Tomi's POV
There's something about Lagos mornings that feels like déjà vu. Maybe it's the rooster that crows from three houses away even though no one asked him. Or the distant call of the bread seller—"Agege bread! Fresh bread o!"—slicing through my half-sleep like a warm knife. Or maybe it's the generator hum, always there, always faithful, because NEPA just doesn't rate us in this country.
But mostly, it's the stillness. That early-morning stillness that holds a kind of hush over everything. Like the city is still stretching her limbs before the madness starts.
I lay there on my mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling of our two-bedroom flat in Balogun. The fan wasn't working again, so sweat clung to my neck like it had paid rent. I hated the heat, but I'd gotten used to it. That's the thing about growing up in Nigeria—you get used to being uncomfortable.
Still, I didn't hate it. Not really. It was familiar. And right now, familiar felt safe.
I grabbed my phone from beside my pillow. 6:57 a.m. I'd already snoozed my alarm three times. My phone's brightness nearly blinded me, but I didn't care. I scrolled through WhatsApp—church group chats, Yoruba memes from my cousin Tola, a "Good morning sweetheart 😘" from Tunde that I opened and left on read. No offense to him, but I was too emotionally exhausted to entertain another man's ego this morning.
Then I tapped Instagram. Just muscle memory. I hadn't even brushed my teeth.
There he was. Min-Jae Seo.
He'd posted a new photo overnight. A Givenchy campaign. He wore a long black coat with his hair swept just enough to reveal his jaw. I don't know how someone could look so serious and so soft at the same time, but he always managed to pull it off. I liked the post and then locked my screen. As if he'd ever know.
I was always fan-girling over him. He didn't even know I existed. I was just one of millions of fans. But when things were hard here, when everything felt heavy and slow, watching him made the world feel a little lighter. A little more possible. I always let my thoughts go wild most of the time, maybe he'd reply to my one of my comments someday? I knew it was pure fantasy. I was pulled out of my thoughts then.
"Tomiiiii!" Mama's voice cut through the stillness like a knife. "Are you awake? You better not be pressing phone, come and sweep!"
I groaned. "I'm coming, ma!"
Caught red-handed.
By 7:15, I was already sweeping the parlour floor. The faint smell of zobo leaves drifted through the window, and Mama was setting trays outside for sun drying. She tied her usual Ankara wrapper twice over her waist and had one scarf tied like a war general.
"You didn't soak beans yesterday night," she said, not looking at me.
"Sorry, ma. I forgot."
She sighed. "You forget every time. One day you'll forget how to breathe."
I bit my tongue before responding. She didn't mean it. That was just her way of saying she cared.
After chores, I helped her prep zobo, then warmed yesterday's stew and made rice for breakfast. I went in to wake Ayinke after. Ayinke was my little sister who was in SS2 and preparing for Ss3. I was oy 3 years older than Ayinke who was 16 People often mistook us for twins because we had the same stature and height, I was the typical 'small' older sister. I had finished secondary school at 15, went for ND ( National Diploma) when I was 17 as I wasn't able to go to University immediately and now, I just finished ND. We sat and ate together on the old cushion set that had stuffing poking out of the side. We didn't talk much during meals—just exchanged glances, passed things back and forth, and occasionally chuckled at the radio announcer's Yoruba-English mix.
Mama was quiet most of the time, except when she was gossiping at church or shouting during Nigerian movies. She was tough, old-school Yoruba. The kind of woman that didn't flinch when a cockroach ran past but would still chase you with slippers if you talked back. But I knew she loved me and Ayinke. I could feel it in the way she cut fish into the bigger piece and left it for us. In the way she added extra sugar to my pap because she knew I liked it sweeter.
After lunch, I retreated into my room, my tiny sanctuary. My safe bubble. The paint was peeling. The lightbulb flickered sometimes. But the posters on my wall told a different story. BTS. IU. Twice. BigBang. I wasn't K-pop obsessed or anything—okay, maybe a little—but I loved the music, the fashion, the art of it all. It felt like a whole other world I could dive into without needing a passport.
I plugged in my earphones, pulled out my drawing pad, and started sketching from a photo on Pinterest. A café scene in Seoul. Tiny tables. Hanging lights. A couple sitting across from each other with coffee cups and soft smiles.
That's the thing about me—I draw what I can't say out loud.
I don't have many friends. I mean, I have schoolmates, group chat friends, classmates that wave in public. I only had my sister Ayinke and mama. There was Bisola too, my neighbor since I was a kid, we went to the same school all through and we were close to some extent.
I drew for maybe two hours. I didn't notice time passing. I only stopped when my phone buzzed with an email.
[Gmail — 2:48 p.m.]
Subject: [K-Globe Scholarship Program 2025 - Application Status]
My heart dropped.
I just sat there, staring.
I couldn't even open it immediately. I closed my eyes first. Whispered a silent prayer.
Then I opened it.
Dear Ayotomiwa Adebayo,
Congratulations. You have been selected as a recipient of the 2025 K-Globe Scholarship to study Media and Communication at Hanseo University, Seoul.
We are pleased to offer you a fully-funded four-year program including tuition, accommodation, monthly living stipend, and airfare.
Please confirm acceptance within five business days.
I blinked. Read it again. I had casually applied for this scholarship about 3 months ago while scrolling through Facebook. It was a scholarship ad, I just thought to apply like so many people would.
Then I screamed. Ayinke!!!!
"MAMAAAAA!" I bolted out of my room like someone possessed.
They came rushing in, hairnet half-off. "What is it? Who died?"
I was crying and laughing all at once. "I got it! I got the scholarship! I'm going to Korea!"
Mama froze. "Ehn?!"
I shoved the phone into her hand, pointing to the email.
