The apartment was small. Aa one bedroom. White walls. A window that looked out onto an alley in Yaba where generators hummed at night and students argued over suya at 2am. Nothing fancy.

No collar on the counter. No hotel keycard in my bag. No one texting "You’re quiet. That’s new." No fear of being caught doing the wrong things.

It was just me and the noise I’d spent years trying to outrun. But somehow this noise felt pleasant. Almost welcome.

The first few days blurred past like they were on a chase. I didn't think I'd survive them, but I did. As much as the quiet felt like a...