SOAP OPERA — CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"The Final Word"
The Literature Theatre had never been this silent.
Not during matriculation.
Not during convocation.
Not even when expulsion letters were once read aloud years ago.
Tonight, silence ruled.
Every seat was filled. Students stood along the walls. Lecturers lined the back rows. Phones were raised but forgotten, recording red dots blinking in the dark. The air itself felt heavy, as if the building knew something irreversible was about to happen.
On the stage stood three podiums.
Three names glowing faintly on the screen behind them:
GIFT.
JOHNSON.
RAPHAEL.
The final three.
No chants.
No cheers.
No whispers.
Just breath… and fear.
Johnson stood at the center podium, fingers clenched so tight his knuckles hurt. His chest rose and fell slowly, but inside him, everything was screaming. He had been eliminated once. Mocked. Brought back by controversy and truth. Dragged through suspicion. Lifted by talent. Broken by betrayal.
Now he was here.
Again.
Raphael stood to his right, face unreadable. The campus golden boy. The favorite. The name people had predicted since Chapter One. But something in his eyes had changed. The confidence was still there—but it had cracks. Hairline fractures from pressure, from expectation, from knowing that this time… talent alone might not save him.
And then there was Gift.
Gift stood calmly, hands resting lightly on the podium, eyes steady. No shaking. No visible fear. She had been consistent from the beginning—never the loudest, never the most dramatic, but always precise. Always sharp. Always underestimated.
Until now.
Professor Nwagu stepped forward, his voice echoing through the theatre.
"Tonight," he said slowly, "there will be no second chances. No reviews. No debates."
A pause.
"This is the final judgment."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
He gestured to the judges' table—external professionals, lecturers, alumni writers. Faces hard. Pens ready.
"The finalists will read their concluding pieces. After that, we decide."
Johnson swallowed.
Raphael exhaled.
Gift closed her eyes once… then opened them.
---
RAPHAEL READ FIRST.
His story was powerful—polished, poetic, emotionally controlled. It spoke of legacy, of pressure, of living under expectation. The crowd listened closely. Some nodded. Some wiped tears.
When he finished, applause broke out—strong, respectful, familiar.
Raphael stepped back, eyes briefly meeting Johnson's.
There was no rivalry in that look.
Only exhaustion.
---
JOHNSON READ SECOND.
The moment he began, the room shifted.
His story was raw.
Not perfect. Not pretty.
It was about invisibility. About being overlooked. About talent screaming in silence. About being eliminated—not just from competitions, but from belief. It spoke of anger. Of fear. Of standing back up when the world was tired of watching you fall.
Halfway through, the room was breathing with him.
By the end… some people were crying openly.
Johnson's voice cracked on the last line.
He didn't bow.
He just stepped back.
---
GIFT READ LAST.
And that… was when everything broke.
Her story was quiet at first. Simple. Almost deceptive.
Then it turned.
It spoke of sacrifice. Of watching others fight loudly while you fight smart. Of knowing when to step back, when to strike, when to let people underestimate you. It spoke of patience as power. Silence as strategy.
The twist at the end hit like a blade.
Gasps filled the theatre.
Someone whispered, "Jesus…"
When Gift finished, she didn't wait for applause.
She knew.
---
The judges stood.
Minutes passed like hours.
The screen behind the podiums flickered.
Professor Nwagu took the microphone again.
"We have argued," he said.
"We have disagreed."
"We have reconsidered."
Another pause.
"But the decision… is final."
The entire theatre leaned forward.
"In third place…"
Johnson's heart stopped.
"…RAPHAEL."
The gasp was violent.
Raphael closed his eyes.
Not shock.
Acceptance.
Applause followed—loud, emotional. Raphael nodded once, stepped back, and for the first time all night… smiled genuinely.
Now it was just two.
Gift.
Johnson.
Professor Nwagu's voice lowered.
"In second place…"
Johnson felt the old fear crawl back. The memory of elimination. Of being almost enough.
"…JOHNSON ADEYEMI."
The theatre exploded.
Johnson stood frozen.
Second place.
Again close.
Again not enough.
Gift covered her mouth.
And then—
"And the winner of the Riverside University Writing Contest…"
A breath.
"…GIFT."
The scream was deafening.
Cheers. Shock. Applause. Disbelief.
Gift staggered back, hands shaking now, tears finally breaking free. Johnson looked at her, then did the one thing nobody expected—
He clapped first.
Slowly.
Genuinely.
Raphael joined.
Then the whole room followed.
As Gift stepped forward to receive the plaque, the scholarship letter, the contract… she turned.
And looked at Johnson.
Not with triumph.
With respect.
Because everyone knew the truth:
This competition didn't just crown a winner.
It changed destinies.
And though Gift won the title…
Johnson had finally been seen.
The lights dimmed.
The screen faded to black.
One sentence appeared:
"In the end, the loudest story isn't always the winning one—
but it is always the one that survives."
END OF SOAP OPERA.