"sometimes, silence is the loudest form of awakening"
I was just fifteen, still confused about what was next in my life. I had just obtained my SSCE certificate — too young, right? Hmm. Back then, all I did was follow my mum's decisions, believing she wanted the best for me and knew what was right. But… humph.
Of course, she wanted the best for me, but I had never made a decision for myself. She didn't know what I truly wanted or where my interests lay.
"You're intelligent; you should go for this," she always said. And as the obedient child I was, I followed along — doing things without any real interest.
No goal, no dream, nothing. Just me and my delulu (imaginations), writing unfinished stories. Sometimes, I wondered if writing was really my path, because I always left everything halfway. I was so confused.
Maybe she wanted me to achieve everything she couldn't — because of marriage, family expectations, education, or whatever the reason was. Heh heh.
As I stepped into her room, I saw a familiar sight. She was in her usual comfortable home clothes — at least, to her. A nude singlet that was too tight and didn't flatter her fair, chubby stomach, which showed underneath no matter how much she tugged at it. Her green trousers clung to her skin, and I doubted they were comfortable at all. She sat on the checked tiles with exercise books scattered around her.
Money-filled envelopes were stacked in a bag beside her. She was busy balancing some accounts — only God knows which ones — because she was always into something. Ambitious, full of new business ideas every eke market day. She collected àjọ (contributions) and, as a board member of a school management committee, handled their finances too. No wonder she always looked tired and frustrated. Every income she made went into another business.
As usual, she looked worn out. When she noticed me, she adjusted her glasses and smiled faintly.
"Haa, my dear, ìgbà wo ló débí? (When did you get here?)" she said. Without waiting for a reply, she patted the small space beside her.
"Adesola mi," she said softly, then removed her glasses. "So, which skill do you want to learn? Ehen, you can't just be idling around. I heard Folashade is now learning fashion design."
At that moment, my mind went blank. I genuinely didn't know what to do. I was still a confused young girl. She had always been the decision-maker, and I was just the child who followed. Probably, I should still have been in SS1, but thanks to her great decisions, I'd already graduated.
My silence must have irritated her because she suddenly erupted.
"Talk! Talk! Talk! Hen, what is your problem? You won't say anything — always indoors, 24/7! Kí ni problem ẹ na?" she shouted.
I stayed quiet, rubbing my fingers together anxiously. I was trying to think of a skill I could learn, but honestly, nothing came to mind.
Seeing this, she sighed. "I think event planning would be best for you. Since you already learned something about baking in school."
"Oh yes, baking," I thought, though I had no interest in it. I only picked it because vocational training was compulsory and baking seemed fancy — plus, my sister was the teacher. But I had to agree because it was the only thing I could think of. If I had said I wasn't interested, without suggesting anything else, I'd be in trouble.
"Yeah, event planning is okay," I said, relieved that she wouldn't scold me further. My face stayed blank, as always. People often asked why I never showed emotion. Even back in JSS3, my class teacher once called me aside and asked why I was so cold. I didn't even know "cold" could mean something beyond temperature.
Hmm. Even if I had known, I wouldn't have said anything. Every time I thought I was laughing, it felt like a lie — like my expressions failed me. But slowly, I got used to my "expression dysfunction," or whatever it was. Heh heh.
"Ehn ehn, that's good. You should start on Monday," she said, adjusting her glasses.
A week later, I registered at a nearby shop and started going to work. At first, everyone — my boss and colleagues — tried to make me talk, to act more like an extrovert. But… you know.
Is being an introvert a crime? Why does everyone want to change me?
You might wonder how they even knew I was introverted. To most people — including my mum — I was just "too quiet" or "a bit dumb." They didn't realize it was simply my personality. Well, I couldn't really blame my mum; I wasn't always like this growing up. She must have been worried.
She even told my boss about me, saying she wanted her to make me "more extroverted." My boss agreed — as if she was an expert at erasing personalities.
I decided to see how she planned to "fix" me — how she would destroy the inbuilt device that made me feel uncomfortable, shy, and wary, and somehow transform me into a cheerful girl. I wanted to see her magic.
They became obsessed. And when all their efforts failed, they grew irritated and started calling me names — dumb girl, fool, dull girl, and so on.
The insults piled up until the little interest I had in the work began to fade. I was tired, frustrated, and jealous of my age-mates still in secondary school. I often watched them return from school, imagining myself back in my old uniform, regretting not standing up to my mum when she made me take the WASSCE early.
