CHAPTER 2
I Wanted to Thank Her. But She Wanted Me to Learn.
That evening, I just lay on my hostel bed, staring at the ceiling fan that only turned when it liked, thinking about Chidinma. About what she did. About what I did to her.
Even when the boys in my room were shouting about Arsenal and Man City, I didn’t hear them. I just kept holding the receipt. Looking at it like it was more than paper. Like it was judgment.
I knew I had to see her. Not to beg again — that time had passed. But to say something. Anything. Even if it came out as tears.
So the next morning, I wore the cleanest shirt I had, borrowed my roommate’s sneakers, and walked to the department she told the bursar she came from. Mass Comm.
I didn’t even know what I was going to say. My heart was jumping like transformer.
But I found her. Sitting under a tree, earphones in, flipping through a book like her presence didn’t just change my whole life yesterday.
I cleared my throat. “Chidinma.”
She looked up, then removed one earpiece. “You came.”
I nodded like a small boy.
“I just… I just wanted to say thank you,” I said.
She didn’t speak.
“And… I’m sorry. For that day. For everything. You didn’t deserve it. I was stūpïd.”
Still, she didn’t talk. She just looked at me. That same calmness that made her dangerous.
Then she sighed. “You know what hurts more than a slãp, Michael?”
I looked down.
“It’s the silence that follows it. You slãpped me, yes. But it was the way you laughed after it. The way you didn’t say anything, didn’t care. You let them finish me with mockery.”
I nodded, slowly. “I know.”
She dropped her book. “You want to thank me? Then don’t waste this second chance. Don’t let your shame or ego stop you from becoming something. Because one day, you'll see someone else standing where you were yesterday. And what you do will matter.”
Her voice wasn’t angry. It was honest.
That was the thing about her. She wasn’t trying to punish me. She was trying to teach me.
And that day, I learnt.
Not just about her, but about life. About grace. About the fact that some people won’t wait for you to deserve their kindness — they’ll just give it. Because they’ve healed.
I didn’t try to follow her. I didn’t ask for her number. I just stood there and watched her plug back her earphones, like nothing happened. Like everything happened.
And somehow, I didn’t feel useless anymore.
I felt… trusted.
I used that receipt. I finished that semester. And every semester after. With tears, with hunger, with night class and borrowed textbooks.
Today, I’m writing this from a small office of my own, where my name is on the door, and I no longer stand under mango trees with empty envelopes.
So if you're reading this and you once messed up, or someone helped you when you didn’t deserve it — don’t waste it. Don’t make it ordinary.
Sometimes, the people we hurt are the same people God sends to lift us.
And if you’re lucky — like I was — they won’t come to punish you.
They’ll come to show you how to grow.
DROP A REACTION AND A COMMENT IF YOU GOT VALUE.
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