If you asked anyone about Kemi, they’d say she was "fine." She smiled in class, laughed at jokes, and even gave motivational speeches about resilience. But no one knew that behind the forced smiles and bright words, she was drowning.

Depression wasn’t supposed to happen to someone like her—a girl with good grades, friends, and a promising future. But it did. It started as exhaustion. Then, the exhaustion became sadness. Then, the sadness became nothingness. She stopped caring about lectures, stopped replying to messages, stopped seeing the point of waking up.

When her roommate, Amaka, noticed Kemi staring blankly at her untouched food for the third night in a row, she asked, "Babe, are you okay?"

Kemi forced a smile. "I’m just tired."

But she was more than tired. She was empty.

One night, the weight of it became unbearable. She sat on her bed, staring at the pills in her palm, wondering if silence would be better than this constant ache. But then, her phone buzzed.

Amaka: Hey, I don’t know what’s wrong, but please talk to me.

Kemi stared at the screen. She hesitated, then typed three words:

"I need help."

It was the hardest thing she had ever done. But it was also the beginning of her healing.

Because sometimes, the loudest cries for help are the ones no one can hear—until someone listens.