Going to work started to feel like a burden. I began slacking off, making excuses to stay home — daydreaming about becoming a billionaire, trying to figure out where I went wrong.
My mum started complaining.
"Sola! What is wrong? Ehn! Why are you home at this time?" she'd scold. I never knew how to answer. Then she'd start her usual advice: giving examples of people who "made it" through vocational work.
"You can't rely on education alone nowadays," she'd say. "There's unemployment. The best thing is to learn a skill."
Well, she wasn't wrong. But deep down, I believed there had to be another way. Even at work, my boss often told us how fulfilling her job was — how she'd started small and made it big. I tried to believe her, but I was never satisfied. I had no clear dream or purpose — just constant daydreams.
Still, I wanted to do something for myself. I wanted to make money. So I tried to imagine myself as an event planner.
One day, after so many lectures and advice, I made up my mind — I'd stop slacking off. I'd act indifferent whenever they insulted me and just get through it.
It was a bright Monday morning. I wore one of my loose black trousers from our choreography days, a rough blue shirt, and a scarf slung carelessly over my head. I even picked better sandals so Mum wouldn't complain.
That day, she was in her shop — clean white shirt, black skirt, baby shoes, hair neatly packed, face squeezed from stress. She was calculating and listing items to restock before the weekend, rushing to her office.
As I walked in, a little boy came to buy foodstuff, and I quickly attended to him. Then Mum looked up.
"Bisola, you're dressed?"
"Yes, I'm ready to go to work," I replied, feeling a bit confident.
"Well, I've asked Mr. Waliu, and he said JAMB lessons will start today. I want you to write JAMB this year," she said quickly.
"Okay, ma," I replied, still processing what she said.
"I'll call your boss, okay? It starts by 10 a.m.," she added, hurrying off.
I stood there for a moment — happy I wouldn't have to go to work and that I'd soon be in university. UNI! UNI! I felt like I was floating. I closed the shop and went in, smiling as relief washed over me.
I took two new exercise books, ready to start learning. I jumped on the bed — I still had two hours before the lesson started. Happily, I pulled out my phone and began researching Nigerian universities and suitable courses for art students.
"Law? No, I can't waste that many years in school."
"Public relations? Nah, not my type."
Deep down, I knew what I wanted — or thought I did. I just wanted to be a rich, successful businesswoman with a rich husband, like in the novels. Funny, right?
I left Google and opened a novel app, happy that I wouldn't have to face the torment of being "too gentle" at work — finally, some peace of mind.
Sola was lost in thought in the school library, staring blankly at the novel in her hands. Her face was expressionless, her mind elsewhere.
Now eighteen, she was still trying to figure out who she was — her dreams, her goals. Dressed in a black fitted shirt and tight denim jeans that made her uncomfortable, she had yet to find her own style. Her scarf sat loosely on her head as usual. On the table before her were different literature texts, a small phone she'd bought after misplacing her old one, and a pair of earbuds that felt completely useless at the moment.
Beside them lay a note where she had written:
Peaceful. White. Gray. Green. Neat. Healthy food. Books. Netflix. Personal study. Peace!!!
"When am I going to have that?" she murmured.
Just then, a loud alarm blared, breaking the library's silence. She sighed, and other students hissed in irritation.
"Inside the library, for God's sake. Mtcheew," one of them muttered.
Sola adjusted herself. She had been sitting for hours, yet she hadn't found the answers she sought.
After sitting for JAMB, I became lazier and eventually stopped going to work. Mum was so tired of me. She complained, but I didn't budge. Sometimes I'd go, sometimes I wouldn't. When my JAMB result finally came out and I passed, I was thrilled. I began seeking admission — which became my new excuse to stop working. I never liked the job anyway.
I applied to study Linguistics at Green University, one of the top schools in Nigeria. Of course, I chose it because the name sounded fancy. He he!
When I got the admission, I was over the moon. "At least it's somehow related to literature," I thought.
I pinched myself that day, remembering how happy and foolish I'd been.
Then I noticed someone settling beside me.
"F**k," I cursed silently. I hated when people sat too close; I loved my privacy.
"Well, it's okay if he just minds his business," I thought, sliding my chair slightly away.
The boy chuckled at my movement but said nothing. He pulled out a tablet, notebook, and pen, then started watching a surgery video, making notes as he went. The sound wasn't too loud, but it was enough to bother me.
