Akutu had never considered herself a writer. Writing was just something she did when required—academic essays, reports, and structured arguments. But sitting in that creative writing group, listening to others pour their thoughts onto paper, something stirred within her.
For the first time, she wondered—what if writing was more than just an academic exercise?
That weekend, she sat by the window in her hostel, staring at the blank page in her notebook. The words wouldn't come. How did these other students make it look so easy?
Jenny, munching on a snack, peeked over her shoulder. "You've been staring at that page for thirty minutes. Planning to write or just admiring the whiteness?"
Akutu groaned. "I don't know how to start."
Jenny smirked. "Try writing about yourself. That's what they say, right? Write what you know."
Akutu thought for a moment. Then, she put her pen to the page.
"There are moments in life when you realize you are more than what you thought you were. Moments when a new path opens, not because you planned it, but because life placed it in front of you."
She paused, reading the words. It felt… right.
So she kept writing.
The following week, she nervously shared her piece at the writing group. Her voice trembled at first, but as she read, she gained confidence. When she finished, there was a brief silence—then applause.
"That was beautiful," one of the members said. "You should write more."
Akutu felt something warm bloom in her chest. Maybe she would.
Days turned into weeks, and writing became a part of her. She didn't know if it was a hobby or something more, but for the first time, she felt like she was creating something just for herself.
She had started university with a fixed idea of who she was. Now, she was realizing that life was full of new beginnings—some planned, some unexpected.
The pulleys of life had shifted once again.