All Chapters of The Girl Who Broke the Silence: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The morning after the fire, Promise woke to a room that smelled of smoke and wet ash. The ceiling sagged, black around the edges where the flames had licked it. Their thin mattress had been dragged outside to dry, its springs jutting through like bones. She rose quietly so as not to wake Daniel and stepped into the lane barefoot.Ajegunle was already awake. Women haggled over yam and pepper, a butcher dragged a goat by the horns, and children chased after danfos, laughing like they had outrun the night. Promise’s stomach growled louder than all of it. Hunger walked these streets like a landlord, collecting its due.She took stock of losses: a melted plastic bowl, a split mirror, the smell that would not leave. Then the small miracles: the notebook not fully burned, Daniel breathing steadily, the dress she had folded in a nylon sack, smoke-stained but intact. She rinsed her face with water that had the taste of rust, tied a scarf over her hair, and breathed until the shaking in her han

The first thing Promise noticed when she stepped into Echelon’s training hall was the light. It poured through tall windows, bright and relentless, until every corner gleamed. The mirrors caught it and multiplied it, scattering dozens of reflections. It was dizzying—like walking into a room where all your possible selves stood shoulder to shoulder, watching, waiting to see which one you would choose. The air smelled of lavender polish mixed with perfume. The floor shone so smoothly it threatened to betray anyone who faltered. Compared to Chike’s cracked concrete, with its peeling walls and whining fan, this place felt like another planet—one designed to expose weaknesses. Girls moved in clusters, fixing hair, adjusting straps, whispering behind manicured hands. Their reflections mirrored them endlessly, amplifying each flick of disdain or flicker of fear. Laughter rose and fell like sparks from a fire. The atmosphere carried both glamour and threat: every girl wanted to be noticed,

Lagos had never pretended to be kind. It bared its teeth in traffic jams, in sudden rains that swallowed the streets, in landlords who doubled rent overnight. It snarled through hunger and spat smoke from a thousand exhaust pipes. But for Promise, Lagos was no longer just a city. It was an opponent, a predator with gleaming teeth, daring her to survive its bite.She woke before dawn, the sky still dark, the air thick with the smell of last night’s kerosene lamps. The mattress sagged under her weight, springs pressing against her back, but her eyes were sharp. Daniel stirred beside her, groaning softly as he shifted his burned hand.“Sleep,” she whispered.He opened one eye, smiled faintly. “Lagos doesn’t sleep. Why should we?”Promise sat up, reaching for her notebook. She flipped to the page she had filled the night before: Dreams are heavier than fabric. Carry them with your spine. She tapped the words with her finger, then added: The city will bite. Learn to bleed without breaking.

The morning sun slid reluctantly over Ajegunle’s rooftops, catching on corrugated iron sheets patched with tar and stones. Its heat had not yet reached its full rage, but already the neighborhood was awake—women sweeping doorways with twig brooms, children chasing one another through puddles, and hawkers calling out wares before the day’s fatigue dulled their voices.Promise sat on the stoop of their small room, tying her scarf tighter around her head. The notebook lay open on her lap, yesterday’s words staring back at her: Dreams stitched by fire will not unravel. She traced the sentence with her finger, the pencil marks smudging faintly, then added in smaller letters: Even broken shoes must keep walking.Her red heels sat beside her, the leather peeling at the edges, the straps weak from overuse. She had patched them more than once, Daniel punching holes and threading wires where the buckle had snapped, but the shoes bore scars like her own skin—visible, undeniable. Yet they were he

The morning broke with a roar—not of the sky, but of Lagos itself. Ajegunle’s narrow streets swelled with traders spilling into every available space, umbrellas clashing like shields, voices rising like battle cries. It was market day, and thunder rolled not from clouds but from human need—hunger, bargaining, survival.Promise walked beside Daniel, her patched shoes pressing into puddles left by the night’s rain. The memory of yesterday’s ordeal at Echelon clung to her body like fever. Adaeze’s words—sharp, merciless—still rang in her chest. Yet Lagos never paused to let anyone recover. The world roared on, demanding more.“Keep close,” he murmured.Promise nodded, clutching her bag tightly. She knew better than to let her guard drop here. Markets in Lagos were not just places to buy food. They were arenas where power shifted with every bargain, where desperation made hands quick and voices ruthless.“Corn! Fresh corn!” a woman cried, balancing her tray. Another pushed past with bowls