody knew what was happening.

Arafat stood at the front.

Arafat: “We need to stop arguing and work.”

Michael shook his head.

Michael: “Well, everyone is stressed because two people couldn't get their work together.”

Alameen immediately turned toward him.

Alameen: “What is your problem, Michael?”

Peace sighed.

Peace: “He has a lot of problems.”

Deborah:if only you can do the half of what they did,you won't open that dirty mouth of yours to talk!!

Michael looked at her.

Michael: “Excuse me?”

Deborah ignored him.

Fatimah suddenly remembered something.

Fatimah: “I think I saved some of the presentation draft on my laptop. I'll go home and check it out.”

Daniel looked at her.

Daniel: “You think or you know?”

Fatimah's eyes narrowed.

Fatimah: “I know.”

Daniel scoffed.

Daniel: “You knew and you let us fight over something like this?”

Fatimah's expression hardened.

Fatimah: “I didn't know until now.”

Mariam stepped forward.

Mariam: “Hey! You can't talk to her like that. She gave you the draft and you submitted the two versions, so why are you trying to talk down to her?”

Daniel immediately looked at Mariam.

Daniel: “I submitted what she sent to me.”

Mariam: “And she said she sent you the final version.”

Daniel: “Exactly. But I didn't receive it.”

Fatimah rolled her eyes.

Fatimah: “Can you both stop?”

Peace stepped between them.

Peace: “Please, please, guys. It's okay. She said she has the draft. She should send it to the group so we can read it and prepare for tomorrow.”

Fatimah nodded.

Fatimah: “I will send it on the group. I'm sorry, guys.”

Yusuf spoke up.

Yusuf: “Once we finish this presentation, we'll find out who switched or submitted two versions of our presentation.”

Naomi nodded.

Naomi: “I agree.”

Mariam looked around.

Mariam: “Since this has been decided, let's not waste any more time. We need to go home and revise.”

Zara: “True.”

They all slowly began leaving.

THAT NIGHT

Fatimah got home and couldn't sleep.

She opened her laptop and searched through every folder.

Finally, she found something.

Half of the draft.

Not everything.

But something.

She immediately sent it to the group.

Fatimah: “I found half of it. It's not complete, but I think it will help.”

Messages started coming in.

Arafat: “Yes! This is better than nothing.”

Yusuf: “We can work with this.”

Aisha: “Let's divide the sections again.”

Azeenat: “I'll take the second part.”

Esther: “I'll handle the conclusion.”

Alameen: “I'll work on the introduction.”

Fatimah stayed awake all night reading.

So did Daniel.

And the other group members.

Nobody had enough sleep.

Nobody had enough time.

They had to put their fight aside temporarily and come together for the presentation.

THE NEXT MORNING

The department was already buzzing before the first lecture.

Mariam found me near the staircase.

Mariam: “Don't tell me you didn't sleep.”

Fatimah: “I didn't.”

Mariam looked worried.

Mariam: “Your face is swollen.”

Fatimah: “I'm fine.”

They both entered the class.

Group 1 is already presenting.

Mariam looked toward the front.

Mariam: “They're in Group one. They'll soon call us.”

Fatimah sighed.

Fatimah: “I'm so tired.”

Mariam: “Where are the others? We need to settle down.”

Arafat waved at them from across the room.

Arafat: “Fatimah! Over here!”

Mariam looked around.

Then she noticed Daniel.

Mariam: “Ooh, wow. Daniel came early today.”

Fatimah immediately looked away.

Fatimah: “I don't care.”

Fatimah and Mariam sat down.

Daniel was sitting a few seats away.

Arafat: fatimah your face

Fatima: I'm fine

Daniel didn't even look at her

Micheal:you look like a ghost ,he laughed

Mariam:shut up big head

Group 1 are now through with their presentation

Mrs. Okafor stood at the front.

She looked at the list.

Mrs. Okafor: “Group Seven, next.”

Arafat looked at everyone.

Arafat: “Ready?”

Everyone nodded..

Fatima,hands were cold.

She was nervous

They stepped forward.

The presentation began.

For the first few minutes, everything went perfectly.

Fatimah handled the introduction.

Fatimah: “African poetry is not simply about words arranged beautifully. It often carries history, identity, culture, and the experiences of people.”

The class listened.

Then Arafat continued.

Then Yusuf.

Then Daniel.

Then Aisha.

Then Deborah,peace takeover

Zara and Naomi continued

Favour and Samuel

Yussuf, Nathan also discussed about it

Tobi and amirah

Ruqoyah and hafsat

The presentation finally ended.

The room applauded.

Mrs. Okafor smiled a little

Mrs. Okafor: "you guys try much better.”

Everyone breathed out.

Michael whispered.

Michael: “We survived.”

Alameen laughed.

Alameen: “Barely.”

For a few seconds, everyone laughed.

The pressure of the presentation seemed to disappear.

Daniel walked past fatimah without saying a word.

Mariam noticed.

Mariam: what happen to him?

Fatimah looked away.

Fatimah: “I do not care!!!

TO BE CONTINUED…

Chapter Three ,(GROUP PRESENTATION)

The lecture hall was already overflowing by 8:00am.

One hundred and fifty students.

voices filling the room

Someone was arguing about a missing charger.

Someone else was calling their coursemate.

A group at the back was laughing so loudly that people in the front kept turning around.

The students had a course this morning

It was Pragmatics.

And Dr. Bello was not the type of lecturer who came to class, dictated notes and left.

He expected students to think.

No students also enter his class once he is inside

That is his own rules

The lecture hall was unusually quiet.

Not because everyone was enjoying the class.

Because everyone was trying not to fail 3 unit course

Everyone came early,even Daniel had to came early as well.

Dr. Bello entered:good morning class

Students:Good morning sir

He then stood in front of the board, writing examples while students hurriedly copied them into their notebooks.

Dr. Bello: Today topic is MEANING!

Meaning does not always come from the words alone. Context matters.”

He turned toward the class.

Dr. Bello: “If someone walks into this room and says, ‘It is very hot here,’ what exactly have they said?”

Dr. Bello: “And what might they actually mean?”

A student raised his hand.

Student: “That the room is hot, sir.”

Dr. Bello nodded.

Dr. Bello: “Literally, yes. But pragmatically?”

Silence.

He looked around the room.

Dr. Bello: “Anyone?”

Fatimah slowly raised her hand.

Fatimah: “They could be indirectly asking someone to open the window or switch on the fan, sir.”

Dr. Bello nodded.

Dr. Bello: “Good.another answer

More students raised their hands and answer.

Dr. Bello picked up another sheet.

Dr. Bello: “Since you understand that, let's test it.”

The class became still.

He projected a short passage on the screen.

It looked simple.

That was the trap.

Dr. Bello: “Read it carefully.”

Students leaned forward.

He gave them a few minutes.

Then:

Dr. Bello: “I want you to identify the implied meanings in the passage. Don't give me the literal meaning. I already know the literal meaning.”

Pens started moving.

Fatimah read the passage again.

Then again.

The question was not straightforward.

She wrote something.

