The next day, she woke up naturally — swollen eyes, puffy lips, and drool all over her pillow. Her breath was terrible, her clothes rumpled, her body heavy.
She sat up slowly, rubbing her face. God, how can morning breath be this bad? she thought. Still half asleep, she reached for her purple toothbrush and MacLean toothpaste — the unofficial brand in every African home. She fetched a bucket of water, slung her towel over her neck, grabbed her soap case, and tiptoed to the bathroom.
She moved quietly, careful not to wake her roommate — even though it was impossible. The bathroom door always creaked.
As she turned the handle, Kemi, sprawled on her bed, groaned in irritation. "Hmm. Early bird don wake again," Sola muttered under her breath with a small smile.
In the bathroom, she started brushing her teeth. "Omoh, I wish we had a mirror here," she whispered.
Then, like a flash, Kolade's face crossed her mind — that soft smile, those calm eyes. She choked on the foam and started coughing.
"Mtcheeeew," Kemi hissed loudly from inside the room, muttering something Sola couldn't hear.
Sola spat into the sink, rinsed her mouth, and sighed.
Hmm. I don dey fall for this boy oo.
Then she quickly corrected herself.
No joor, it's just a crush. Love at my age? God forbid.
She laughed softly at herself and took her bath.
When she got dressed, she stood before the mirror, staring at her reflection. She smiled bitterly. Another day — probably like every other day. Disdainful looks. Uneasiness. Insults. Trekking. The same routine.
I wish I could turn back time, she thought. Or maybe just… disappear.
"Aunty Kemi, bye-bye," she said quietly as she packed her bag.
Kemi didn't reply. Didn't even look at her.
Sola stepped out of the hostel. Most people were still asleep — a relief. The compound was silent except for the distant hum of generators. When everyone was awake, they stared at her like she didn't belong. Someone once called her "foolish and arrogant" in the hostel WhatsApp group, saying she never greeted anyone.
But they didn't understand. She wasn't proud — just scared. She couldn't bring herself to look people in the eyes, especially when they stood in groups, laughing loudly. Her voice always felt too small.
She remembered one evening when she came back from school. The boys were playing football near the hostel. The moment they saw her, they paused — eyes on her like she'd done something wrong. Someone shouted, "See that fool!" and the laughter followed.
Her heart had raced, but she kept her head high, walked past, pretending she didn't care. Inside, her chest had burned. I wish I could time travel, she had thought then too.
Since that day, she always waited until the compound was empty before leaving. There used to be a small corner she could sneak through unnoticed, but it had been blocked recently. That discovery broke her.
Funny how she became "popular" without saying a single word. They disliked her simply for existing quietly.
Sick, she thought as she stepped onto the empty road.
The road was already warming under the morning sun. Sola walked with her bag slung loosely across her shoulder, her steps slow but deliberate.
Walking to school was never easy. Not because of the distance, but because of people.
Why is she staring at me?
What is he looking at?
Is my face ugly?
Did I wear something weird?
The questions followed her every day like shadows. She never thought anyone could be looking because she was beautiful — that idea never crossed her mind. Her self-esteem had sunk too deep for that.
Two boys laughed by the roadside, and immediately her chest tightened. Are they laughing at me? Is my mouth too big? My face bent?
Her stomach knotted.
She straightened her shoulders, forced a small, confident smile, and walked faster — her classic defense. To anyone watching, she looked composed. But inside, her thoughts were loud and restless.
No one was really staring, but her mind convinced her otherwise.
She passed Kafayah's hostel — her coursemate. Sola prayed silently that she wouldn't see her. Kafayah was loud, proud, and could never mind her business.
But fate had other plans.
There she was — by the well in front of the hostel, dressed in her long black hijab, fetching water and laughing loudly with her neighbours. The air around her was filled with noise and gossip.
Sola lowered her head and tried to sneak past, hoping to go unnoticed. But before she could turn the corner—
"Hah hah! Sola!"
She froze instantly.
Caught like someone doing something wrong, she turned with a weak, awkward smile.
"Where are you going?" Kafayah called out, her tone laced with mockery.
"School," Sola replied softly, her voice trembling.
"At this time?"
"Yes," she said again, still forcing a polite smile, praying the conversation would end.
Kafayah snorted and said, "Okay oo," with that expression that always screamed 'Who does she think she is?'
