Rebirth

2020 was quiet. Too quiet. Meg had just finished secondary school. WAEC was done. JAMB was written. The long months of exams and stress had ended, and now she was home — waiting for admission. Waiting was heavier than exam. The world outside was loud, uncertain, restless. But Meg stayed mostly inside. Inside her house. Inside her room. Inside her head. She had always been that way. An introvert. The kind of girl who preferred listening to talking. The kind who would sit at the back of the class and still score high. The kind people described as “calm” when they didn’t know what else to say. Social media wasn’t really her thing. She had f*******:, yes. But she rarely posted. No selfies every week. No long captions. No unnecessary attention. Sometimes she would disappear for days without realizing it. It was just something to scroll when she was bored. One evening, her phone buzzed. Vivian added you to a group. The group name was dramatic: “The legends 😂🔥” Meg almost exited immediately. But she stayed. There were only six people inside. Old classmates. Familiar names. Noise. Laughter. Random arguments about who copied whose assignment in school. Meg didn’t type anything. She just read. Ghost member. Her name sat there quietly while messages flew back and forth. Memes. Old pictures. Inside jokes. She reacted to one message with a laughing emoji. That was all. A few hours later, another notification appeared. Alex joined the group. She didn't recognize the name. Not same circle. He said hello to everyone. The chat became louder. Meg muted the group. That night, around 9:38 p.m., her phone buzzed again. Alex sent you a message request. She stared at it for a moment. She almost ignored it. Almost. Curiosity won. She opened it. Alex: “Hi. You’re Meg, right? I'm Alex, 17 years old. I live at mainland” Simple. Not “hey fine girl.” Not “send your number.” Just simple. She typed carefully. Meg: “oh” A minute later. Alex: “You’re very quiet in the group.” She frowned slightly. Meg: “I don’t really talk much.” Alex: “I noticed.” There was no judgment in it. Just observation. She didn’t reply immediately. He sent another message. Alex: “I hope you don’t mind me texting, or am I disturbing ?.” Meg: “No you're not It’s fine.” That was how it began. Their conversations were not long. Not dramatic. Just small pieces of normal. He would ask how her day was. She would say, “Fine.” He would ask if she had eaten. She would say, “Yes.” Sometimes the chat would go quiet for hours. He never complained. He never sent, “why are you ignoring me?” He never demanded instant replies. That mattered more than she realized. One afternoon he asked: Alex: “Are you always this reserved?” She paused before answering. Meg: “Yes.” Three dots appeared. Then: Alex: “I like that.” She blinked at her screen. Nobody had ever said that before. Usually, people say, “You need to open up more.” Or, “You’re too quiet.” But he said he liked it. It felt… safe. Days passed. She found herself replying a little faster. Still not talkative. Still guarded. But not closed. He told her about the course he wanted to study. Medicine She told him she applied for computer science. He said it suited her. She asked why. Alex: “Nothing you talk like you're being programmed to.” She didn’t respond for a while. Not because she didn’t want to. But because she didn’t know how to. He saw things she didn’t advertise. That unsettled her a little. But in a good way. One night, rain tapped softly against her window. She was lying on her bed, lights off, phone brightness low. He sent a message. Alex: “Can I ask you something personal?” She hesitated. Then: Meg: “Okay.” A pause. Alex: “Do you trust people easily?” Her chest tightened slightly. She stared at the question longer than necessary. Meg: “No.” Seconds later: Alex: “That’s smart.” Not “why?” Not “you should.” Just acceptance. She exhaled quietly. Green flag. He didn’t rush things. He didn’t flirt aggressively. He didn’t try to force phone calls. He didn’t ask for pictures. He didn’t cross lines. He just stayed. Consistent. Calm. Present. Sometimes he would disappear for a few hours and return with: Alex: “Sorry, I was helping my mum.” Or Alex: “Network wahala.” There was no mystery. No drama. It felt healthy. Too healthy. One evening he sent: Alex: “I’m glad I texted you.” Her heart skipped lightly. Meg: “Why?” Alex: “You’re different.” She almost asked, Different how? But she didn’t. Instead, she typed: Meg: “Hmm.” He didn’t push further. He didn’t pressure her to react. He just said: Alex: “Good night, Meg.” The way he typed her name felt intentional. Soft. Meg didn’t realize when she started checking her phone more often. Didn’t realize when his notifications began to matter. Didn’t realize when silence from him felt slightly heavier than silence from anyone else. In 2020, she was just a girl waiting for admission. An introvert. A ghost in group chats. A quiet observer of the world. She didn’t know that a simple message request would slowly pull her into something deeper. She didn’t know that sometimes the calmest beginnings hide the loudest endings. All she knew was this— Alex entered her inbox. And she let him stay.