CHAPTER ELEVEN
1383 Words
Two weeks.
That was how long it had been since Grace and Maddie had scribbled their scale of preference into Grace’s old journal. And they’d stuck to it like glue.
Mornings started early now, alarms blaring before 6 a.m. Lectures were no longer something to dread but part of the journey. Afternoons were sacred—reserved for studying, brainstorming content ideas, checking emails, or editing previous videos.
And evenings?
Evenings belonged to their grind. t****k was no longer just a creative outlet—it was the business. The brand. The dream. Some days, they rehearsed trending dance challenges until their knees hurt. Other days, they created vlogs about uni life, filmed Q&As in low light, or tried out goofy challenges they came up with in the hostel bathroom. Maddie was surprisingly hilarious in front of the camera. Grace had a knack for timing and aesthetics. Together, they worked.
People noticed.
Their t****k pages exploded with activity. Comments poured in:
“These girls are the moment.”
“Can someone get them a deal already?”
“I literally wait for their videos every day.”
The brands followed. First small ones—hair accessories, phone cases, clothing pages. Then came a known Lagos thrift store, offering payment and free clothes for a styling collab. Their inbox became a battleground between uni stress and digital dreams.
Even schoolmates began to stare longer, whispering, “Those are the girls from t****k, right?”
It felt like momentum. Real momentum.
And then came this Thursday.
The sky stretched wide and brilliant—bluer than usual, with clouds thin and stretched like cotton candy. Grace and Bami had just wrapped their only joint class for the week, CHM 101. The lecture hall had emptied quickly, the dull buzz of students fading behind them.
Instead of heading for the cafeteria, Grace sat on the balcony outside, her new laptop balanced on her lap, headphones in, editing a short dance collab she and Maddie had filmed the night before. Her fingers moved fast. Transitions. Cuts. Sync. Caption.
A soft thud beside her made her glance up. Bami had slumped onto the bench, head tilted back, eyes closed.
“Do you have to do this everyday? do you ever take a breather?,” he muttered.
Grace blinked, still focused on her screen. “Huh?”
“I mean, I love this for you. All of it. The growth, the fans, the content. But today...” He opened his eyes, gazing at the sky. “I want you to take a break.”
Grace glanced at the time. 3:07 p.m. According to their planner, she was due to record a collab with a Lagos-based dancer via split-screen by 4.
“I know...” she said softly. “But Maddie and I scheduled this. We—”
Bami sat up. “Come with me.”
Grace tilted her head. “Huh? Where?”
“The beach.”
She laughed. “You’re joking.”
“I’m serious,” he replied, eyes sparkling with mischief. “We’ll take a bus. I’ve got enough on my card. To just breathe, Grace. Please.”
She hesitated. Her mind raced through the content calendar, the editing queue, her unread emails.
But something in Bami’s voice sounded raw. Honest.
“You sure?”
“We’ll be back by 9 latest. Promise.”
A long beat passed. Grace shut her laptop.
“Fine. But just today.”
They boarded a bus just outside campus at 3:15. Grace leaned against the window, eyes watching the world blur into speeding colors. The chatter of commuters, the occasional car horn, the jingle of hawkers selling popcorn and gala—it was chaotic and beautiful.
By 4:05, they were on the island, the ocean air wrapping around them like a hug. The breeze tugged at their hair, and the smell of salt and coconut oil filled their lungs. Waves crashed softly in the distance, and the sun, already beginning to dip, painted the water gold.
They kicked off their shoes, letting the cool sand seep between their toes. It was warm in places, wet in others. The kind of sand that stuck but didn’t annoy.
They walked along the shore in silence for a while, Grace’s skirt fluttering around her knees. Bami stopped to buy suya from a roadside vendor, tossing in two chilled glass bottles of soft drinks.
They spread out an old wrapper he’d brought from his bag and sat, their backs to the fading skyline.
“See that guy over there?” Bami pointed.
Grace looked and saw a man chasing his cap that the wind had snatched. He finally caught it and raised his hands in victory.
“I swear, Lagos will humble you,” Bami laughed.
Grace giggled, head tilted back. “You know, I can’t remember the last time I just laughed without thinking of money or captions.”
“That’s why I brought you here.”
Silence settled again, this time soft, like a blanket.
Then Bami’s tone shifted. Lower. Serious.
“You know there's something I haven't told you.”
Grace turned to him. “What do you mean?”
“When I was thirteen,” he said, “I lost my brother. He drowned. Same beach, different day. I hated the ocean for a long time after that. Still do, sometimes.”
Her breath caught.
“Bami…”
“I’m not telling you for pity. I just… I want you to see me. Not the version that’s always joking or planning content.”
She nodded slowly. “Then I’ll tell you something too.”
She told him about her dad. How he’d pushed her to always be the best but never truly acknowledged when she was. How she used to sneak out to dance behind their compound, barefoot in the red sand, pretending she was on a world stage.
They swapped stories. He told her about the time he accidentally ate pepper soup with extra ata rodo because he thought it was onions. She told him how she once tripped during assembly while wearing oversized platform sandals she’d begged her mum to buy.
They laughed until their bellies hurt. But then came the quiet again—heavier now.
“Grace,” Bami said softly.
“Yeah?”
“I like you.”
Her smile faltered. “What?”
“I like you. Not just as a friend. Not just for the content. I like you.”
Her heart skipped.
“I don’t expect you to say anything. I just needed you to know.”
And she didn’t. She didn’t say a word. She only looked at him, eyes searching, heart pounding, unsure whether it was the breeze or him that made her chest so tight.
They stayed like that until the stars crept out one by one and the tide nipped at their toes like a quiet reminder that time was passing.
At 9:00 p.m., they were back on campus. Bami walked her to the hostel gate, hands shoved in his pockets, his earlier confidence tucked away.
But as they approached, the door swung open.
Maddie.
Arms folded. Face thunderous.
“Where the hell have you been?”
Grace froze.
“Maddie, I—”
“We had edits due. Emails to respond to. A brand asked if we’re unserious. I’ve been calling you! You weren’t even online. What happened to the plan?!”
Bami stepped forward. “She needed a break. You need a break.”
“This isn’t a game, Bami!” Maddie yelled. “You think you can just drag her off like everything’s fine?”
“She’s been pushing herself for weeks! You both have!” Bami snapped. “You’re not robots. You’re allowed one evening.”
“This is why people don’t take us seriously.”
Maddie turned sharply and stomped inside, slamming the door so hard Grace could swear the wall shook.
Grace stood there, rooted.
“I’m sorry,” Bami said.
“It’s not your fault.”
But still… it was something. A c***k in the rhythm they’d fought so hard to build.
Bami gave her a soft, unreadable look. Then he walked away, hands still in his pockets.
And Grace was left standing there—stuck between guilt and growth, loyalty and longing, structure and spontaneity.
- Writer