Relieved, Sola waved goodbye and turned to leave.
But before she got far, she heard it — clear and deliberate.
"Òpònú lọmọ yèn òo, ó gọ̀ gan."
(That girl is an idiot. She's so dull.)
The words stabbed her like pins. Kafayah hadn't even bothered to whisper.
Sola stopped for a moment, her chest heavy. But am I really dumb? she thought. Is it my fault I just want to walk alone? What's so wrong with that?
She took a deep breath, blinked back the sting in her eyes, and kept walking — face blank, heart breaking quietly.
Her heart felt heavier with each step, but her face stayed expressionless — the usual mask she wore to hide everything she couldn't say.
The street was waking up. Students hurried past in groups, chatting and laughing about lecturers, exams, and hostel gossip. Sola walked quietly, avoiding eye contact, keeping her distance.
Her mind was a whirlwind — uneasiness, relief, restlessness, shyness, confusion — all fighting for space in her chest. From the way she moved, anyone could tell she wasn't comfortable in her own skin.
Every day felt like a battle she never signed up for.
Why is she looking at me?
What is he staring at?
Is there something wrong with my face? My dress?
The same questions chased her thoughts like echoes.
Sometimes she wished she could be invisible.
When she reached the main road, two guys were laughing near a kiosk. They weren't even looking her way, but still, her mind whispered: It's about you.
She quickened her pace, forcing that fake, confident posture again — chin up, back straight, steps firm — pretending she didn't care. She'd mastered that look.
But deep down, she was terrified.
She passed by Kafayah's hostel again — her heart racing — and kept walking until the road opened up to the tarmac.
White buses were lined up neatly, their drivers calling out destinations in loud, practiced voices. They were dressed in colourful Ankara prints, some in faded T-shirts and trousers, waving at students like auctioneers.
The noise felt far away to Sola. Her world was quiet — painfully quiet.
She walked up to a shuttle calling for students going to Humanities and Admin. The driver gave her a quick once-over but said nothing. She climbed in and sat by the window, clutching her bag tightly.
The bus was half empty. The early morning calm made everything feel softer. For the first time that day, she felt a small kind of peace.
She rested her head on the window, staring at the sky. It was an endless stretch of blue — beautiful, silent, untouchable.
Her thoughts drifted again.
What's really my offence? she wondered. I'm just quiet. I haven't hurt anyone. Why do they hate me so much? Do they think I'm proud? Or dumb? Or just weird?
Tears burned behind her eyes, but she blinked them back.
Sometimes, I even try for them, she thought bitterly. I force smiles, I start conversations… I try to fit in — but they still look down on me. What else do they want?
Her throat tightened.
God, please, she whispered in her heart, I'm tired. Please, just take me. I don't want to sin, but I can't keep doing this.
Her chest rose and fell slowly.
Why are people so ignorant? she thought, biting her lip. Why is it that extroverts are celebrated, but people like me are treated like problems?
The bus started to move. The sound of the engine swallowed her thoughts.
She looked out again — at the soft clouds, the dancing leaves, the light wind brushing through trees.
For a moment, the world looked peaceful. She wished her mind could be that way too.
When the shuttle pulled into the campus gate, Sola blinked away her thoughts and adjusted her bag. The driver shouted the last stop, and one by one, students began to climb down.
She handed him the fare quietly. "Thank you," she said under her breath, though he barely heard her.
The sun was gentler on this side of the morning. A soft wind brushed against her cheeks, carrying the smell of dust and blooming flowers.
She made her way toward her department, her sandals tapping lightly against the concrete. The school was almost empty — only a few students scattered across the walkway. That quietness comforted her.
When she reached the department, the place was still and peaceful. No loud laughter. No gossip. Just the rustle of leaves and the distant cawing of birds.
Sola let out a small breath of relief.
She went to her usual spot — a corner near the old tarmac where she could see everything clearly: the white sky stretching wide, the green leaves swaying lazily in the breeze, and the little birds hopping from branch to branch.
The view always calmed her.
"If I had my phone," she murmured, "I'd take a picture of this."
But even without one, she smiled softly. For a moment, everything inside her grew quiet — no worries, no judgments, no noise. Just her and the sky.
Then a loud voice broke the peace.