Crossed it out.

Started again.

Around her, students were doing the same.

Someone whispered:

Modupe: “What is this?”

Another student quietly replied:

Bolanle: “I don't know.”

Dr. Bello walked between the rows.

Dr. Bello: “Don't discuss,once caught,you will be sent out!!

The room went quiet again.

Five minutes passed.

Then ten.

Dr. Bello returned to the front.

Dr. Bello: “Who is done?”

Almost nobody raised a hand.

He looked at the class.

Dr. Bello: “100level students?.”

Nobody answered.

He called on a student.

The student attempted an answer.

Dr. Bello listened.

Then asked another question.

The student became confused.

Dr. Bello moved to another person.

Then another.

By the time he reached the fourth student, everyone understood that this was not going to be an easy class.

Fatimah kept writing.

Mariam had stopped writing completely.

She was staring at her paper.

Finally, she whispered:

Mariam: “I don't understand anything anymore.”

Fatimah almost laughed, but stopped herself when Dr. Bello looked in their direction.

The lecturer continued.

He gave them another question.

Then another.

The class became more tense.

Nobody was talking.

Nobody was laughing.

Everyone was trying to understand what they were supposed to write.

Eventually, Dr. Bello collected the answers.

Dr. Bello: “I'll mark these.”

A few students immediately looked worried.

Ajoke: “Sir, today?”

Dr. Bello looked at her.

Dr. Bello: “Did you just ask me when I would mark them?”

The student shook his head.

Student: “No, sir.”

Dr. Bello: “Then keep shut!”

Ajoke: I'm sorry sir

He picked up his folder.

Dr. Bello: “Next lecture, I expect you to understand today's work.”

Then he walked out.

For a few seconds, nobody moved.

Then the lecture hall suddenly filled with tired voices.

Ibrahim: “What was that?”

Ademola: “I genuinely don't know.”

Adesewa: “That last question finished me.”

Yomade: “I understood the first example. After that, I was just writing.”

Mariam: “I stopped understanding things halfway through.”

Fatimah packed her notebook.

Fatimah: “It wasn't that bad.”

Mariam stared at her.

Mariam: “well.you are a scholar afterall”

Fatimah laughed quietly.

Students began leaving the hall, still discussing the questions.

Some were comparing answers.

Others were complaining about the lecturer.

A few were already talking about finding someone else's notes.

Then someone announce that Mrs Okafor,the next lecturer who is going to take the next class has sent the grouping of presentation to the group

The announcement appeared on the departmental group at exactly 10am

Asake: Guys check the group!!!

Murewa: What happened?

Ashake: African Poetry grouping is out.

Another message appeared.

Yomade:what!

(Mariam to fatimah)

Mariam:I didn't bring my phone to school,help me check out my name

Fatimah: the pdf is loading

She refreshed it.

Nothing.

She refreshed again.

Finally, the grouping appeared.

She scrolled through the list.

GROUP ONE.

Not her.

GROUP TWO.

Not her.

GROUP THREE.

Still not her.

She kept scrolling.

Then she saw it.

GROUP SEVEN — AFRICAN POETRY

She read the names carefully.

Arafat.

Mariam.

Azeenat.

Ruqoyah.

Zara.

Hafsat.

Khadijah.

Amira.

Naomi.

Esther.

Peace.

Deborah.

Favour.

Aisha.

Daniel.

Alameen.

Christian.

David.

Samuel.

Michael.

Ibrahim.

Yusuf.

Nathan.

Kelvin.

Tobi.

Fatimah stopped scrolling.

She read the list again.

Then one more time.

Fatimah: “You have got to be kidding me

Mariam:what

Fatimah: you're in Group Seven.”

Mariam: And ?

Fatimah:Daniel.”

Mariam:well

(Fatimah interrupted her)

Fatimah: “I'm requesting a change.”

Mariam: “To where?”

Fatimah paused.

Fatimah: “Anywhere.”

Mariam:you are joking

Fatimah: well I'm not!!

Fatimah returned to the pdf

There was another notice underneath the grouping.

She clicked it.

Her expression changed.

Fatimah: “Wait.”

Mariam: “What?”

Fatimah: “This isn't just an ordinary group assignment.”

Mariam: “What is it?”

Fatimah started reading.

Her eyes widened.

Fatimah: “fourty percent.”

Mariam: “What?”

Fatimah: “The presentation is fourty percent of our final course assessment.”

The laughter stopped.

Mariam: “fourty?”

Fatimah: “fourty.”

Mariam: “As in fourty marks?”

Fatimah: “Yes.”

There was another silence.

Mariam: Arghhh

Everyone had seen the grouping.

And almost everyone had something to say about it.

Students compared groups.

Some were happy.

Some were complaining.

Some were already trying to negotiate with their friends.

Mariam: “Group Seven is too large.”

Fatimah: “Most groups are large.”

Mariam: “But ours has Michael.”

Fatimah: “What's wrong with Michael?”

Mariam: “Everything.i just hope he didn't ruin our group.

Students were still discussing the groups when Mrs. Okafor entered.

The noise gradually disappeared.

She placed her folder on the table and looked around the hall.

Mrs. Okafor: “Good morning.”

Class: “Good morning, ma.”

Mrs. Okafor: “I assume most of you have seen the grouping.”

A few students murmured.

Mrs. Okafor: “Good. Then let me explain exactly what you are expected to do.”

The room became quiet.

Mrs. Okafor wrote on the board.

AFRICAN POETRY GROUP PRESENTATION

40% OF FINAL COURSE ASSESSMENT

The class immediately reacted.

Eyinju: “fourty percent?”

Mrs. Okafor turned.

Mrs. Okafor: “Yes. Fourty percent.”

She continued writing.

Mrs. Okafor: “Your group will be assigned a poem. You are expected to research the poet, historical context, themes, literary devices, language, structure and major interpretations of the poem.”

She underlined the word RESEARCH.

Mrs. Okafor: “You are not coming here to read Wikipedia.”

A few students laughed.

Mrs. Okafor: “I am serious.”

She turned toward them.

Mrs. Okafor: “I want evidence that you actually studied the poem.”

She explained the marking scheme.

Research.

Written submission.

Presentation.

Individual participation.

Question-and-answer session.

Each section carried marks.

And if a group failed to submit the required written work, the entire group could lose marks.

That immediately changed the mood in the room.

This wasn't just another assignment.

Their grades were attached to it.

Mrs. Okafor: “You will submit a complete draft before the presentation. The draft must contain the names of every group member and the sections each person handled.”

She paused.

Mrs. Okafor: “If one person refuses to work, don't come and tell me during presentation week.

Mrs. Okafor: “Your group leader will coordinate the work. But understand this clearly being the group leader does not mean doing everybody's work.”

Several students nodded.

Mrs. Okafor: “Your first draft is due tomorrow.”

The room erupted

Esther: "Ma Tomorrow?”

Mrs. Okafor: “Yes. Tomorrow.”

Sarah: “Ma, tomorrow is too soon.”

Mrs. Okafor: “University is not designed around your preferred timeline.”

