BETWEEN THE SILENCE AND THE SUNLIGHT 💨☀️

Serena Okedi had always believed that honesty was like glass—fragile, precious, easy to shatter. She didn’t know why she believed that; maybe it was something she had learned from watching her parents hide their feelings behind sharp voices and long silences. Or maybe it was because, deep inside, she feared that once someone lied to her, she would break beyond repair. Dayo did not know any of this when he walked into her life through the bright glow of a phone screen. But now, with her heart pounding and her hands trembling, she wished she had never replied to his first message. She wished she could crawl out of her skin, rewind time, and stop herself from ever believing anything that came from the soft, sweet words he used to send her at midnight. It was 11:47 p.m. when she saw it—the truth. Just one careless sentence from him: “I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d stop talking to me. I’m actually 22.” Twenty-two. Serena stared at the screen, blinking as though the numbers might rearrange themselves. Her throat tightened painfully. He had told her he was eighteen. Their conversations, their jokes, the little moments that had warmed her chest… all of it slammed into the wall of that lie. Her fingers felt numb as she typed: “Why did you lie?” The three dots appeared. Paused. Disappeared. Appeared again. Disappeared again. Then finally: “I liked you too much.” The room suddenly felt smaller, the air too thick to breathe. Serena dropped her phone onto her lap and pressed her hands against her eyes. She wasn’t crying—yet. But she could feel the weight rising in her chest like a storm gathering speed, growing darker by the second. He lied. He LIED. Her heartbeat stumbled. From the corridor outside her room, she could hear the twins arguing about a pillow. Kamsi shouting. Tochi begging for quiet. Baby Somto babbling. Her mother calling for someone to wash plates left from dinner. The world outside her door was loud and messy and endless. But inside Serena’s chest, there was only silence—a cold, hollow silence that felt like the moment before a scream. She picked up her phone again. Serena: You shouldn’t have talked to me. I thought you were my age. Dayo: I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to hurt you. Serena: I trusted you. Dayo: Please don’t be upset. That did it. Her hand trembled as she typed the final message. Something inside her tore slightly, like fabric pulled too hard. Serena: Don’t message me again. Then she blocked him. And the silence inside her exploded. Tears burst from her eyes so suddenly she barely made it onto her bed before she curled into herself, burying her face into her pillow. A soft sob escaped her, but she clamped her hand over her mouth. She couldn’t cry loudly—not here. Not in this house where crying was treated like weakness, where she would be told to “stop being dramatic” or “face real problems.” Her chest ached. Her ribs hurt. Her breath came out in sharp, small gasps. She had trusted him. She had actually trusted someone. Maybe she was the fool. You should have known. You should have been smarter. You should have protected yourself. The words tumbled through her mind like rocks. --- The world kept moving even when her heart didn’t. “Serena!” her mother’s voice cut through the air. “Have you washed the plates?” Serena’s whole body tensed. She wiped her face quickly on the edge of her pillow, grabbed a tissue, and pulled herself together. She knew better than to let her mother see her crying this late at night. Mama always said things like: ‘You are too emotional. You cry too much. You’re the eldest; you don’t have the luxury of weakness.’ So Serena inhaled and forced her voice to come out steady. “I’m coming!” She stood, washing her face briefly at the bowl of water she kept by her bed. When she stepped out of her room, the corridor light was still on, flickering a little. The twins were already asleep on the thin mat beside the wall. Tochi had a book in her hand, half-open, her glasses crooked. Kamsi looked like she had cried herself to sleep. It was a normal night. Everything always looked normal from the outside. But Serena felt like a cracked mirror—she still reflected the world, but the image was fractured. She moved quietly to the kitchen, where a stack of plates waited. The water in the bucket was cold. She dipped her hands in and began scrubbing, the soap burning the tiny cuts she didn’t remember getting. Her mother walked in, tying her hair with a scarf. “You’re slow tonight,” Mama said, tone sharp. “Sorry,” Serena whispered. Mama watched her for a moment, then sighed. “You’re distracted again. Is it school? Did you fail something?” “No,” Serena replied quickly. “Are you sure? Because your mind is always in the clouds nowadays.” Serena’s throat knotted painfully. She kept scrubbing. Mama clicked her tongue. “You should be focused. You want to go to college, abi? Then behave like someone who wants a future.” Serena nodded. The old ache was back—disappointment wrapped in words that sounded like concern but sliced like a knife. Mama left without saying goodnight. Serena finished the plates, wiped the counter, and returned to her room. She closed the door softly, slid down until her back hit the wood, and let her head fall into her hands again. Another tear slipped out. She let it. Just one. Then she whispered to herself, “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” She wasn’t sure she believed it. --- The Morning After the Collapse When morning came, Serena barely slept but pretended she did. The house woke before the sun. Baby Somto was the first to scream. The twins argued over cereal. Papa shouted for someone to bring his phone charger. Mama yelled instructions from the kitchen like she was commanding an army. Serena dressed quickly for school, brushing her hair into a neat bun. Her eyes were puffy, but she avoided the mirror. Breakfast was a hurried affair. Kamsi bumped into her. The twins spilled milk. Baby Somto drooled on her uniform. Mama snapped at everyone. Papa said nothing, just grunted and left the house. Serena quietly picked up plates, wiped the table, straightened the chairs. “Serena,” Mama called just as she was putting