It had been a few days since I started "doing better." I showed up on time, kept quiet in class, and even volunteered to sweep the corridor. People were starting to see me differently. The praise felt good… maybe too good.
But something didn't sit right in my chest.
One evening, I passed by the open window of the school's common room and heard laughter. I stopped when I heard my name.
"He's just acting," someone said. "He's only pretending because of Tope. You'll see — he'll go back to the old him."
Another voice added, "That's not the real him. He's just wearing a mask."
They didn't know I was standing there. They didn't know their words hit me like a slap.
I walked away slowly, heart heavy.
Was I really just acting?
Back in the hostel, I stood in front of the mirror above the sink. My reflection stared back, emotionless. The boy in the glass looked familiar — but I didn't feel like I truly knew him.
My thoughts raced:
Is this the real me? Or am I just performing for approval?
Am I wearing a mask — trying to look perfect?
Or is this growth… just painful because it's real?
I closed my eyes and remembered Tope's voice:
"Change isn't about big speeches. It's about small choices. Daily."
Then I asked myself a question I had never dared to before:
If no one ever applauded me again, would I still keep changing?
That was the moment it became clear:
The applause wasn't the goal. Tope's approval wasn't the goal.
Becoming real — honest — whole — that was the goal.
I stared at the mirror one last time and whispered:
"I don't want to wear a mask anymore."
And this time, I didn't walk away from the reflection.
I accepted it — flaws, cracks, and all.