Mrs Okaforcontinued:Your presentation will take place later this week. I will announce the exact schedule and once during the presentation,the class is noisy ,

The group that are presenting,their mark will be deducted

Students:Haa

She picked up her marker.

Mrs. Okafor: “And one more thing,I will ask questions from any part of the presentation. So don't assume that because your name is attached to one section, you don't need to understand the others.”

Did you all understand

Students:yes ma

Mrs Okafor: now what was our last topic?!.

That sentence stayed with Fatimah.

Fourty percent.

A complete draft.

Research.

Presentation.

Questions.

And less than twenty-four hours to get the first version ready.

After the lecture, Group Seven remained behind.

Twenty-five students crowded around the front rows.

Nobody knew who was supposed to speak first.

Then Arafat stood.

Arafat: “Okay, everyone. We need to organise ourselves before everybody leaves.”

Michael: “I support.”

Azeenat: Micheal please, don't disrupt this group please

Michael: “I'm not always spoiling things

Zara:of course you are ,we all know you!

Micheal: I do not understand what you are trying to insinuate

Zara ignored him.

Arafat: “First, we need a group leader.”

Everyone looked around.

Nobody volunteered.

Ruqoyah: “Arafat.”

Arafat looked at her.

Arafat: “Why me?”

Ruqoyah: “Because you're already standing there.”

Deborah: “Strong qualification.”

Arafat rolled her eyes.

Arafat: “Fine. I'll coordinate.”

Everyone agreed.

Arafat opened her notebook.

Arafat: “Second, we need people to handle the different sections.”

She started dividing the work.

Research on the poet.

Historical context.

Themes.

Language.

Literary devices.

Structure.

Critical interpretation.

References.

Presentation slides.

Final editing.

Every section needed someone responsible for it.

And because Mrs. Okafor had specifically said the written draft would be marked, the final document needed to be properly organised.

Arafat: “Nobody should send me random paragraphs from Google. We need proper sources.”

Samuel: “Exactly.”

Arafat: “And everyone has to submit their section before the deadline.”

She wrote the deadline in her notebook.

Arafat: “Tonight, 9 p.m. Everyone sends their sections to the group drive. By tomorrow morning, we review everything.”

David: “Who is compiling it?”

Arafat looked around.

Then her eyes landed on Fatimah.

Arafat: “Fatimah can handle the final structure.”

Fatimah looked up.

Fatimah: “Me?”

Arafat: “You're good at organising written work.”

Fatimah hesitated.

Fatimah: “Okay.”

Then Arafat looked at Daniel.

Arafat: “Daniel, you can work with her on the final compilation.”

Daniel nodded.

Daniel: “That's fine.”

Fatimah glanced at him.

Fatimah: fine!.

The group continued for another thirty minutes.

People argued about which poem they should focus on.

Some wanted to use one interpretation.

Others disagreed.

Yusuf opened his laptop.

Yusuf: “I've found three academic articles.”

Arafat: “Send them to the group.”

Yusuf: “Already doing it.”

Azeenat was writing down everyone's names.

Azeenat: “Who is doing references?”

Nobody answered.

She looked around.

Azeenat: “Seriously?”

Silence.

Azeenat: “Fine. I'll do it.”

Michael: “You're a hero.”

Azeenat: “You can be the hero and do yours.”

Michael immediately looked away.

Michael: rest

the pressure was obvious.

Fourty percent was a lot.

Nobody wanted to be responsible for dragging the group down.

That evening, the group chat became almost impossible to follow.

Arafat: Reminder: 9 p.m. deadline for individual sections.

Yusuf: Submitted.

Azeenat: Submitted.

Ruqoyah: Mine is coming.

Michael: Network.

Arafat: Your network has been bad since admission.

Michael: please, please

Peace: submitted

Hafsat: submitted

Deborah:done

Kelvin: submitted

Fatimah was sitting in front of her laptop, working on her section.

Her notes were spread across the table.

She had downloaded articles.

Checked references.

Cross-checked quotations.

Deleted weak points.

Rewrote paragraphs.

This was no longer something she could rush.

At 8:47 p.m., she sent her work.

Fatimah: My section has been uploaded.

Daniel responded a few minutes later.

Daniel: I've seen it.

Fatimah continued working.

At 9:16 p.m., Arafat sent another message.

Arafat: Some people haven't submitted. Zara and co

The group chat went quiet.

Arafat: We cannot wait until tomorrow morning.

Tobi: Let's give them until 10.

Arafat: 10 p.m. Final.

The pressure increased.

By 10 p.m., almost everything had arrived.

Almost.

Zara and Naomi: Almost done.

Arafat started putting the document together.

They did a group call

Fatimah joined the call.

Daniel joined too.

Yusuf shared his research.

Azeenat checked references.

Christian checked the presentation structure.

Around 10:20 p.m., Fatimah noticed a problem.

Fatimah: “Wait.”

Everyone stopped.

Daniel: “What?”

Fatimah: “The historical context section contradicts the poet's timeline.”

Yusuf checked.

Yusuf: “She's right.”

Arafat sighed.

Favour: “Where's the correct source?”

Yusuf started searching.

Yusuf: “Give me five minutes.”

Daniel leaned closer to his laptop.

Daniel: “The introduction also needs to be shortened.”

Fatimah: “I was thinking the same thing.”

Daniel: “Then let's change it.”

For the next minutes, they worked.

Fatimah edited.

Peace reorganised.

Yussuf checked sources.

Azeenat corrected references.

Arafat coordinated everyone.

It was exhausting.

But slowly, the document started looking like an actual university presentation.

Not something thrown together the night before.

At 11:15pm., Fatimah looked at the completed document.

AFRICAN POETRY — GROUP 7

She read everything again.

There were still small corrections to make.

She fixed them.

Then saved the document.

AFRICAN_POETRY_GROUP7_DRAFT

Daniel sent a message privately.

Daniel: “Send me the updated copy too.”

Fatimah replied.

Fatimah: “Okay.”

She made the final corrections.

Checked the headings.

Checked the names.

Checked the references.

Then she sent the updated document.

Fatimah: “I've finished the corrections. I'm sending you the updated draft now.”

Daniel didn't reply,the tick on the WhatsApp didn't tick twice

Fatima noticed

Fatimah: I guess he has gone to sleep

Fatimah closed her laptop.

Then reopened it.

She checked the file one more time.

Everything was there.

The corrected introduction.

The updated analysis.

The proper references.

The revised conclusion.

The version they had all agreed on.

She sent Daniel another message.

He didn't reply

Fatimah: till tomorrow then!.

She smiled slighty finally, the assignment was done.

Or at least, she thought it was.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Chapter Two ( I Can't Stand Him)

“Fatimah!”

I heard Mariam shouting my name from across the compound.

I kept walking.

“Fatimah!”

I still didn't turn.

I already knew what she wanted.

Mariam finally caught up with me, breathing heavily.

Mariam: “You heard me!”

Fatimah: “I was pretending I didn't.”

Mariam placed a hand on her chest dramatically.

Mariam: “Wow. So this is how you treat your best friend?”