She squinted, read it, then looked at me like she was seeing me for the first time. Ayinke hugged me immediately.. we shed tears of joy together.
"My daughter is going international. Tomiwa! Ayotomiwa oo. See my child. You've made me proud."
She pulled me into a hug—tight, warm, motherly. The kind of hug that said everything she couldn't say out loud.
Then she slapped my back playfully.
"You now have sense. I will tell Pastor Adewale myself!"
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I stared up at the ceiling, thinking about how my life was about to change. About plane tickets and airport terminals. About new friends and language classes. About possibly seeing snow for the first time.
About the life I was leaving behind—and the one I was walking into.
There was excitement, sure. But also fear. What if I couldn't keep up? What if people stared? What if I was just a dreamer with no real place in that world?
But deep down, I knew I had to go.
For me. For Mama. For the version of myself I hadn't even met yet.
Min-Jae's POV
The first thing I noticed was the silence.
For a moment, I lay still in the dark, listening. No fans. No voices. Just the faint, low whir of the air purifier and the distant sound of a car door shutting on the street below.
My bedroom always felt too clean. Too white. Too untouched. Like one of those Airbnb listings that looked perfect but had no soul.
I rolled over and grabbed my phone. 5:52 a.m. Already two missed calls from manager-Kim. Great.
I groaned and sat up, rubbing my face. The sheets were soft, but I still felt tired. Not just tired, but… drained. Like even my bones were begging for a break.
There was a time I used to wake up excited. When I first started acting at sixteen, every script felt like a gift. Every audition was a chance. I used to rehearse lines in the mirror, smiling to myself, dreaming about how my life would change.
Now?
I barely recognized myself.
Another photoshoot. Another product endorsement. Another fan meeting with girls screaming like I was some kind of demigod.
Sometimes I wondered what would happen if I just… disappeared for a while. No cameras. No stylists. No expectations. Just me.
I showered quickly and dressed in a simple black hoodie, black joggers, and a baseball cap. Sunglasses too. I wasn't in the mood to be recognized. The café near my apartment opened early, and the ahjumma who owned it had stopped fangirling over me two years ago. That's why I liked it there.
"Americano, iced," I said, pulling the hood lower over my face.
She nodded. "You look skinny, Jae-yah. You need to eat."
I smiled politely. "Busy week."
She gave me the drink and waved me off like I was her nephew. No pictures. No whispers. Just peace.
I sat by the window, sipping slowly. Outside, the street was waking up—delivery scooters, school kids with too-heavy bags, couples walking side by side but not talking. Seoul mornings were fast. Mechanical. Like everyone had somewhere important to be but forgot why.
I pulled out my phone and opened Instagram. My last post already had over a million likes. Fan edits. Comments in ten different languages. A girl from Brazil had written, "You saved my life."
I stared at the screen.
What a weird world we live in.
I liked the comment. I always liked comments like that. It was the least I could do.
But did they know I couldn't even save myself?
By 10 a.m., I was at the studio. Manager-Kim was already pacing when I walked in.
"You're late," he said, not even pretending to hide the frustration.
"I'm five minutes late." "Five minutes is everything when you have a team of fifteen people waiting." I sighed. "I got the coffee." He gave me a look. The you-know-you're-being-difficult look. I didn't respond. Hair. Makeup. Wardrobe. The works. Three different stylists pulled at me like I was some lifeless mannequin. I stayed quiet. Let them do their job.
The photographer was loud and dramatic. "Min-Jae, more energy, darling. Give me longing. Give me luxury. Yes—YES! Ugh, you're unreal!" I gave him what he wanted. The look. The smirk. The angle.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Another day. Another campaign. Another mask.
During a break, I sat in the green room scrolling through news articles on my phone. Same headlines. "Min-Jae Seo: Korea's Crown Prince of Fashion." "The Actor Who Can Do No Wrong." "Perfect Smile, Perfect Life."
I hated the word "perfect."
Because nothing about my life felt that way.
I barely saw my parents anymore. We talked maybe once a week, always with that distant politeness like we were coworkers, not family. I hadn't had a proper conversation with someone my age in months. Not someone who didn't need something from me, anyway.
Fans loved me. Girls screamed for me. Brands paid me. But I hadn't been touched—really touched—in so long, I'd forgotten what that kind of closeness felt like.
The last time I'd cried, I was alone in the shower after a scandal broke that wasn't even real. Someone said I was dating my co-star, and the internet lost its mind. I lost three endorsement deals before the agency cleared it up. No one asked how I was coping. They just needed me to smile again. I was good at that.
Smiling.
Pretending.
Performing.
I got home around 9 p.m., exhausted but wired. The city lights blinked through the glass wall of my apartment. Seoul was beautiful. Sharp. Alive. But also cold in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature. I pulled off my hoodie and lay on the couch, scrolling through Netflix. I paused on a Nigerian movie out of curiosity. The language. The clothes. The food.
It was warm. Different.
I'd never been to Africa of all continents in the world, but something about it intrigued me. There was something raw about it.
I wondered what it would be like to disappear there. To just be… nobody.
To walk down a street without turning heads. To eat street food without someone snapping a picture. To talk to a stranger who didn't know my name.
Impossible.
Just as I was about to doze off, I checked my work calendar. New campaign next week. Variety show filming on Thursday. Two more drama scripts to review. A flight to Busan the week after.
I closed the app and put my phone on the coffee table.
Then stared at the ceiling. This was my life.
From the outside, it looked golden.
But inside?
Inside I was just a boy who used to love acting—and now didn't even recognize the person he'd become.
Somewhere, far away, someone was probably waking up to the same morning I was about to fall asleep in.
And neither of us knew what the future held for us.