I Will Write Until The Room Listens —

Muhammad Olarewaju Abdulmajeed

Muhammad Olarewaju Abdulmajeed

I could practically hear my mind ticking and whirring and spinning like a machine I couldn’t switch off.

Whenever things get hard, I give myself one last hopeful look in the mirror, because I want someone to notice me. I want people to congratulate me or encourage me, whether it’s in my academic work or in my writing.

So I press my face into “normal” and walk through the conversations around me. I distance myself from people not because I hate them, but because I’m trying to protect my dignity. I’ve always told myself that I’m a man of honor, but that is a story I have built alone.

In school, I hardly feel understood. I wear a gentle look and sit in a corner with my books during break periods while others run outside to chase football.

One day a girl insulted me. I thought it was a mistake, so I said nothing. Then she did it again, and her voice told me she meant it.

Something shifted inside me. I stayed in my seat and watched her, asking myself if she was just trying to get attention.

I stood up after warning her and moved closer, asking her to stop. She didn’t. The argument erupted. Harsh words left my mouth. Anger climbed into my hands, and for a second I thought I might cross a line I could never uncross. But I stopped myself. I pulled back. I told her she was wrong. I told her she talked to people like they were nothing. I told her this would be the last time she used me to feel powerful. I told her I was not a toy.

Other students came in when the bell rang and found us in that heated moment. They listened to my side of the story, then stood beside her anyway.

Was it because she was a girl? Was it because they wanted her as a girlfriend? All those questions crowded in my head as I looked at them.

A boy shoved me across the chest, ready to fight. I begged them not to be angry. I went back to my seat feeling weak, empty. No one stood with me.

When I got home, I saw my name on Facebook. Her post. My picture.

“One boy from my class fought me,” she wrote. “That stupid boy.” They were using me for mockery.

But I know this: the page still waits for me. It doesn’t laugh. It doesn’t pick sides. So I’ll write. Until the room listens.

Muhammad Olarewaju Abdulmajeed is a seventeen year old Nigerian student. He’s deeply in love with storytelling. He contributes his writing on Words Not Yet Spoken.