The cemetery was quiet again — too quiet, like it was holding its breath for both of us. The old mango tree stood over us like a patient witness, its branches hanging low as if listening to every unspoken word between Ama and me. The ground was still wet from last night's rain, and the wind carried the heavy scent of earth and memory.
Ama stood beside me, her fingers twisted together, her head bowed. She kept stealing small glances at me, like she wanted to say something but didn't know how to hold the weight of it.
"Elvis… I'm sorry," she whispered.
Her voice was soft, fragile, almost breaking. She didn't look at me when she said it. She couldn't.
I inhaled slowly and let the silence between us stretch. Then I finally turned to her.
"It's okay," I said gently. "Life is funny… sometimes it breaks you so it can teach you what strength feels like."
She looked up, surprised — maybe expecting anger, or maybe expecting the pieces of me she left behind to shout. But no. Pain matures you in ways applause never can.
She opened her mouth as if to say more, but I lifted a hand.
"You don't have to explain," I continued. "Some things in life… we don't control. We just survive them."
Ama blinked fast, her eyes shining. She nodded slowly.
And then she whispered, "Thank you."
We stood there in silence — not as two people in love, or in pain, or in conflict… but simply as two human beings standing beside the truth.
Then the world faded around us — not literally, but emotionally, spiritually — like someone quietly closing a chapter.
Because life doesn't wait for you to heal.
It doesn't pause when you're hurting.
It simply moves forward.
And forward was where the story took me next
It was the beginning of 2021 — a year people hyped more than the second coming of Jesus.
"A new year, new blessings!"
"A new year, new opportunities!"
"A new year, new level!"
Meanwhile, in my heart:
"A new year, same stress."
I remember that Monday morning so clearly that if you play it on a screen, I can point out the soundtrack.
The sun wasn't even fully out. The day had that stubborn, early-morning cold — the one that makes you wonder why life expects you to leave your bed and behave like a responsible human being.
But I had to.
Whether I liked it or not.
Because that was the day I walked into Ideal College for the very first time.
To be honest, I didn't want to be there.
If someone had asked me to rank all the places I wanted to be that morning, "Ideal College" wouldn't have even made the top hundred.
But my future was sitting above me like a strict landlord saying:
"Elvis, if you don't take your books serious this time, rent will increase."
So I went.
My shirt was ironed — kind of.
My trousers were behaving.
My heart? Not at all.
I reached the school gate and stared.
The first thing I noticed was that the building looked like someone converted an old four-bedroom house into a school overnight. There was nothing "ideal" about it. It was just… there. A structure with ambition.
"Is this the place?" I muttered.
But the security man waved me in confidently, so I guess it was real.
I entered the compound. Students were scattered everywhere — some chatting, some laughing, some pretending to be serious saints so the teachers would like them.
Me?
I just wanted to register and disappear as fast as possible.
I filled out the forms.
I took the passport picture — which was so ugly I started questioning whether the camera was cursed. Even the photographer looked at the picture like, "Ei, this one dier…"
Then someone escorted me to my "classroom."
Calling it a classroom felt like a joke.
It was literally a hall.
An actual hall.
Like someone's living room had decided it was tired of hosting funerals and birthday parties and wanted to start a new life as a school.
Where a TV was supposed to be, there was a board hanging on the wall.
Not just hanging — struggling for its life.
One nail looked like it was giving up already.
"This is your class," the woman said.
I nodded slowly, like I was processing deep information.
Inside, I was thinking:
"So this is my destiny?"
"So after failing WASSCE, I've come to sit in someone's living room to fix my life?"
"God, is this a prank?"
I took a seat in the back — the safest location where teachers don't stress you and classmates don't disturb you.
For that entire first week, I spoke to nobody.
Not a soul.
Not even a fly that landed on my desk.
I came in.
Sat down.
Listened.
Left.
I didn't laugh.
I didn't smile.
I didn't try to make friends.
I didn't even learn anybody's name.
I was in "serious student" mode.
At least… I tried.
But the truth?
I was broken inside.
I was still carrying the pain, disappointment, and shame of my exam results.
I was still carrying the fear of failing again.
I was carrying the pressure of my family's expectations like a cement bag on my head.
So I had no space for friendships.
No space for jokes.
No space for socializing.
I was like a man on a mission — or at least pretending to be.
Every day, I sat in class with a straight face. I avoided eye contact. I didn't join group conversations. People even started calling me "the quiet new guy."
Some thought I was shy.
Some thought I was dangerous.
Some thought I was doing undercover investigation.
Some thought I was too serious for them.
Nobody knew that inside my head, I was screaming half the time.
Because Ideal College wasn't just a new beginning.
It was a second chance at life.
And nothing is heavier than a second chance.
But life… oh life.
Life is always hiding behind the door with a hammer, waiting to hit you when you think everything is calm.
By the end of the week, I was sitting in class, minding my business, doing my "don't-talk-to-me" routine…
And that's when fate entered the room.
Not politely.
Not gently.
Not humbly.
It entered loudly — like a new character in a movie who is about to destroy the main character's peaceful life.
I didn't know it yet.
I didn't see it clearly at first.
But I felt it.
I felt the shift.
The kind that tells you:
"Elvis… things are about to change. Get ready."
Because even though I came to Ideal College with one simple mission — to fix my results and disappear…
Life had other plans.
Unexpected plans.
Annoying plans.
Life was about to drag me, shape me, embarrass me, test me, and teach me.
I didn't know that someone — or something — was waiting for me in that school.
All I knew was this:
When you think you're done with the world, that's exactly when the world starts with you.