My irritation grew. I couldn't concentrate. My thoughts scattered — I felt like my personal space had been invaded. Introvert wahala.
Omo, I miss my phone ooo, I thought bitterly, remembering how my roommates mocked me after I lost it. Even those who didn't insult me wore that look that said, "this girl is just dumb."
The pain of that day still stung. I'd searched everywhere for the phone, cried my eyes out when I couldn't find it, only to hear my talkative roommate gossiping about it outside. Their laughter cut deep. That day, I honestly thought about ending it all.
But somehow, I found strength. "If I hadn't lost that phone," I later told myself, "I wouldn't have found my purpose or my real self."
"It's fate," I whispered.
Now I was sitting next to this boy who seemed completely unaware of my inner battle. I tried to gather the courage to tell him to lower the volume. My heart raced as usual — that familiar uneasy feeling whenever I had to speak up.
"I hate this," I muttered under my breath. "Why can't I just talk like normal people?"
Finally, out of frustration, I began swinging my leg back and forth under the table.
The boy frowned, clearly irritated. He turned to me and took off his glasses.
"Hey, miss! Will you stop that?" he said sharply.
I turned to him, startled — and my heart skipped. Hmm, is this what they call a dream come true? He looks like my prince charming in my delulu kingdom.
"Hey, can you even hear me?" he said again, this time with a curious look.
"Ermm… you should also turn down the volume of your tablet. You're not the only one here, you know," I blurted out. My voice was hoarse, but at least I said something.
He looked surprised, then smiled faintly.
"Okay, sorry. I just forgot my earpods. I'll move to another seat."
I should've felt relieved, but instead a weird ache hit my chest. My eyes darted to my useless earpods on the table.
"Hey," I called as he was about to stand up.
He turned, puzzled. "Kí ló tún fẹ? What else does she want? Weird girl," he probably thought.
"Take this," I said quickly, pushing my earpods toward him. "Just borrowing you though."
"Oh, thanks," he said, smiling.
And boom — that smile. It was refreshing, boyish, yet confident. My heart skipped again, and I froze. I could only nod before burying my face back into the novel.
"She's so weird," he thought, chuckling.
But I couldn't focus anymore. My heart raced like a drum. His smile replayed in my head over and over again. Thump, thump, thump.
At times, I'd steal a glance at him. His dark skin glowed, his haircut neat, his lips full, his straight nose and lashes perfect. He looked like the CEOs in romance novels.
When he noticed me staring, he turned suddenly — and our eyes met. I froze. My heart pounded even louder, thump, thump, thump, like a Bollywood love scene.
I turned away quickly, hiding my face in the book as his quiet chuckle echoed beside me.
When the bell rang and students started leaving, I stayed put, too embarrassed to move. I prayed he'd just leave the earpods and go.
He did — smiling as he placed them gently on my table before walking out.
Relieved, I exhaled deeply, making the sign of the cross. If we're meant to be, we'll meet again, I thought.
But fate had other plans.
On her way out, she saw him standing by the gate, waving like an old friend.
She hesitated but walked toward him, her heart racing.
"Hey, thanks for the earpods," he said with a warm smile.
And just like that, her voice vanished.
"I guess you're the introverted type," he said teasingly.
At that, she managed a small nod. "At least he's not ignorant," she thought with relief.
"Well, I'm Kolade Abolade," he said, stretching out his hand.
She shook it nervously. "Adesola Ajisafe," she replied.
"Nice name," he said.
Her heart fluttered. She couldn't believe how easily she was talking to him. Maybe it was because he didn't judge her — or maybe it was just the crush.
"Can I get your number?" he asked as a shuttle driver honked nearby.
"I recently lost my phone," she said quickly, "and I haven't retrieved my SIM. The NIN network here is terrible."
"Oh," he replied simply as they boarded the shuttle.
Sola's excitement dimmed a little. He must think I'm dumb, she thought sadly.
The bus roared to life, and the silence was thick. But she caught herself sniffing his cologne, smiling foolishly. Whatever perfume this is, it smells heavenly, she thought.
When she got home later that day, she couldn't stop blushing. Her roommates stared at her like she was going mad.
"Fool," Kemi, her fair, short roommate, muttered.
Sola sighed. She was used to it. "Maybe she's an ogbanje," she joked to herself and chuckled quietly.
"Bad belle," she whispered before lying down, that same smile still lingering on her lips.