The night before leaving felt like the end of something I didn't realize had already ended.
My bag sat half-packed on the bed. Clothes folded neatly. Admission letter creased from how often I'd looked at it. I ran my fingers across the bold letters—*CRESTVILLE UNIVERSITY*—as if touching them would make it feel more real.
Mama was humming in the kitchen, boiling water for her bath like I wasn't about to leave her whole world quieter. I wanted to cry, but I didn't. Not yet.
Or so I thought.
I found hot tears falling out of my eyes uncontrollably for no particular reason.
Frederick had called earlier. He was staying with his older brother who already lived off campus and had offered to let me stay too—at least until I settled in or got accommodation. I was hesitant, but grateful.
"I trust you," I had said.
"Don't trust me too much," he'd joked, his voice light, but there was something in it I didn't name.
Still, it was practical. We didn't have much, and off-campus living would save me a mountain of stress. I agreed, though my heart felt like it had folded in on itself.
By morning, the sky was painted with soft gold. The streets buzzed—vendors shouting, cars honking, and children dragging school bags too big for their backs.
Mama handed me a small nylon bag filled with snacks and a quiet blessing. "Don't forget who you are."
"I won't," I whispered, hugging her tighter than I ever had, as silent tears fell down my cheeks
Then, just like that, I was on the bus, back pressed against the hot leather seat, the road curling ahead like a question I didn't yet know how to answer.
---
*Crestville.*
It was more than a name now. It was a place. A new chapter. A chance to become someone bigger than the factory, the fights, the silence Bryan left behind.
As we pulled into the university gate, my breath caught.
It wasn't just the buildings — tall, clean, proud. Or the students walking with confidence like they owned the world. It was the *feeling*.
The feeling that I was finally standing on the edge of something mine.
For a moment, I didn't move. I just stared through the window, watching as girls with box braids laughed over smoothies, and boys in hoodies argued about something loud and passionate. The campus buzzed with life — books, gossip, plans, people.
And that felt like freedom.
Frederick met me near the front gate. He had his bag slung carelessly over one shoulder, hair messy, smile tired but familiar.
"You ready?" he asked.
I took one more look at the gate behind me — the world I was leaving — then nodded.
"Let's go."
We walked through the campus, his voice filling the silence as he pointed things out: "That's the Faculty of Arts. The cafeteria sells overpriced spaghetti. And that tree? Someone said it's older than the Vice Chancellor."
I barely responded. My eyes were too busy soaking everything in.
Students laughing. Someone blasting Afrobeat from a speaker. The smell of meat pie and ambition. And above it all, the sun, warm on my face, like the universe itself was saying, *Welcome.*
We got to the apartment — small but neat. Frederick's brother (Jason) greeted me with a nod and went back to his laptop, barely looking up.
I placed my bag down and stood still, the silence suddenly louder than the factory ever was.
This was it.
No turning back.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel lost.
I felt found.
*"They say the gate you enter doesn't matter—only the steps you take after. But this one… this gate? It changed everything."*