For the first time in their lives, the twins started waking up without saying a word to each other.

Awele began leaving for school earlier, walking with Glory instead of waiting for Amara like she used to. She didn't bother with breakfast anymore—not when the silence at the dining table was thicker than the yam porridge. 

Amara didn’t ask questions. She barely noticed Awele’s absence. Her world had become schedules, exam dates, and strict routines. But somewhere beneath the lines and circles, she missed her sister.

In school, the divide grew more visible.

Amara spent her breaks in the library or in quiet corners with other ambitious students. She started tutoring juniors after class. Everyone admired her. Teachers praised her.

Awele, meanwhile, became the heart of her circle. She was loud, unpredictable, radiant. People gravitated toward her. She posted photos from outings and parties Amara didn’t even know about. Her laugh filled corridors Amara never walked through.

They passed each other like strangers in hallways that once echoed with shared secrets.

At home, their parents pretended not to notice, they were tired of bridging the gap between the twins.

But one evening, during dinner, their mother sighed deeply and asked, “Do you girls even talk anymore?”

Awele shrugged. “Not really.”

Amara stood up and carried her plate to the sink.

Their father folded his arms. “You both live in the same house. You’re twins, for heaven’s sake.”

The two girls angrily stomped off to their room.

That weekend, Amara was chosen to attend a national scholars’ workshop in Abuja. It was a big deal. An opportunity of a lifetime. She packed carefully, ironing her outfits, organizing her documents, everything in its proper place.

She didn’t tell Awele she was leaving because Awele wasn’t at home.

Awele was with her friends, when Glory showed her the pictures that was posted about the national scholar’s workshop in Abuja. 

She stared at photo of Amara beside other smartly dressed students. Amara was smiling but her eyes looked tired.

For a moment, Awele wanted to message her “Congrats.” But changed her mind