The next morning, I woke up to the sound of my alarm buzzing insistently. I groaned, tossing my pillow over my head. School. Ugh. But even as I dragged myself out of bed, my mind refused to leave last night's heartbreak behind. BTS wasn't coming to Africa. That reality still stung like a fresh wound, a dull ache that wouldn't go away.
I quickly got ready, pulling on my school uniform—a simple blouse and skirt, nothing fancy. My mom had packed breakfast, but I barely touched it, mumbling "thanks" before bolting out the door. My mind was elsewhere, swirling with frustration, longing, and the tiny flicker of hope I had promised myself would never die.
School felt like an endless maze that morning. Every step down the corridor, every chatter of students, even the clack of shoes on tile, faded into a blur. All I could think about was the tour. The concert. The screaming crowds. And the fact that Africa wasn't on the list.
By the time I reached my locker, I spotted her: Thelma, my best friend and fellow ARMY. She was leaning casually against her locker, scrolling through her phone with a grin I instantly knew had something to do with BTS.
"Thelma…" I said softly, hesitating.
She looked up, eyes lighting up. "Bori! Did you see it? The tour!" Her voice was high-pitched with excitement, and the smile on her face immediately made my chest tighten.
I froze. I had seen it, of course. The tour list had been announced last night. And Africa… wasn't there.
Her eyes widened as she saw the expression on my face. "Oh… no…" she whispered, comprehension dawning.
I couldn't hold it in any longer. My shoulders shook, and before I knew it, I was sobbing right there by the lockers.
Thelma gasped, and without thinking, she pulled me into a tight hug. "Bori, don't… don't cry. I… I know."
"I just…" I choked out, tears streaming down my face. "They're… they're not coming here! I can't go… I won't go…"
And then something surprising happened. Thelma's tears fell too. She wrapped her arms around me tighter, both of us collapsing against the lockers in a heap of shared grief.
"It's… it's not fair," she whispered between sobs. "I… I can go. My parents will fly me out to the concert. But you…" Her voice cracked. "You'll miss it."
I felt my heart squeeze painfully. I wanted to feel happy for her, I really did. But all I could manage was a small, shaky smile.
"Go… go and enjoy yourself, Thelma," I said, my voice hoarse. "You… you deserve it. I… I really wish you luck."
She nodded, sniffling and wiping her tears. "Thanks, Bori. I'll take lots of pictures, I'll record everything. You'll feel like you're there with me, okay?"
I nodded weakly, feeling both pride and a pang of jealousy. "Yeah… okay. Enjoy it. For me too."
We spent the rest of the morning together, still talking about BTS, replaying favorite songs in our heads, and sharing memories from previous comebacks. Our usual cheerful chatter was mixed with quiet moments of reflection, both of us feeling the ache of the concert we'd experience differently—her in the front row, me through a screen.
Classes passed in a blur. Math formulas and historical dates danced around in my brain, but none of them mattered. My thoughts were entirely consumed by BTS and my TikTok videos. Every break, every free moment, I would sneak glances at my phone, imagining a world where I could be at that concert, singing along with them in person.
Finally, the bell for lunch rang, and I made my way to the school auditorium. It was quiet, always quiet, the kind of silence that wrapped around you like a blanket. I loved it. It was my safe space, my escape from the buzzing chaos of hallways and classrooms.
I set my bag down on the stage floor, taking a deep breath. Today, I wasn't just a student. Today, I was Bori, the girl who loved music more than anything. I pulled out my phone and positioned it on the makeshift stand I'd set up weeks ago.
"Okay… let's do this," I whispered to myself.
I took a deep breath and began to sing "Seven" by Jungkook. My voice trembled at first, shaky with nerves, but as I closed my eyes and let the melody flow through me, I felt something familiar—the thrill of performing, the escape of music, the rush of sharing a piece of my heart with the world.
I sang with every ounce of emotion, letting the lyrics carry me to places I couldn't go in real life. My fingers brushed against the microphone as if it were a lifeline, connecting me to the BTS universe I had adored for six years. The notes floated in the auditorium, bouncing off the walls, echoing like whispers of my dreams.
When I finished, I let the last note hang in the air, my chest heaving with exhaustion and satisfaction. I opened my eyes to the empty seats, the silence wrapping around me again—but it didn't feel lonely. It felt like a promise. A promise that one day, someone would hear me. That one day, I would make it out there.
I quickly opened TikTok and IG, uploading the video. "Bori sings Seven 💜 #BTS #ARMY #Cover" I typed in the caption, my hands still trembling from the performance. I watched the upload bar fill, feeling a small surge of pride as the video went live.
I didn't expect much, not yet. My account had a modest following. But every like, every view, every comment felt like a little victory. A small step toward a dream that seemed impossibly far away, yet achingly close.
After posting, I sat in the auditorium for a few more minutes, letting the silence and the empty space soothe me. I imagined the stage lights, the screaming fans, the energy of a live concert. My chest tightened with longing, but this time it wasn't painful. It was motivating.
Finally, I packed up my things and slung my bag over my shoulder. The school bell rang, echoing down the hallways, signaling the end of another day. I walked through the corridors, my steps light despite the heaviness in my heart. I passed Thelma, who waved at me, excitement sparkling in her eyes as she talked to friends about her upcoming trip.
I waved back, smiling, my heart genuinely happy for her. I whispered quietly to myself, "One day… one day, I'll be there too."
The walk home was long but peaceful. The sun dipped low in the sky, casting warm orange light over the streets of our neighborhood. Vendors called out, children played, and the city of Nigeria hummed with life. Yet all I could see was the stage, the lights, the music.
Back in my room, I slumped onto my bed, phone in hand. I scrolled through the comments on my TikTok video, reading encouraging words from strangers, from fans, from ARMYs like me. Each word felt like a small push, a nudge closer to the impossible dream I clung to.
Prizzy peeked in from the doorway, smiling softly. "You were really good today," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Thanks," I murmured, smiling faintly. "It… it felt good to sing, even if only for TikTok."
Her smile widened. "One day, people will see you live too, Bori. You'll make it to your BTS concert. I just know it."
I nodded, letting her words sink in. I closed my eyes, letting my mind drift to a world where anything was possible. Where I, Bori, the girl from Nigeria with a phone and a dream, would finally meet the idols I had worshipped for six years.
As night settled in, I finally got up, turning off the lights in my room. The posters of BTS glimmered faintly in the darkness, their smiling faces a silent promise of what was to come. I whispered under my breath, a quiet vow to myself:
"One day… I'll be there too."
And with that, I headed to the kitchen for dinner, heart full of longing, hope, and a determination stronger than ever.