Before it's too late

Title: Before It’s Too Late (Lagos Version) Lagos never slept. It only paused to breathe. Zara learned this early, living in Surulere, in her aunty’s flat where silence was dangerous and noise meant pretending nothing was wrong. She had come from Ilu-Ayo three years earlier, bright-eyed and clever. Her younger sister, Sade, stayed with another aunty across town. They spoke on borrowed phones and cried quietly so no one would hear. Zara became an excellent student. A school prefect. The kind teachers trusted. At home, she counted time. “Just finish school,” she told herself. “Just hold on.” Her aunty’s husband smiled too much. Asked questions that felt like traps. Zara learned to stay late at school, to sit near the door, to sleep with fear like a light left on. No one asked why she never relaxed. Christmas in Lagos During the Christmas break, Lagos softened. Music floated. Harmattan dust made the air feel borrowed. That was when Daniel arrived. He had a Lagos accent wrapped in something foreign. California, he said. He laughed easily, listened carefully. For once, Zara felt seen, not watched. They talked for hours—about books, leaving, staying, dreaming. “You don’t joke with your future,” Daniel said one night. Zara smiled. “Someone has to.” Two nights before he flew back, Zara made a decision that belonged only to her. The details stayed private. What remained was change. Daniel did not disappear. From across the ocean, he stayed. He called. He listened. When Zara told him her fears, he did not judge. “Write the exams,” he said. “SAT. TOEFL. Even French if you can. Prepare before it’s too late.” So she did. The Fall School resumed. Reality returned. By mid-term, Zara could no longer hide what her body was saying. Whispers followed her through corridors once filled with respect. “How?” “With who?” “But she’s a prefect.” Her boyfriend—kind but unprepared—walked away in silence. At home, shame arrived before words. Accusations. Insults. Blame. Zara grieved everything at once: Her image. Her safety. Her certainty. Still, she studied. At night, she placed her hands on her belly and whispered, “We will survive.” The Rise Results came quietly. Then loudly. Emails stacked like miracles. Full scholarships. Acceptance letters. Welcome. Daniel returned. Not with excuses—but with purpose. He went to Ilu-Ayo. Spoke to elders. Paid bride price with respect, not pride. Then he found Sade. “She comes with us,” he said simply. No arguments. No delays. Leaving Lagos At the airport, Zara looked back once. Not with bitterness. With relief. “This is not running away,” she told her sister. “It’s choosing life.” The plane lifted. And for the first time, their dreams had room to breathe.