The power is out again.

In the dim glow of a flickering candle, I sit at my desk, pen tapping against paper. My laptop is dead, and so I have resorted to the classic writing process of pen on paper.

Contrary to popular belief, it doesn't help my creative juices flow and I find myself staring at the blank page before me, unable to write.

Outside, Abuja refuses to sleep—car horns in the distance, the hum of a generator next door, the occasional bark of a stray dog. The city is alive, restless, just like the thoughts crowding my mind.

A voice cuts through the silence. “You're still writing?”

I turn. My older sister leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes heavy with the kind of exhaustion that comes from living, and not just having a long day. My eyes shift to the clock on the other end of the room.

It was 11:54pm.

“What else would I be doing?” I reply, tapping the page again.

“Sleeping, maybe?” She scoffs, stepping inside. “Or, I don’t know, enjoying your birthday?”

I huff a laugh. “Birthdays are just checkpoints in a race I never signed up for.” A bit dramatic, but how I genuinely felt. “Besides, the day is practically over.”

She sighs, then walks over, plucking the pen from my fingers. “Or maybe they’re just…a reminder that you made it.”

Silence. My sister always had a way of pointing out what should be obvious. It was because of her I had come to realize many great things in my life.

Maybe she had a point. Maybe the weight of birthdays isn’t just in counting the years but in realizing I’m still here, still questioning, still writing.

There was my inspiration.

With a slow breath, I reach for my pen again, taking it from her fingers.

“Fine,” I murmur, smirking. “But I'm still writing my story.”

She smiles, then turns to walk away.

“I have no problem with that. As long as you're up early tomorrow morning. I'm not doing the dishes for you.”

That cracks a smile from my lips too. I love my sister to death and I realize this more every year.

I turn to my notebook again, attempting to bring life to the characters in my head.

…and maybe find myself in them too.