It was a rainy day. Felt like the skies had no intention to stop. The figs outside couldn't let me have a clear glimpse of the puddle of water formed just outside my window. I watched the heavy drumming of the rain against the window. But somehow it reminded me of how my heart was bleeding.
Adaeze, my roommate, was in the room with me, yet I gave her no attention like she wasn't in the room at all. She had been my roommate for two years, and she was the kind that would fill up any room with her aura. Full of life and energy. I loved her for that because she was the opposite of what I was: a naive, introverted young girl who loved her books and a warm blanket, shying away from all the drama in the world.
To me, our different personalities were what made us stronger.
"Zee, you need to be going out more. You're not a piece of furniture," she would playfully say.
But I felt comfortable going out only if she was coming with me. Because with her, I felt safer and less lonely, and everything felt a little lighter.
Not until our third year in school, I started going out often without her coming along or me pleading with her to tag along.
"Finally, my friend has grown wings o", she would say whenever I came back. And I'll just reply reply her with a smile.
Little did she know that I was juggling between schoolwork and the hospital where my mum had been admitted for a very long time. I wasn't the type that liked disturbing others with my problems, so I felt telling Adaeze would be a disturbance to her. So I would go out to the hospital to see my mum and put on a brave face when I'm home with Adaeze.
It got to the point where I couldn't put up with the pretence anymore, and Adaeze gradually began to see through the facade.
"You've been lying to me, Zee", Adaeze said softly one day as I returned from the hospital. "You're not okay. You've not been okay for a very long time. What's going on?" She asked, looking concerned.
At that question, I lost control of my emotions and let the tears flow freely. She got up and sat beside me; then I put my head on her shoulders.
"It's okay not to be okay. But it's not okay not to share your problems with me" she said.
I sniffed hard, composed myself, and then let her in on what my mum had been going through lying in a hospital bed. And for the first time in a while, I felt a heavy weight being lifted off me.
From that day, Adaeze became more caring. Making dinner before I was back from the hospital and cleaning the house even on days it was my turn. She accompanied me to the hospital, and sometimes she helped me with my schoolwork so that I could be at the hospital with my mum. It felt like she knew me more than I knew myself because before I tried, she had already helped with it.
She was with me through it all. Through a phase in my life, I nearly lost my mental health. Through a stage in my life, I prayed earnestly to God not to let my mum leave me at such a very tender age.
Adaeze was the shoulder to lean on. That hand to hold onto. That ear I could scream my pains into. That partner to pray with. She was with me through thick and thin.
"Zerah, we're in this together" she would always whisper.
Many months later, my mum got better and was discharged from the hospital.
And now, years after school, I still get to talk to that friend-turned-sister about everything happening in my life. And as always she's willing to listen, give advice and even lend a helping hand. A friendship forged in the four walls of a university room tried with hard times and emerged stronger than anything you could ever imagine.