Meaningless path

Peculiar lived in a quiet house on the edge of town—not the peaceful kind of quiet, but the kind that felt heavy with emptiness. Her parents drifted through the rooms like ghosts, their voices barely above a whisper, their hearts weighed down by old routines. Conversations felt more like chores than connections. Affection? That was a rare visitor. And Peculiar? She was just another shadow in that house. Most days, she moved around like someone trying not to break the silence. But inside, her mind was buzzing—filled with melodies, lyrics, and dreams too big for the smallness that surrounded her. At nineteen, she was a university student, and while her bag was filled with books, it was music that truly filled her soul. But nobody really knew that. At school, she wore her quietness like armor. She smiled when she had to, nodded politely, and always sat at the back of every class. Her professors barely remembered her name, and most of her classmates wouldn’t recognize her if they passed on the street. It didn’t bother her too much. Being invisible gave her room to dream. But dreams need space to breathe, and Peculiar was starting to feel suffocated Her father, Mr. Jeremiah Adeniran, was a man of few words and even fewer emotions. He worked long hours and returned home to his chair, his newspaper, and more silence. Her mother, Mrs. Victoria Adeniran, used to sing around the house, but even those small joys had faded away. Now, she moved with a mechanical grace—dutiful but distant. They weren’t cruel, just... absent. Absent in a way that cut deeper than anger ever could. Peculiar’s true voice lived in the tiny world she created when no one was watching. Late at night, when the outside world hushed and her parents went to bed, she’d sneak out to the abandoned shed behind their house. There, she’d sit with her phone, a small ring light, and sing into the night. Gospel songs, soul ballads, R&B—anything that made her feel something. That’s when Noah found her. It was a Thursday night. She had just finished recording a cover of Tori Kelly’s “Never Alone,” her voice trembling with something real and raw. Just as she was about to stop the recording, she heard a soft clap. Startled, she spun around, her heart racing. Noah stepped out of the shadows, hands raised in a gesture of peace. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you.” He was tall, with a soft afro, caramel-brown skin, and eyes that seemed to see right into her soul. Dressed in a hoodie and jeans, he carried a quiet confidence that made him look older than he looked. “Who are you?” Peculiar asked, her voice low and tense. “I’m Noah. I live two streets down,” he said. “Believe me I wasn’t spying—I was just walking home and heard you singing. I couldn’t help but stop because... wow damn . You’ve got an amazing voice.” Peculiar stared at him, unsure whether to feel embarrassed or scared. Her fingers trembled a bit, still clutching her phone. “I’m not weird or anything,” he added quickly. “I’m a singer too. That’s why I noticed. That song—you made it yours.” She swallowed hard and replied softly, “Thank you.” And that was just the start. Noah didn’t vanish after that. He began showing up—sometimes with his guitar, sometimes bringing a new song for them to try. He was easy to talk to, not pushy or loud, just... sweet . He listened more than he spoke. And when he did speak, it was always something worth hearing. Over time, the shed became their secret stage. Together, they’d rehearse duets, write original songs, and talk about dreams they were too scared to voice in the daylight. Peculiar found herself laughing more and worrying less. For maybe the first time, she started to believe that her voice wasn’t a burden, but a gift. But home? That stayed the same. One evening, after a practice session with Noah, she returned home humming a melody they’d just created. As she entered the kitchen, she spotted her mother washing dishes. Mrs. Adeniran glanced at her, then looked back down. “You're back.” Peculiar hesitated. “Yes, ma.” A moment of silence hung in the air. “You’ve been going out a lot lately,” her mother said, still not meeting her gaze. Peculiar hesitated again. “Just… school stuff.” “Hmmm.” It wasn’t an accusation, not really. But it carried weight. Peculiar opened her mouth to explain, to say something—anything. But the words caught in her throat. Instead, she walked away, the old silence She lingered in the hallway long after her mom had left, feeling a heaviness in her heart. The silence wrapped around her like a thick blanket, almost suffocating. She could still hear the soft creak of her mother’s door closing down the hall, followed by an eerie stillness that made her question everything she’d just experienced. Carefully, she tiptoed to her room and quietly shut the door behind her. Leaning against it, she slowly sank down to the floor. With her knees hugged to her chest and her arms wrapped around them, the tears began to flow. She wasn’t quite sure why she was crying. It wasn’t guilt or fear—more like something in between. It felt like mourning, as if she were saying goodbye to an old version of herself. The girl who waited to be acknowledged. The girl who kept her dreams hidden, staying loyal to a silence that never really protected her. The girl no one listened to. That girl was fading away, and she couldn’t help but wonder if anyone in that house even noticed. Wiping her eyes, she stood up and walked to her dresser. Above it hung a tiny mirror—not even large enough to see her whole face. But she looked into it anyway, searching for something in her reflection. Her eyes were weary, yet they sparkled with a new kind . She stared at herself and thought if I stop singing …then what’s left of me She didn’t have all the answers yet, but one thing was clear—there was no going back. The next morning, she was up before the sun. Though her body felt heavy, her heart raced with excitement. She pulled on a hoodie, grabbed her notebook and phone, and slipped out of the house before anyone else woke up. She made her way to the park a few blocks away—the one with the empty benches and the neglected corner stage that no one used anymore. Sitting there, she watched the sky change from deep blue to a soft orange-pink, jotting down bits of lyrics that flowed through her mind. “I kept my voice in a box for you, Wrapped it in silence, sealed it with shame. But I’m breaking glass and breathing through— This voice is fire, not just a name.” She underlined that last line twice, then leaned back to gaze at the morning sky. This was her life now—caught between the girl her parents expected and the woman her music was urging her to become. And maybe… just maybe, it was time for those two to finally meet each-other .