The weight of silence
Silence had always felt safer to Ayo than truth. It asked less of him and demanded no explanations. In silence, he could pretend that things were unfinished rather than broken. After the restless night, he moved through the morning with that familiar quiet wrapped tightly around him, answering greetings with nods and keeping his thoughts carefully contained.
At work, a misplaced file triggered an unnecessary investigation. Voices rose, blame circled, and eyes searched for someone to hold responsible. Ayo knew where the file was. He had seen it the day before, tucked into the wrong cabinet by mistake. The truth waited on his tongue, ready to end the confusion, but he hesitated. Speaking would draw attention, and attention often led to questions. He stayed quiet. By the time the file was found, the supervisor had already scolded a junior staff member who stood with lowered eyes. Ayo told himself it was not his fault. The silence, however, felt heavier than a lie.
Later that day, Mara sent a brief message saying she needed space. No arguments, no accusations, just distance wrapped in politeness. Ayo read it several times, feeling the weight of what he had not said pressing harder than any harsh words could have. Silence, he realized, could also wound.
On the bus ride home, he watched strangers through fogged windows, each face carrying a private burden. He wondered how many of them were like him, guarding truths they were too afraid to release. The thought offered no comfort.
That evening, Sade called again. Her voice was tired, edged with worry. She asked gently if everything was alright. Ayo almost told her the truth then—about Mara, about the emptiness, about the way his life felt slightly out of alignment—but the words refused to come. He said he was busy and ended the call quickly.
When the room finally went quiet, Ayo sat on the edge of his bed, listening to his own breathing. He understood something then that unsettled him deeply: silence was not neutral. It was a choice, and like every choice he had been making, it was leaving its own mark.
In the darkness, the weight of all he had not said settled firmly on his chest, and Ayo knew the scars were no longer forming quietly. They were beginning to speak.