"Sholly!"
Her body stiffened immediately. Only one person called her that.
Reggae.
He was already walking toward her, dressed in his usual mix of colors — a red Louis Vuitton cap, green Gucci shirt, and black Channel trousers. He walked like he owned the ground beneath his feet, his perfume and sweat mixing in a way that made her want to hold her breath.
She turned slightly, pretending to be unbothered, but her heart was racing.
"Ah! I just came down from shuttle!" he said, talking fast in his thick Oyo accent. "I don call others. Kafayah don craze — she say she dey tarmac already!"
Sola nodded politely, not understanding half of what he said but murmuring "Oh" now and then so he wouldn't accuse her of ignoring him.
He kept talking — louder, closer, grinning too wide.
She forced a small smile. God, when will this boy rest?
Not long after, the others began to arrive one by one — Peter, the self-proclaimed genius who always spoke nonsense; Sade, the lecturers' favourite, brilliant and confident; Kareemah, short and sweet, loved by everyone; and finally, Kafayah.
Sola sighed quietly when she saw her. Of all people, why her again?
Kafayah's loud laugh filled the air as she joined Sade. Funny, how they'd once been enemies when school resumed. Kafayah used to insult Sade behind her back, calling her proud and arrogant. Yet here they were now — hugging, teasing, acting like best friends.
Sola just watched them, her face blank.
People change fast, she thought. Or maybe they never mean half of what they say.
The once peaceful atmosphere around her now buzzed with voices, laughter, and banter. Everyone talking over one another, trading jokes and gossip.
She sat still, her eyes fixed on a far corner of the wall. The noise blurred into background sound — she was there but not really there.
Jide, the class rep, arrived not long after — tall, calm, and carrying the lecturer's bag as usual. His shirt was half tucked in, his expression tired. From the look on his face, it was obvious he'd just been scolded again for coming late or missing a meeting.
"Una don gather?" he asked, voice low. Before anyone could respond, a deep, familiar voice echoed behind him.
Dr. Hakeem.
The chatter stopped instantly.
He was a tall, broad man with a heavy gait and a face that carried permanent disapproval. His booming baritone filled the corridor before he even appeared. He wore a cream senator outfit and a woven ofì cap that matched perfectly.
Every student straightened up.
"Good morning, sir," they chorused.
He nodded slightly. "Let's find a class," he said, his tone clipped.
They weren't many — barely a dozen — so they usually used the departmental office for classes. But this time, he wanted a proper classroom.
Everyone exchanged nervous looks. That usually meant one thing: a test.
They followed him silently until he chose a medium-sized room with wooden desks and wide windows that let in the morning light. The air felt too still, too expectant.
Sola found a seat near the back, her safe zone. To her dismay, Reggae dropped into the seat beside her, his perfume flooding the air. She tensed immediately but said nothing.
Dr. Hakeem set his files down and turned to face them. "What was the last topic we treated?"
The room fell silent.
Then Sade's confident voice broke through. "Sir, we stopped at The History of Psycholinguistics."
He nodded and wrote LANGUAGE DEVELOPMENT in bold letters on the board.
"Let's write a short note," he said. "We'll do revision later. And next week, you'll have your test."
A quiet groan rippled through the class.
Sola kept her head down, scribbling notes, trying to look invisible. But Dr. Hakeem's gaze swept across the room — searching, measuring.
His eyes landed on her.
She could feel it — that heavy, unspoken question.
"Sola," he said finally. "You haven't said a word. You're just… quiet."
Her pen froze midair.
For a moment, she wished she could melt into the chair. She forced a small, nervous smile — that strange half-smile she used whenever she didn't know what to say.
"Yes, sir," she murmured.
He studied her for a second longer, then sighed. "Hmm. Anyway. Continue writing."
He turned back to the board, but Sola's mind was spinning. Her throat was tight, her chest heavy.
It wasn't the first time someone had called her out for being "too quiet," but it never stopped stinging. She didn't mean to be silent — she just… didn't know how not to be.
When the class ended, everyone exhaled in relief. Jide gathered the lecturer's files and followed Dr. Hakeem out.
The moment the door closed, Sola stood quickly, packed her books, and slipped out before anyone could start their usual teasing.
She knew what was coming — the whispers, the mockery, the jokes.
She'd heard them all before.