I AM NOT MY FATHER

MY FATHER SHADOW

I had just finished secondary school and gotten admission into the university. Everyone said it was the start of a new life—a chance to be free, to meet people, to leave the past behind. But freedom felt strange. Exciting, yes—but also terrifying.

I didn’t know how to make friends. I’d spent so long learning how to hide, how to stay small, that I wasn’t sure I could ever connect with anyone. My father’s shadow followed me like a silent warning: Don’t trust, don’t speak too much, don’t make a mistake.

The first week on campus, I walked between lecture halls, my books hugged tightly against my chest, my eyes always scanning, never resting. People laughed, joked, and called each other names across the yard. I wanted to join them—but my voice felt trapped in my throat.

Then, one afternoon, I was sitting under a tree, eating a sandwich I didn’t feel hungry for, when I noticed someone watching me.

She was about my age, wearing a simple blouse and jeans, with a soft smile. She carried a small notebook, and something in the way she moved—calm, graceful, patient—made her feel… safe.

“Hi,” she said, walking over. “You’re… um… always here by yourself. Is everything okay?”

I blinked. “I—I’m fine,” I muttered, trying to sound steady, though my hands shook slightly as I held the sandwich.

She sat beside me anyway, leaving space, as if she understood boundaries without needing explanation. “I’m Ada,” she said softly. “First year too?”

I nodded. “Yes… just started.”

“You don’t talk much,” she observed gently. “Most first-year boys are loud, at least a little.”

I forced a small laugh. “Yeah… I guess I’m not like most boys.”

Her smile didn’t falter. “That’s okay. Being quiet isn’t a bad thing. It’s… different. I like different.”

I looked at her, surprised. Nobody had ever said that to me before. Most people looked at me like I was invisible—or worse, like I was broken. “You… you really mean that?”

“Of course,” she said. “I’m Ada. My father… he’s a minister at the church nearby. People usually see me as someone who talks too much about rules and sermons. But I like noticing things. I noticed you. You stand quietly, but your eyes… they see everything.”

I swallowed hard. “I just… I don’t know how to make friends,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s okay,” she said with a small laugh. “Friends don’t happen overnight. Some people take time to open up. Some people are worth waiting for. You… seem worth waiting for.”

I didn’t know what to say. No one had ever spoken to me like this—not my classmates, not anyone. It felt like sunlight through a window I had forgotten existed.

Then she leaned closer slightly and asked, “Hey… my family is having a Thanksgiving at our church this Sunday. Would you… like to come? Just sit with us, meet my parents?”

I froze. Church, family, strangers… all at once, my chest tightened. But then I noticed the gentleness in her eyes, the patience in her smile. “I… I’d like that,” I said softly.

She grinned. “And after the service, we’ll have lunch together. You don’t have to worry about anything, okay?”

I nodded again, this time feeling something I hadn’t felt in a long while—anticipation, not fear. For the first time, I thought maybe being with someone kind didn’t have to be complicated.

That night, lying in my dorm, I thought about her. Quiet, patient, kind. And for the first time in a long while, I felt… hope. Maybe, just maybe, I could learn to trust someone. Maybe I could even learn to have a friend.

And maybe, one day, I could learn to be someone different.