For most of her life, Akutu had played it safe.
She followed the rules, avoided unnecessary risks, and made decisions based on logic rather than desire. It was a habit born from survival—a need to stay in control so that life didn't spiral beyond her grasp.
But university had a way of challenging the limits people set for themselves.
And now, Akutu was about to learn that sometimes, growth required stepping beyond comfort.
It started with a small decision.
Sarah, always full of ideas, had been trying to convince Akutu to submit one of her short stories for a student publication.
"I'm not a writer," Akutu argued.
Sarah rolled her eyes. "Then what do you call this?" She held up Akutu's notebook, filled with scribbled ideas.
"That's just for me," Akutu muttered.
Sarah leaned in. "And what if it could be for someone else too?"
The idea made Akutu uncomfortable. Sharing her words with others meant exposing a part of herself.
But later that night, she stared at her story, heart racing, before finally hitting 'send.'
It was terrifying. But also liberating.
Then came Kwame's challenge.
One afternoon, they sat at their usual spot under the big tree outside the library.
"You never really take risks, do you?" Kwame asked, watching her thoughtfully.
Akutu frowned. "What do you mean?"
Kwame shrugged. "I mean, you're always doing the right thing. The safe thing. But when was the last time you did something just because you wanted to?"
Akutu opened her mouth to respond but hesitated.
She had no answer.
Kwame chuckled. "Exactly."
He then reached into his bag and pulled out a flyer.
"There's a debate competition next week. Sign up."
Akutu blinked. "I don't debate."
Kwame smirked. "Then maybe it's time to try."
The idea unsettled her. Public speaking was not her strength.
But later that night, staring at the flyer, she felt something unexpected—curiosity.
So, against her usual instincts, she put her name down.
The biggest test came from Malik.
One evening after tutoring, he turned to her with a serious expression.
"I need to ask you something."
Akutu nodded. "Go ahead."
Malik exhaled. "Why don't you ever say no?"
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
Malik leaned against the wall. "You're always helping people, always saying yes to every responsibility. But do you ever put yourself first?"
Akutu opened her mouth, then closed it.
Because the truth was… she didn't.
Malik continued. "I get it—you're responsible. But responsibility doesn't mean sacrificing yourself every time."
That night, she thought deeply about his words.
And the next time someone asked for help, she did something she had never done before.
She said no.
It was uncomfortable. But it also felt like freedom.
By the end of the week, something in Akutu had changed.
- She had submitted her writing.
- She had signed up for a debate.
- She had learned to say no.
And for the first time, she realized that testing her boundaries wasn't about losing herself.
It was about finding herself.
The pulleys of life had shifted once again.