Fatimah: “You gave a boy my number without asking me.”

Mariam: “And you're still angry about that?”

Fatimah: “Yes.”

Mariam: “It was just a number.”

I stopped walking and looked at her.

Fatimah: “Mariam.”

She immediately raised both hands.

Mariam: “Okay, okay. I'm sorry.”

I continued walking.

Mariam followed me, laughing.

Mariam: “But you have to admit, Daniel is fine.”

Fatimah: “I don't care.”

Mariam: “You don't?”

Fatimah: “No.”

Mariam: “Interesting.”

Fatimah: “Don't start.”

We reached the lecture hall.

Then Mariam suddenly stopped.

I took a few more steps before realizing she wasn't beside me.

I turned.

Fatimah: “What?”

Mariam pointed toward the staircase.

I followed her finger.

Daniel was standing there with Alameen, Christian, David, Samuel, Michael, Ibrahim, Yusuf and Nathan.

He was laughing about something.

Then he looked up.

Our eyes met.

His face immediately lit up.

I sighed.

Fatimah: “Oh no.”

Mariam grinned.

Mariam: “Too late.”

Daniel started walking toward us.

Daniel: “Good morning, Fatimah.”

Fatimah: “Good morning.”

Daniel: “Did you sleep well?”

Fatimah: “Yes.”

Daniel smiled.

Daniel: “Did you dream about me?”

I stopped walking.

Mariam burst out laughing.

Mariam: “Daniel!”

Daniel looked completely innocent.

Daniel: “What?”

Fatimah: “You're too comfortable.”

Daniel: “I slept well too, by the way.”

Fatimah: “I didn't ask.”

Daniel: “I know.”

Alameen laughed behind him.

Alameen: “This guy has started again.”

Christian shook his head.

Christian: “Daniel, leave this girl alone.”

Daniel turned toward Christian.

Daniel: “I haven't done anything.”

Christian: “You've been disturbing her since yesterday.”

Daniel looked at me.

Daniel: “Is that true?”

Fatimah: “Yes.”

Daniel nodded thoughtfully.

Daniel: “Okay.”

I smiled.

Fatimah: “Good.”

Daniel smiled back.

Daniel: “I'll try harder today.”

My smile disappeared.

Mariam almost fell over laughing.

Later...

The lecturer arrived, and everyone settled down.

Daniel took the seat beside me.

Again.

I looked at him.

Fatimah: “You're here?”

Daniel: “Yes.”

Fatimah: “Why?”

He pointed at the chair.

Daniel: “Because this is my seat.”

Fatimah: “Find another one.”

Daniel: “No.”

I sighed.

Fatimah: “Fine.”

The lecture began.

For fifteen minutes, Daniel was surprisingly quiet.

I relaxed.

Maybe he has finally decided to behave.

Then something touched my arm.

I looked down.

A small piece of paper.

I opened it.

You look angry.

I glanced at Daniel.

He was staring at the lecturer with the most innocent expression.

I picked up my pen and wrote:

Because you're annoying.

I pushed the paper back to him.

He read it.

A smile appeared on his face.

He wrote something underneath.

But you still talked to me.

I rolled my eyes.

I wrote:

Unfortunately.

He smiled.

I turned back to the board.

A few seconds later, another piece of paper landed on my notebook.

I opened it.

You're cute when you're angry.

I immediately crumpled the paper.

Daniel leaned toward me.

Daniel: “Why did you destroy my masterpiece?”

Fatimah: “Because it was nonsense.”

Daniel laughed quietly.

Suddenly, the lecturer stopped talking.

Mrs William: “Something funny over there?”

Daniel immediately sat straight.

Daniel: “No, ma.”

Mrs William:Be careful 😒

I looked down at my notebook, trying desperately not to get offended.

Done with Mrs William lecture

Everyone rushed outside.

Arafat walked beside me.

She looked at me.

Then at Daniel.

Then back at me.

Arafat: “You and Daniel.”

I stopped.

Fatimah: “What about us?”

Arafat smiled.

Arafat: “Nothing.”

Fatimah: “Then why are you smiling?”

Arafat: “Because he likes disturbing you.”

Fatimah: “He doesn't like me.”

Arafat: “Who said anything about liking?”

I narrowed my eyes.

Fatimah: “You were about to.”

Arafat laughed.

Arafat: “Relax.”

Ruqoyah joined us.

Ruqoyah: “What are you two talking about?”

Arafat answered immediately.

Arafat: “Daniel.”

Ruqoyah smiled.

Ruqoyah: “Oh.”

I looked at both of them.

Fatimah: “Why is everybody suddenly interested in him?”

Ruqoyah: “Because he's interesting.”

Fatimah: “No. He's irritating.”

A voice came from behind us.

Daniel: “I heard that.”

I turned around.

Daniel was walking toward us.

Fatimah: “You were supposed to.”

He smiled.

Daniel: “I know.”

Arafat: we have Dr Ahmed class soon,let go under the tree because other departments are using the class,we were supposed to use.

The whole group had gathered under the large tree beside the faculty building.

Mariam was telling a ridiculous story about one of our lecturers.

Arafat was laughing.

Azeenat kept interrupting her to correct every detail.

Alameen and Michael were arguing about football.

Christian was quietly eating.

Daniel was staring at me.

I noticed.

Fatimah: “What?”

Daniel: “Nothing.”

Fatimah: “Then stop looking.”

Daniel: “I wasn't looking.”

Fatimah: “You were.”

Daniel smiled.

Daniel: “Okay. I was.”

Fatimah: “Why?”

He looked directly at me.

Daniel: “I like looking at you.”

Silence.

Mariam slowly put down her spoon.

Arafat's eyes widened.

Azeenat looked from Daniel to me.

Alameen started laughing.

Christian covered his face.

Christian: “Daniel... please.”

Daniel: “What?”

Christian: “Nothing.”

Daniel laughed.

I could feel my face getting hot.

Fatimah: “Can you stop embarrassing me?”

Daniel: “I'm not embarrassed.”

Fatimah: “I am.”

Daniel: “Why?”

Fatimah: “Because everybody is staring.”

Daniel looked around the table.

Daniel: “They're always staring.”

Michael laughed.

Michael: “This is getting interesting.”

I pointed at him.

Fatimah: “Don't encourage him.”

Everyone laughed.

Except me,why does he keep doing this .

He was still looking at me.

I hiss at him,what nonsense

after we were through with Dr Ahmed class

There was no class again,so everyone hurried home.

I was walking back toward my hostel when I heard someone call my name.

Awwal: “Fatimah.”

I turned.

Fatimah: “Hi.”

Awwal caught up with me.

Awwal: “Can I talk to you?”

Fatimah: “Sure.”

We started walking together.

Awwal: “It's about the assignment.”

Fatimah: “Oh, okay.”

We began discussing the coursework.

Neither of us noticed Daniel standing near the faculty entrance.

But Daniel noticed us.

His smile disappeared.

Christian, who was standing beside him, followed his gaze.

He immediately understood.

Christian: “Don't.”

Daniel looked at him.

