The mirror moment stayed with me for days. I moved differently. Thought differently. I even spoke less — not out of pride, but out of purpose.
Tope noticed. She didn't say much, but her smiles came easier now. We walked together to the library a few times. For once, I felt like I was becoming someone worthy of real friendship. Maybe even respect.
But just when everything felt steady… it happened.
It started with a harmless comment from Jide, one of the boys I used to roll with. He called me a "teacher's pet" during prep. Everyone laughed. I ignored it.
But he didn't stop.
Later, he shoved my books off my desk. "You think you're better than us now?"
The old me? He would've stood up and fired back with fists or insults.
And… for a second, I did.
I stood up so fast my chair fell. My voice cracked as I shouted, "Touch my stuff again and see what happens!"
Everyone froze.
Even Jide looked shocked — but also amused. Like he knew the old me was still buried somewhere.
Tope was there.
She didn't say anything. She just looked at me — with disappointment. And that look hit harder than any insult.
I felt my face burn with shame. I picked up my chair quietly and sat back down.
No one spoke after that.
Later that evening, I found Tope sitting under the tree by the back of the dining hall.
"I slipped," I said quietly.
She didn't answer right away. Then she said something I'll never forget:
"Falling isn't failure. Staying down is."
I nodded slowly. "I thought I was past all that."
She gave a small shrug. "You're human. Growth isn't clean — it's messy. But next time, you'll catch yourself sooner. That's what matters."
We sat in silence after that, but it wasn't awkward. It was peaceful. Healing.
And as the breeze moved through the trees, I realized:
This wasn't the end of my journey. It was just a reminder — to keep walking.