Uzo could feel it before anyone said a word. The shift was quiet, slow, like the stillness that comes before rain. There was no warning. Just the gradual thinning of voices, fewer footsteps near the center, and looks that once held curiosity now turning away.
At first, it felt like peace. But peace does not weigh this heavy on the chest.
Each morning he opened the center's door and waited. No one knocked. No one passed by asking questions or leaning in with playful jokes. The street had turned into a long hallway where even the echo had stopped following him.
Adaeze noticed.
"Has Ikenna said anything?" she asked as they arranged some chairs.
"No," Uzo said. "He is not answering messages either."
"Something's different. Not just from the team. From the community."
Uzo nodded.
Later that day, he walked by the mechanic workshop down the road. The owner looked up from under a rusted bus and called out, "You still dey do that youth thing?"
Uzo smiled and nodded.
The man wiped his hands on a rag and looked around before leaning closer. "You get mind o. But make you watch well. I hear say some people don dey plan. Not everything go come face to face. Sometimes, na silence carry the sharpest knife."
Uzo thanked him and walked on, the man's words sitting like stone in his ears.
Back at the center, he cleaned the chalkboard and wrote quietly:
"We do not fear the quiet. We listen through it."
That evening, Adaeze returned, eyes shadowed with worry. "Favour's aunt said she is not allowed to come here anymore. She said we are bringing risk to the family name."
"What did Favour say?"
"She cried. Then she said, 'Tell them I will still come.'"
Uzo breathed slowly. "She has chosen her fight."
They gathered that night. Only a few. The ones who had not been scared away. Onyeka was missing. Dalu had not been seen in days. Even the boy who cleaned the chairs had disappeared.
Uzo sat in the center's main room, surrounded by the sound of wind against metal sheets. He spoke to the room more than to the people.
"Not all attacks arrive with fists. Some arrive with silence, with delay, with closed doors and turned backs. But if silence is the enemy's tool, then we must become skilled in quiet endurance."
Adaeze shifted. "People are starting to believe what the other side is saying. That we are a threat. That we are causing division."
"We are not the ones dividing," Uzo replied. "We are just refusing to kneel."
Outside, someone knocked gently on the gate. One, two, three times. They all turned.
Uzo rose, moved slowly to open it. It was Ikenna.
His eyes were low. His shirt torn at the sleeve. "I went to the eastern post," he said. "It's scattered. Files thrown around. Chairs broken. The locks were forced."
"Was anything taken?" Uzo asked.
"No. Just ruined. Like someone wanted to mark it."
Adaeze stepped forward. "Did anyone see who did it?"
"No. But someone wrote on the wall."
"What did they write?"
"Go home."
Uzo closed his eyes for a moment. Then he nodded. "We will clean it. We do not leave because we are asked to. We leave only when we have completed what we started."
Ikenna looked up. "You still want to continue?"
"Yes. But now, we walk wiser. No large events for now. No open announcements. We shift into quiet strategy. Like a farmer preparing the soil before the first rain."
The next morning, Uzo visited the eastern post. The gate creaked as he entered. The chairs were still turned over. Black ash from burnt paper dusted the corners of the room. But he did not flinch. He picked up a chair, set it upright, and wrote on the board again:
"We may stagger, but we stand."
Later, he walked the street near Nkwo Nwaorie and spotted a face across the road. A young man. One of the first attendees of the youth gathering. He had not spoken then. He had not clapped. Now he stood still, watching.
Their eyes met. Uzo held the gaze, steady, calm.
The man looked away.
That night, they lit a candle at the center.
"No electricity again," Adaeze said.
"It is fine," Uzo replied. "Light is light."
They sat quietly. A kind of prayer without words filled the room.
Adaeze whispered, "I wonder how long this quiet season will last."
"As long as it needs to," Uzo replied. "Until it separates those who came for excitement from those who came to build."
Outside, the wind picked up. No rain. Just wind. Dry and strong.
"We wait," Uzo said. "But we do not stop."