Daniel: “Don't what?”

Christian: “Whatever you're thinking.”

Daniel scoffed.

Daniel: “I'm not thinking anything.”

Christian laughed.

Christian: “Daniel.”

Daniel: “What?”

Christian: “You're jealous.”

Daniel looked at him like he had just said something ridiculous.

Daniel: “Of Awwal?”

Christian: “Yes.”

Daniel: “Why would I be jealous?”

Christian smiled.

Christian: “we know you like fatimah.”

Daniel looked away.

Daniel: “I'm not jealous.”

Christian: “Okay.”

Daniel watched Awwal and me disappear around the corner.

After a moment, he muttered:

Daniel: “I just don't like him.”

Christian laughed.

Christian: “You don't even know him.”

Daniel shoved his hands into his pockets.

Daniel: “I know enough.”

That Evening

I was walking back to my hostel when my phone buzzed.

Unknown: Stay away from Daniel.

I stopped walking.

I stared at the message.

My heart started beating faster.

Another message appeared.

Unknown: I'm serious.

I looked around.

Students were walking everywhere.

Nobody seemed to be watching me.

I quickly typed:

Fatimah: Who is this?

No reply.

I called the number.

Switched off.

I immediately called Mariam.

She picked up.

Mariam: “Hello?”

Fatimah: “Someone just sent me a message.”

Mariam: “What message?”

I sent her a screenshot.

A few seconds passed.

Mariam: “Do you know who this is?”

Fatimah: “No.”

Mariam: “Maybe someone is joking.”

Fatimah: “Why would someone joke about Daniel?”

Mariam became quiet.

Then my phone buzzed again.

This time, it wasn't the unknown number.

It was Daniel.

Daniel: Goodnight, angry girl.

I stared at the message.

Something about the anonymous texts suddenly felt much more serious.

Fatimah: “Mariam…”

Mariam: “What?”

Fatimah: “I think someone doesn't want me talking to Daniel.”

Mariam's voice became serious.

Mariam: “Fatimah…”

Fatimah: “What?”

Mariam: “Maybe you should listen.”

I frowned.

Fatimah: “Why?”

There was a pause.

Then Mariam spoke quietly.

Mariam: well I don't know,why don't we figure that out

She laughed

Fatimah: can you be serious at once

She hang up the call.

I slowly looked around the darkening campus.

The laughter from earlier was gone.

The walkways were becoming quieter.

And suddenly, Daniel's name didn't feel funny anymore.

I didn't know who was behind the messages.

I didn't know why they wanted me away from Daniel.

And I definitely didn't know how they knew where I was.

But somewhere behind one of the hostel buildings...

a girl stood watching me.

She looked down at her phone.

Opened the messages.

And deleted every single one.

Then she smiled.

Girl: “i did not like anyone going near my Daniel .”

She slipped the phone into her pocket and walked away..

TO BE CONTINUED…

Chapter One ( The New Seatmate)

“Fatimah!”

I heard my name before I even reached the lecture hall.

I stopped and turned around.

Mariam was running toward me, her bag bouncing against her side.

“Why are you running?”

“Because I've been calling you since the gate!”

“Oh.”

She stared at me.

“That's all you have to say?”

I shrugged.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Maybe sorry?”

“Sorry.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You're impossible.”

I smiled.

“Thank you.”

“That's not a compliment.”

“I'll take it anyway.”

We walked into the lecture hall together.

It was already noisy.

Students were everywhere,some sitting down, some standing, some arguing over seats, and others trying to finish assignments that were apparently due five minutes ago.

Mariam pointed toward the middle row.

“I saved your seat.”

“You're officially my favourite person today.”

“I know.”

I sat down and brought out my notebook.

Everything was fine.

Until the door opened.

Everyone turned.

A guy walked into the hall.

Late.

Very late.

He didn't look worried.

If anything, he looked completely relaxed.

He had a black backpack over one shoulder and a small smile on his face.

Dr. Adams stopped talking.

“Daniel.”

The guy stopped.

“Yes, sir?”

“Would you like to tell us why you're thirty-five minutes late?”

Daniel looked at his watch.

“Traffic, sir.”

Someone at the back laughed.

Dr. Adams stared at him.

“You live on campus.”

The entire class burst into laughter.

Daniel smiled.

“That's true, sir.”

“Then what traffic?”

Daniel paused.

“Human traffic?”

The laughter became louder.

Even I laughed.

Mariam nudged me.

“You see him?”

“Unfortunately.”

Dr. Adams shook his head.

“Just sit down.”

Daniel looked around the room.

There was only one empty chair.

Beside me.

I immediately stopped smiling.

No.

He walked toward us.

Mariam looked at me.

I looked at her.

She smiled.

“Don't.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“Your face did.”

Daniel reached our row.

“Is this seat free?”

I looked at the empty chair.

“Yes.”

“Thanks.”

He sat down.

I turned back to my notes.

Silence.

For approximately thirty seconds.

Then,

“Hi.”

I ignored him.

“Hi.”

I slowly turned.

“What?”

He smiled.

“I'm Daniel.”

“I heard.”

“You heard?”

“Sir called your name.”

He nodded.

“Right.”

I faced my notebook again.

Another few seconds passed.

“What's your name?”

I looked at him.

“You just told me yours.”

“And?”

“And I don't know you.”

“That's why I'm asking.”

I sighed.

“Fatimah.”

“Fatimah.”

He repeated my name like he was testing how it sounded.

“Nice name.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

I returned to my notes.

He leaned closer.

“Are you always this serious?”

“Yes.”

He smiled.

“I can change that.”

I looked at him.

“Please don't.”

He laughed.

For some reason, I knew immediately that this boy was going to be trouble.

Twenty minutes later, Daniel tapped my arm.

“Do you have a pen?”

I stared at him.

“You don't have a pen?”

“I forgot.”

“You came to class without a pen?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I woke up late.”

“Obviously.”

He laughed.

“Can I borrow yours?”

I reluctantly handed him one.

“Don't lose it.”

“I won't.”

Five minutes later, the pen fell from his hand.

I looked at him.

He looked at the pen.

Then he looked at me.

“I'll pick it up.”

“You better.”

Mariam was shaking beside me because she was trying not to laugh.

Daniel picked it up.

“See? Nothing happened.”

“Give it back.”

“I still need it.”

“You said you needed it. You didn't say you were keeping it.”

He smiled.

“Fine.”

He continued writing.

I shook my head.

Annoying.

Very annoying.

After the lecture, everyone rushed outside.

Mariam grabbed my hand.

“Come on.”

We had barely reached the hallway when someone shouted,

“Daniel!”

Daniel turned.

A boy walked toward him.

“Guy, where have you been?”

“Class.”

The boy laughed.

“You? Class?”

Daniel pushed him lightly.

“Alameen, don't start.”

Alameen laughed.

Another boy joined them.

“Leave him. At least he came today.”

Daniel looked at him.

“Christian, you're not helping.”

I glanced at the group.

There was Alameen.

Christian.

David.

Samuel.

Michael.

Ibrahim.

Ademola.

And Nathan.

