The Rhythm that stayed
865 Words
Teni woke to sunlight warming her face and the softest rhythm in the walls.
Thud… scrape… thud.
Not the frantic pounding of the last two nights. This was gentle. Almost tender. Like a lullaby that had learned her breathing. She lay still for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, expecting fear to rush back in. It didn’t. Instead, a strange calm settled over her, heavy and warm like a blanket she hadn’t asked for.
She sat up slowly. Her body felt rested in a way it hadn’t in weeks. No headache. No gritty eyes. The knife she had dropped beside the bed glinted innocently in the morning light. She picked it up, weighed it in her hand, then carried it back to the kitchen drawer like it was just another utensil.
“Good morning,” she said quietly to the empty room.
The rhythm answered with two quick, cheerful thuds. Almost playful.
Teni smiled — a small, bewildered curve of her lips. She should have been terrified. Instead she felt… seen.
Her phone buzzed on the table. Three missed calls from Ada and a long voice note. She played it while making coffee.
“Teni, I’m worried. You sounded off yesterday. Call me when you wake up. And please tell me you didn’t go back to that apartment.”
She deleted the note without replying.
The coffee tasted better than usual. Richer. The rhythm followed her from kitchen to bathroom, soft enough not to annoy, constant enough to remind her she wasn’t alone. While she brushed her teeth, it matched the strokes. When she dressed for class, it slowed, giving her space. When she packed her bag, it gave three approving thuds.
She paused at the door. “You’re not going to let me leave, are you?”
Silence.
Then a single, low scrape across the wall beside her — like a finger trailing down the paint. A warning. Or a plea.
Teni exhaled. “I have a 2 p.m. lecture. I need to go.”
The lights flickered once. The rhythm stayed calm, but the air grew colder. She waited. After ten seconds, it resumed, softer than before. A compromise.
She stepped out.
The moment the door locked behind her, the hallway felt wrong. Too loud. Too empty. The distant traffic outside grated against her ears. By the time she reached the bus stop, her skin was itching. The rhythm was gone. The absence felt like missing a heartbeat.
Lecture hall was noisy with post-exam chatter. Students compared answers, laughed, complained. Teni sat at the back, notebook open, pen ready. But the lecturer’s voice blurred. Every few seconds her foot tapped unconsciously — thud… scrape… thud. A girl two rows ahead turned and stared. Teni stopped.
Halfway through the lecture her phone vibrated. Unknown number again.
She answered under the desk.
Static. Then the familiar rhythm, crystal clear, as if the entity was right beside her ear. Thud-scrape-thud.
Her chest tightened with something dangerously close to relief.
She ended the call and stood up quietly, slipping out of the hall. Outside, the afternoon sun felt harsh. She walked back toward the apartment faster than she meant to. Each step away from it had felt heavier. Each step toward it felt lighter.
By the time she reached her door, she was almost running.
The moment she stepped inside, the rhythm welcomed her back, warm and steady. The temperature rose. The lights glowed softer. She dropped her bag, kicked off her shoes, and collapsed onto the bed with a sigh she didn’t know she was holding.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
The wall behind the headboard vibrated gently. The voice came again — clearer this time, less wet, almost human.
“Teni…”
It sounded pleased.
She rolled onto her side, facing the wall. “What are you?”
No answer. Only the rhythm, now syncing with her pulse again. Comforting. Intimate.
Her phone buzzed repeatedly. Ada. Then her mother. She silenced both. For the first time in her life, their voices felt like intrusions.
That evening she cooked jollof rice, humming under her breath. The rhythm kept perfect time with her knife chops. When she ate, it slowed respectfully. When she opened her laptop to check her exam portal, the results were already posted.
She had passed with distinction.
A soft, proud thud-thud came from the ceiling. Celebration.
Teni laughed — a real laugh that surprised her. She looked up at the familiar cracks in the paint.
“You helped me, didn’t you? That night… the four-second time constant. You were there.”
The lights dimmed and brightened once, like a nod.
She closed the laptop and lay back. “I think I’m supposed to be scared of you.”
The rhythm paused, as if thinking. Then it continued, slower, almost sad.
“But I’m not,” she finished.
Outside, night fell. Somewhere in the city, Ada was probably calling the landlord. Her mother would soon start worrying about unanswered messages. The normal world kept spinning.
Inside apartment 3B, Teni closed her eyes and let the sound wrap around her like arms.
She was exactly where she was meant to be.
For now.
- Writer