on her backpack. “Buy tomatoes on your way back from school. And don’t forget pepper. Last time you bought nonsense.” “Okay,” Serena said softly. Mama nodded, already distracted by the twins’ noise. It was always like this—Serena doing what needed to be done before anyone even noticed that she had feelings too. --- Walking to School With a Broken Heart Outside, the morning air was cool, the sky still pale orange. Serena hugged her arms to her chest as she walked, her footsteps soft on the dusty road. Street vendors were setting up—beans already bubbling, akara frying, bread sellers shouting for early customers. Her phone buzzed. For a heartbeat, hope flickered— Maybe it’s an apology that makes sense. Maybe he’ll explain everything properly. Maybe— It was Tayo. Tayo: You’re quiet online. Are you okay? Serena swallowed hard. Tayo knew her too well. She typed back: Serena: I’m fine. But Tayo replied instantly: Tayo: Try again. What happened? Serena stared at her phone. She wasn’t ready to explain. Not yet. Serena: I’ll tell you later. Tayo: You better. I’ll see you in school. Serena exhaled, a small wave of relief washing over her. Tayo was the only friend who didn’t make her feel like she was too much or too little. But even with her, Serena often felt afraid of being a burden. Trust didn’t come easily. It never had. --- School, Noise, and Unseen Pain Her school was buzzing by the time she arrived. Students clustered in groups, laughing, shouting, exchanging gist from the weekend. Serena slipped through the crowd quietly, her gaze low. Nene walked past her with two other girls. “See as she’s drying up,” Nene whispered loudly. “One day breeze will blow her away.” The girls giggled. Serena kept walking. Her stomach twisted. She didn’t look back. When she reached her classroom, she sat at the back, pulled out a book, and tried to disappear into its pages. Mr. Akhigbe entered minutes later. “Good morning, class!” He was one of the few teachers Serena actually liked—gentle, patient, always smelling faintly of coffee and ink. “Today,” he announced, “we’re discussing narrative voices. Turn to page—” But Serena couldn’t focus. Words blurred on the page. Her mind drifted to yesterday’s messages, replaying his lie, the look she never saw on his face, the tone she never heard, the trust she had handed over without realizing its weight. Her chest tightened again. “Serena?” Mr. Akhigbe’s voice broke through. She blinked. “Yes, sir?” “Are you with us?” Some students snickered. Serena swallowed. “Yes, sir. Sorry.” He gave her a gentle look—one filled with concern and curiosity. It was the kind of look that made Serena want to burst into tears all over again. She lowered her head and pretended to write notes. --- Recess — The Truth Comes Out Tayo found her under the mango tree behind the classroom block. Serena was hugging her knees, staring at the dusty ground. Tayo slid beside her without speaking at first. She simply leaned her shoulder against Serena’s in a way that felt comforting, grounding. “Talk to me,” Tayo said softly. Serena’s throat wobbled. “It’s Dayo,” she whispered. Tayo stiffened. “What did he do?” Serena inhaled shakily. “He lied. He’s twenty-two.” Tayo’s eyes widened, fury flashing. “Ha! That boy is mad.” Serena almost laughed—but it came out as a choke instead. Tayo immediately wrapped an arm around her. “Oh, Serena. You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve lies.” Serena leaned into her, allowing herself a small moment of weakness. “I feel stupid,” she whispered. “You’re not stupid. He is.” Serena bit her lip, tears pressing behind her eyes again. “I trusted him.” “And that’s not a crime,” Tayo said gently. “It means you have a good heart.” Serena closed her eyes, letting those words settle into her—warm, unfamiliar, soothing. Tayo sighed. “It’s okay to be hurt. Just don’t blame yourself for someone else’s dishonesty.” Serena nodded, her chest loosening a little. They sat quietly for a long time. For the first time since last night, Serena felt like she could breathe again. --- The Rest of School Passed in a Blur Classes came and went. Students chattered. Teachers lectured. Pencils scratched. Time moved. But Serena’s mind stayed heavy. At dismissal, she packed her books slowly. Her limbs felt weak. Her head ached. When she stood, the room spun slightly. Tayo noticed. “You sure you’re okay?” “Yes,” Serena said too quickly. “You’re lying.” Serena forced a smile. “I’ll be fine.” Tayo didn’t argue, but her eyes stayed worried. --- Walking Home With the Echo of Broken Trust The sun hung low, heat settling like a second skin. Serena walked slowly, her shoulders slumping in exhaustion. She stopped at the market to buy tomatoes and pepper. The vendor smiled at her kindly, calling her “fine girl,” but Serena felt invisible, like a ghost drifting through the noise. On the way home, she passed children playing football in the street. A group of women gossiping loudly. A man selling suya under a faded umbrella. Life kept moving, indifferent to her heartbreak. As she approached her house, she paused at the gate. Her chest tightened. Inside, she knew, would be noise. Chores. Tension. Expectations. No one would ask if she was okay. No one would know that something inside her had cracked open the night before. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and pushed the gate open. --- Nightfall — Where Tears Return By the time she finished chores, helped with homework, bathed the twins, cleared the living room, and put baby Somto to bed, Serena felt drained down to the bone. She slipped into her room and locked the door quietly. Then she sat on her bed, pulled out her journal—the one she kept hidden inside her literature textbook—and wrote: He lied. And I believed him. And now everything hurts. I hate that I trusted someone. I hate that I’m the one who feels stupid. I hate that my heart still wants to defend him. But I will be okay. I don’t know when, but someday. I just wish someone would choose me the way I choose people. Her handwriting trembled, the ink blurring where tears fell. She closed the book, placed it beside her pillow, and curled into herself. Outside, the household buzzed with the usual chaos. Inside, Serena quietly fell apart.