They were clearly friends.

Loud friends.

The kind that could probably make noise in an empty room.

Mariam leaned toward me.

“Why does Daniel have an entire committee?”

I laughed.

“I don't know.”

Before we could leave, a girl called my name.

“Fatimah!”

I turned.

It was Arafat.

She walked toward us with Azeenat.

“Where are you going?”

“Cafeteria.”

“Wait for us.”

Behind them came Ruqoyah, Zara, Hafsat, Khadijah, Amira, Naomi, Esther, Peace, Deborah and Favour.

Within seconds, our little group had become ridiculously large.

Michael looked at us from across the hallway.

“Why are there so many of you?”

Azeenat folded her arms.

“Why are there so many of you?”

Michael opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

Arafat laughed.

“Exactly.”

Everyone started laughing.

Daniel looked at me.

“You're part of this group?”

“Yes.”

He nodded slowly.

“Interesting.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Then stop looking at me.”

He smiled.

“I wasn't.”

“You were.”

“Maybe I was.”

I rolled my eyes and walked away.

At the cafeteria, everyone found a place to sit.

Mariam sat beside me.

Arafat and Azeenat were arguing about something completely unnecessary.

Alameen was trying to convince Michael that he could finish two plates of food.

Christian was laughing at them.

Daniel sat opposite me.

Of course.

He looked at my food.

“Are you eating that?”

“Yes.”

“Can I have some?”

“No.”

“You haven't even heard what I want.”

“I don't care.”

He laughed.

“You're mean.”

“You're annoying.”

“Fair.”

He reached toward my plate.

I quickly moved it away.

“Don't.”

He raised both hands.

“Okay, okay.”

Mariam started laughing.

“You two sound like an old married couple.”

“Stop!” I said immediately.

Daniel laughed.

“I don't mind.”

I looked at him.

“You should.”

He smiled.

And for some reason, I couldn't stop myself from smiling too.

That evening, I was in my room when my phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Hi.

I ignored it.

Another message came.

Unknown Number: Don't pretend you don't know me.

I frowned.

Fatimah: Who is this?

The reply came almost immediately.

Unknown Number: Your seatmate.

I stared at the screen.

Fatimah: How did you get my number?

Daniel: That's not important.

Fatimah: It is.

Daniel: Mariam.

I immediately called Mariam.

She picked up laughing.

“Hello?”

“Did you give Daniel my number?”

Silence.

Then,

“Maybe.”

“Mariam!”

“Okay, okay! Don't shout.”

“You're so annoying.”

“You're welcome.”

I ended the call.

My phone buzzed again.

Daniel: Goodnight, Fatimah.

I stared at the message.

I wasn't going to reply.

I shouldn't reply.

But after a few seconds, I typed:

Fatimah: Goodnight.

Three dots appeared.

Then disappeared.

Then another message came.

Daniel: You smiled when you typed that, didn't you?

I stared at my screen.

Then I smiled.

“Idiot.”

I put my phone down.

I didn't know it yet, but Daniel had already started becoming a problem.

Not the kind that disappears after a semester.

The kind that changes everything.

And somewhere in that same university, someone else was watching Daniel and Fatimah from a distance.

Someone who already knew how their story would end.

Or at least...

thought she did.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Can we talk about first crushes?

Because mine was actually embarrassing.

I don't even remember when it started.

One day, he was just a normal person.

The next day, I was somehow aware of his existence at all times.

If he was in school, I wanted to know where.

If he wasn't in school, I noticed.

If someone mentioned his name, my ears suddenly became very functional.

And if he walked past me?

Suddenly, I didn't know how to walk.

I would be looking at him until he turned around, then immediately look somewhere else like I had been studying the wall.

Sometimes I would purposely pass through places I knew he would be.

Not because I wanted to see him o.

I just happened to be going that way.

And the worst part was telling my friends.

Once your friends know about your crush, your life is basically over.

They'll see him before you do.

“Ah, he's coming!”

And you're immediately like:

“Please shut up! Don't look at me!”

Meanwhile, you're secretly hoping he actually comes closer. 😂

Then there was the phone era.

Checking whether he was online.

Checking his status.

Checking whether he viewed yours.

Posting something and pretending you didn't care who saw it.

Then checking every five minutes.

Don't lie.

We have all done this.

And if he finally messaged?

You'd read the message.

Put your phone down.

Pick it up again.

Read it.

Type a reply.

Delete it.

Type another one.

Send it.

Then immediately regret sending it because “Was that too fast?”

Girl, he said “hi.”

HI.

And I was conducting a full investigation on it.

I also had those imaginary conversations.

Things he hadn't said.

Things I hadn't said.

Arguments that had never happened.

Cute moments that existed exclusively in my head.

At some point, I had practically dated this boy without his knowledge.

The funniest thing is that he probably went home every day completely unaware that he was the main character in somebody else's head.

You could like someone simply because they smiled at you once.

One conversation could make your whole week.

One eye contact could have you telling your best friend, “Something is definitely there.”

And sometimes…

There was absolutely nothing there.

Just you.

Your crush.

And a very active imagination.

Anyway, enough about me.

What is the most embarrassing thing you did because of your first crush?

Be honest. I want to know I'm not the only one who was doing unnecessary research.

1. My name is Aisha, but I’m known as Ayoola.

I’m the firstborn of five siblings.

So naturally, I move around them like a hawk.

Nobody should stress my siblings when I’m around.

Firstborn duties are not for the weak.

2. I’m a daddy’s girl.

Yes, even though I’m the firstborn.

My dad doesn’t use me to play at all.

There’s just something special about being a daddy’s girl.

And yes, I enjoy every bit of it. 🤍

3. I’m a freshly graduated linguist and English student. 🎓

I finished my bachelor’s degree, so technically, I’m now a graduate.

Funny enough, I once wanted to become a lawyer.

But life looked at me and said, “Naa, let’s try some other course.😭

4. I love writing stories.

Give me friendship, betrayal, school life, money problems and a plot twist.

I’m already interested. 😂

I love creating stories people can actually relate to.

Writing is one of the things that lets me express myself.

5. I love reading romance stories.

There’s something about getting lost in someone else’s story.

I enjoy the emotions, the drama and all the little twists.

Sometimes I’ll say, “Just one more chapter.”

And suddenly, it’s ridiculously late.

6. I LOVE LOVE. 🥹❤️

I love seeing people genuinely happy and in love.

I’m always rooting for love when it’s healthy, honest and mutual.

Maybe that’s also why I’m such a sucker for romance stories.

And yes… I still want my own love story someday. 🤭

7. I love cooking.

But please, let the people eating be around four. 😂

I enjoy cooking when it’s small and comfortable.

Cooking for a whole crowd? That one is between you and God.

I’ll gladly eat the food though.

8. I LOVE football.

And yes, Manchester United is my club.

Supporting United has built character, honestly.

Sometimes happiness, sometimes suffering.

But we move regardless. ❤️

9. I love crime-related films.

Give me a good mystery and I’m seated.

I enjoy trying to figure out what happened before the movie reveals it.

