Self love

1

Chapter 1
Every morning, Amina woke up to the same unremarkable routine. The sun seeped through the thin curtains, casting a pale light over the tiny apartment filled with second-hand furniture and half-read books. Today was no different—except it felt heavier, like an invisible weight pressing down. Amina glanced at the mirror, avoiding eye contact with the reflection that seemed more a stranger than a friend. Today, like every day, the battle with self-love was just beginning.

The alarm clock buzzed loudly on the nightstand, its incessant noise a sharp reminder of the new day. With a reluctant groan, Amina silenced it and sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The apartment, despite its modest size, felt overwhelmingly empty. The walls, once painted a cheerful yellow, had faded to a dull, listless hue. Amina had always intended to repaint them but never found the motivation.

In the small kitchen, Amina brewed a pot of tea. The rich aroma filled the room, providing a temporary sense of comfort. Breakfast was a hurried affair: a cup of lukewarm tea and a slice of toast, barely touched. Amina's phone buzzed with notifications, but none of them brought a smile. Social media was a reminder of everyone else's seemingly perfect lives, amplifying feelings of inadequacy.

Scrolling through the feed, Amina saw pictures of friends from university—smiling faces, adventurous travels, happy relationships. It was hard not to compare. Hard not to wonder why self-love came so easily to others but seemed like an insurmountable task for her. With a sigh, Amina put the phone down and focused on getting ready for work.

The bus ride to the office in Bauchi was a familiar one. The same streets, the same faces, the same stops. Amina preferred to sit by the window, watching the city pass by. It was easier than making small talk or pretending to be interested in the latest gossip. Today, the bus was crowded, and Amina squeezed into a seat next to an elderly woman knitting a bright red scarf. She smiled warmly, and Amina managed a polite nod in return.

As the bus made its way through the bustling city, Amina's thoughts drifted back to high school. Those years had been anything but easy. The memories were sharp and clear—like the first time someone called her "weird" for her love of poetry, or the countless times she felt invisible in a crowded room. The seeds of self-doubt had been planted early and had grown into a dense forest.

It wasn't just school. Family gatherings were no respite. Relatives' well-meaning but intrusive questions about future plans and relationships always left Amina feeling exposed and inadequate. The constant comparisons to more successful cousins, the subtle but stinging remarks about weight, appearance, or career choices—it was a tapestry of small wounds that never fully healed. No matter how much time passed, those moments were like old scars that never faded completely.

At work, Amina's desk was a small island of calm amidst the bustling office. Papers were neatly stacked, and a few potted plants added a touch of green to the otherwise gray space. The job was monotonous but stable—data entry for a mid-sized logistics firm. It was a safe choice, free from the risks that Amina had always been too afraid to take.

Lunchtime was usually spent alone in a nearby park. Amina would sit on a bench, nibbling on a sandwich, watching people jog, walk their dogs, or chat animatedly on the phone. There was comfort in the routine, but also a deep-seated longing for something more. The park was a place of solace, a break from the constant hum of office life. Yet, every time Amina saw a group of friends laughing together or a couple holding hands, it was a stark reminder of what was missing.

One day, during lunch, a colleague named Fatima sat down next to Amina. Fatima was everything Amina was not—confident, outgoing, and always smiling. She had tried to befriend Amina multiple times, but Amina's insecurities often created a barrier.

"Mind if I join you?" Fatima asked, opening a container of jollof rice.

Amina shrugged, managing a small smile. "Sure, why not."

Fatima launched into a story about her weekend adventure, her enthusiasm infectious. Amina listened, a bit envious but also intrigued. Fatima's presence was a reminder that connection was possible, even if it felt out of reach.

"Have you ever thought about joining us for happy hour on Fridays?" Fatima asked suddenly. "It's a lot of fun, and you might enjoy it."

Amina hesitated. The idea of socializing after work was daunting. What would they talk about? What if they said something stupid? The familiar doubts surfaced, but Fatima's encouraging smile made it hard to say no.

"I... I'll think about it," Amina replied, the words feeling heavy and uncertain.

"Great! It's a standing invitation," Fatima said brightly. "You'd be welcome anytime."

Back at the office, Amina couldn't shake the conversation. Fatima's friendliness was genuine, and it sparked something within—a small flicker of hope. Maybe things could be different. Maybe she didn't have to face everything alone.

That afternoon, an email arrived from the HR department: a mandatory workshop on personal development and self-care. The irony was not lost on Amina. The idea of attending such a workshop was daunting, but something about Fatima's earlier enthusiasm made it seem just a little less terrifying.

The workshop was scheduled for the next week, and as the day approached, Amina's anxiety grew. The fear of confronting her issues head-on was almost paralyzing, but a small part of Amina was curious—could this be the first step towards something better?

By the end of the day, as Amina walked home, she noticed the colors of the sunset for the first time in weeks. The sky was a brilliant mix of orange and pink, a canvas of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this was a sign that things were about to change.