The more confusing the plot, the more interested I become.

I love that “wait… WHAT?” moment. 😂

10. I love music A LOT. 🎧

I literally listen to music throughout the day.

At this point, music isn’t just something I enjoy.

It has become part of me.

There is almost always a song playing somewhere around me.

11. I love gist.

I genuinely enjoy talking about things.

If we’re comfortable with each other, just know we’re talking.

I can listen, contribute and somehow extend the conversation.

There is always something to gist about.

12. I’m actually a shy person.

Yes, I know I talk a lot when I’m comfortable.

But put me around people I don’t know and suddenly I don’t know what to do with myself.

I usually need time to warm up.

Once I’m comfortable though… good luck.

13. I relate to people A LOT.

I tend to understand and feel people’s emotions deeply.

Sometimes I care more than I probably should.

Maybe that’s also why I can get hurt easily.

I just have a soft heart for people.

14. I’m an overthinker.

One small thing can become a full investigation in my head.

Someone can say “okay” and I’ll be wondering what kind of okay that was.

My brain does not know how to simply leave things alone.

I’m learning to take things as they come.

15. I experience anxiety and sometimes panic attacks.

It’s something I’m learning to understand about myself.

Some moments can feel overwhelming, even when nothing looks wrong from the outside.

I’m learning to be patient with myself through those moments.

And I’m learning that I don’t always have to have everything under control. 🤍

16. I sleep A LOT. 🌚

I genuinely enjoy being in bed.

Sometimes I wonder if I was born tired. 😭

I just hope sleep doesn’t eventually finish me because I love it too much.

17. I’m always eating late. 😭

Sometimes I can be so hungry and still postpone eating.

I can literally be starving and somehow not even feel hungry.

My terrible eating habits started way too early, and I’ve had to learn to take eating properly seriously.

Because apparently, “I’m not hungry” is just a normal word to me.

18. I LOVE bread.

Bread has never really disappointed me.

Morning, afternoon,it understands me. 😂

Sometimes you don’t need a complicated meal.

Just give me good bread and let me be happy.

19. I love cats. 🐈‍⬛

I love dogs too, but cats have my heart more.

There’s just something about them that I really love.

If I see a cute cat, my attention is immediately gone. 😂

Cats are definitely my favourites.

20. I’m not that pretty.

But I’ve learned that beauty isn’t only about looking perfect.

There’s something beautiful about being kind, funny, caring and genuinely yourself.

I’m learning to appreciate the person I am.

And honestly, I think that matters more. 🤍

21. I’ve always wanted to have “my person.”

You know… that one person you can always talk to and share things with.

I won’t lie, I still want that.

But sometimes life has its own timetable.

So for now… it is what it is. 🤷🏽‍♀️

22. I love engaging with people’s posts.

I like commenting, replying and making people feel noticed.

If I enjoy what you posted, I’ll probably say something.

Sometimes one nice comment can genuinely make someone’s day.

So yes, you’ll probably find me somewhere in the comments.

23. I value honesty.

I’d rather hear the truth than be comforted with a lie.

I also try to be honest with people.

I don’t like pretending to be something I’m not.

What you see is mostly what you get.

24. I’m not the best at keeping secrets.

Not because I want to betray anyone.

I just really love talking.

But if something is genuinely private, I understand that it should stay private.

Still… my mouth and my gist have a complicated relationship.

25. I love relatable humour.

If I see something and think, This is literally me, I’m finished.

I love memes that feel like somebody has been monitoring my life.

26. I have a very soft and poetic side.

I can be unserious one minute.

Then suddenly I want something deep, emotional and beautiful.

I love words that actually make people feel something.

Maybe that’s another reason I love writing.

27. I love plot twists.

I don’t want to know everything from the beginning.

Give me something unexpected.

Make me question everybody in the story.

If I guess the ending too early, I’m disappointed.

28. I’m very particular about things I create.

If something doesn’t feel right, I know immediately.

My most famous response is probably, “Another one.”

I’ll keep trying until it finally gives me the feeling I wanted.

At this point, “another one” is basically my brand slogan.

29. I have my own “twin sister.”

Not actually my twin, but come on, she’s my sister,my cousin @fatimah, my obsessed MF. ❤️

She have her own special place in my heart.

I love her deeply, even when she stress me.

30. I’m still becoming. 🤍

I’m a Muslim who loves praying, a freshly graduated linguist, a writer, a football lover and a music addict.

I’m shy but talkative, soft but stubborn, emotional always laughing in serious situations but still learning.

I love people, love, stories, cats, bread, gist, sleep and creating things that make people feel seen.

I’m just Aisha,also known as Ayoola,and yes, I finished my bachelor’s degree… now I’m looking for the bachelor. 😂🤍

There is a particular kind of love many of us grew up with.

It was loud sometimes.

It was strict.

It was protective.

It was expressed through food placed on the table, school fees paid on time, clothes bought when the old ones no longer fit, and prayers whispered over us before we left the house.

Our parents worked hard to give us things they never had.

They carried responsibilities quietly.

They survived difficult seasons without telling us how heavy they were.

And in many ways, they loved us deeply.

But sometimes, love and pain grow up in the same house.

We grew up hearing things like,

"Why can't you be like your brother?"

"Stop crying."

"Children should be seen and not heard."

"After everything I've done for you?"

At the time, we didn't have words for what those things made us feel.

We simply accepted them as part of growing up.

If our parents shouted, we adjusted.

If they compared us, we tried harder.

If we were hurt, we learned to keep quiet.

If we wanted to explain ourselves, we were sometimes told we were talking back.

So we learned something very early:

Sometimes, being a good child meant hiding how you felt.

And perhaps that is why many of us grew up knowing how to be strong but not always knowing how to be vulnerable.

We learned how to say, "I'm fine," even when we weren't.

We learned to apologize quickly.

We learned to avoid difficult conversations.

We learned to work through exhaustion because resting felt like laziness.

We learned to chase approval because being praised felt like proof that we were finally doing something right.

Nobody called it anything.

It was simply,

"That's how African parents are."

We laughed about it.

We turned it into jokes.

We shared memes about strict mothers and fathers.

And sometimes, the jokes really were funny.

But as we got older, we began noticing that some of those childhood experiences followed us into adulthood.

They followed us into our friendships.

Into our relationships.

Into the way we speak to ourselves.

Into the way we handle mistakes.

Into the way we receive love.

Some of us became afraid of disappointing people.

Some became uncomfortable saying what they needed.

Some struggled to accept compliments because they were more familiar with criticism.

Some learned to believe that love had to be earned.

And perhaps the saddest part is that many of our parents were learning too.

They were raising us with the tools they inherited.

Many of them grew up in homes where emotions were rarely discussed.

Where children obeyed because that was the only language adults knew.

Where survival mattered more than having difficult conversations about feelings.

They became adults carrying their own unfinished stories.

Then they became parents.

And without realizing it, sometimes they passed pieces of those stories down to us.

This does not make every hurtful action acceptable.

Understanding where pain came from does not mean pretending it didn't hurt.

But perhaps it allows us to look at our parents with a little more complexity.

They were not simply parents.

They were once children too.

Children who had fears.

Children who made mistakes.

Children who wanted to be loved.

Children who were also figuring life out.

Maybe they didn't always get it right.

And neither will we.

But perhaps our generation has an opportunity to do something different.

We can appreciate what our parents sacrificed without pretending everything was perfect.

We can be grateful for the food they provided and still wish they had listened more.

We can appreciate their protection and still learn that love does not have to make us afraid.

We can respect them and still create boundaries.

We can say,

"I know you loved me."

And also,

"Some things hurt me."

Those sentences can exist together.

Because gratitude does not erase pain.

And acknowledging pain does not erase love.

Maybe healing is not about blaming the people who raised us.

Maybe it is about understanding ourselves well enough to decide what ends with us.

The shouting.

The comparisons.

The silence.

The fear of vulnerability.

The belief that affection must be earned.

The idea that being strong means never admitting you're hurting.

We don't have to carry everything simply because it was handed to us.

Some things can stop here.

We can learn to apologize without humiliation.

To correct without destroying someone's confidence.

To listen without immediately judging.

To love without making someone afraid of losing that love.

To raise future children who know that respect and tenderness can exist together.

Perhaps that is the quiet work of healing.

Not rewriting our childhood.

Not pretending our parents were perfect.

Not pretending we were perfect either.

Just taking what was beautiful, understanding what was painful, and choosing what deserves to continue.

Because every generation leaves something behind.

Some inheritances are money.

Some are names.

Some are traditions.

And some are wounds nobody talks about.

But we get to decide what we carry forward.

And maybe the most meaningful thing we can inherit from our parents is not their pain, but their strength—

while learning to use that strength to build something softer.

Something healthier.

Something our children won't have to heal from.

Maybe that is how love grows across generations:

not by becoming perfect,

but by becoming more aware,

more gentle,

and brave enough to do better.

There was a time, Being in your twenties simply means figuring things out on your own

You don't need to have your dream career already. You don't need to own a car, travel to different countries, start a successful business, or have your entire future mapped out.

You are allowed to be uncertain.

You are allowed to take your time.

You are allowed to simply exist without feeling like you were already behind.

Then social media came in

10 minutes scrolling on social media, and you'll probably see someone your age buying a car, travelling abroad, getting a new job, graduating with impressive results, starting a business, getting married, or seemingly living the life you've been hoping for.

And suddenly, you put your phone down and wonder, “What am I even doing with my life?”

That question is becoming more common than we realise.

We Are Constantly Watching Other People's Milestones

One of the strangest things about social media is how easily it makes everyone else's progress visible.

You see the graduation pictures, but you don't see the years of uncertainty that came before them.

You see the new job announcement, but not the countless applications that were rejected.

You see the vacation, but not the months of planning or saving behind it.

You see the happy relationship, but not the difficult conversations that happen away from the camera.

You see the success, but rarely the struggle.

And somehow, we're comparing all of that to our own lives.

We're comparing our unfinished stories to someone's carefully selected highlights.

No wonder we feel behind.

Social Media Has Changed What Success Looks Like

Success used to be personal.

Now, it sometimes feels like success has a specific appearance.

A beautiful apartment.

A good phone.

Expensive clothes.

Frequent vacations.

A thriving business.

A successful relationship.

Thousands of followers.

A perfectly organised life.

The list never ends.

And when we don't have these things, it's easy to start believing that something is wrong with us.

But what if success doesn't have to look like that?

What if your definition of a good life is completely different from someone else's?

Maybe you're still figuring things out.

Maybe you're taking a slower route.

Maybe you're working towards something nobody else can see yet.

That doesn't mean you're failing.

The Pressure to Always Be Doing Something

Social media has also created this strange pressure to always be productive.

There's always another thing you could be doing.

Learn a skill.

Read a book.

Start a business.

Exercise.

Build your personal brand.

Network.

Make money.

Create content.

Wake up early.

Sleep early.

Drink more water.

Improve yourself.

And somehow, you're expected to accomplish all of this while still enjoying your life.

Eventually, even resting can start to feel like a crime.

You spend an hour doing absolutely nothing and suddenly feel guilty because someone online is talking about how they wake up at 5 a.m. every morning to “grind.”

But here's something we need to remember:

You are a human being, not a productivity project.

Resting doesn't mean you're lazy.

Taking your time doesn't mean you're wasting your life.

You don't have to turn every hour of your day into an opportunity to achieve something.

Comparison Doesn't Always Look Like Jealousy

Sometimes we think comparison means wanting what someone else has.

But it can be much quieter than that.

You can genuinely be happy for someone and still feel insecure about yourself afterwards.

You can celebrate someone's achievement and then wonder why you haven't achieved something similar.

You can be perfectly content with your life until you open your phone.

Five minutes ago, you were proud of yourself.

Now you're wondering why you aren't further ahead.

That's how comparison works.

It quietly changes the way you see your own progress.

It makes you ask:

“Am I doing enough?”

“Why does everyone seem to be moving forward except me?”

“Am I wasting my time?”

And the more you scroll, the louder those questions can become.

Everyone Has Their Own Timeline

Maybe this is something we need to remind ourselves of more often:

People are allowed to move at different speeds.

Someone may graduate before you.

Someone may start making money before you.

Someone may travel before you.

Someone may find love before you.

Someone may become successful before you.

None of that means you've failed.

Life isn't a race where everyone is supposed to reach the same milestones at the same age.

Your friend's timeline isn't your deadline.

Their success doesn't reduce the value of your progress.

Instead of constantly asking, “Why am I not where they are?”, perhaps we should start asking:

“Am I becoming the person I want to become?”

Those questions may sound similar, but they lead to completely different ways of looking at life.

Social Media Isn't the Villain

Social media isn't necessarily bad.

It can connect us with people we would never have met otherwise.

It can teach us things.

It can inspire us.

It can give people opportunities.

It can introduce us to new ideas, careers, communities and experiences.

The problem begins when we forget that social media is a collection of moments, not someone's entire life.

People post the birthday.

They don't always post the loneliness.

They post the achievement.

They don't always post the failures.

They post the vacation.

They don't always post the months they spent preparing for it.

They post the smile.

They don't always post what happened before the picture was taken.

We need to remember that there is always a story behind the post.

Maybe You're Not Falling Behind

The next time you scroll through someone's achievement and suddenly feel like you're doing nothing with your life, pause.

Put the phone down.

Look at your own journey.

Think about how far you've come.

Think about the things you have overcome that nobody online knows about.

Think about the small victories that never became a post.

Not every achievement needs an audience.

Not every stage of your life needs to look impressive.

And not every season needs to be productive.

Your life doesn't become less valuable because someone else's looks better on a screen.

Maybe you're not behind.

Maybe you're simply growing at your own pace.

Maybe you don't need to catch up with everyone.

Maybe you just need to stop measuring your life against people whose entire lives you don't even know.

Maybe you're not failing at life.

Maybe you're just looking at too many people's lives at once.

Thank you 🥹

I hoped you enjoyed reading it.