The rain fell softly that evening, tapping against the windows of their cramped student apartment like a melody only the quiet could hear. A gray mist blanketed the streets below, and the usual buzz of Owerri felt muted. Zoey sat on the faded brown couch in a pair of oversized sweatpants and a bonnet sliding off her head. Her laptop lay closed on the table in front of her, surrounded by crumpled pages and scribbled notes she hadn't touched in days.
Her creative well had run dry. Or maybe, it had just been buried under the weight of doubt.
Tonia burst through the door, raindrops clinging to her curls and excitement radiating from her like heat. She dumped her tote bag by the door and peeled off her jacket, kicking off her wet flats as she called out, "Zoey! You need to see this right now!"
"If it's another literary magazine asking for five poems and paying nothing but exposure pass," Zoey muttered without looking up.
"It's not that," Tonia said, flopping onto the couch beside her and unlocking her phone. "This is different. It's big. Like, really big."
Zoey turned her head lazily. "Define big."
Tonia shoved her phone in Zoey's hands.
The 2025 Horizon Literary Prize: Call for Submissions.
For writers aged 18-25. Seeking powerful stories about resilience, identity, and healing.
Winning entry receives international recognition and a fully funded trip to Seoul for the Horizon Gala.
Theme :"Powerful stories about resilience, identity, and healing."
Zoey blinked at the screen. "International?"
"Yep," Tonia said with a grin. "They're accepting novellas. And you've already written one. "The Sky Between Us" fits their theme perfectly.
A flicker of something stirred in Zoey's chest curious, maybe, or fear disguised as excitement. "You really think it's good enough?"
"I know it is," Tonia said. "That story is you, Zoey. Raw, real, beautiful. It's everything they're asking for."
Zoey frowned slightly. She had written The Sky Between Us in the aftermath of losing her aunt—the only woman in her life who made her feel seen. The story wove together memories of childhood, trauma, and the fragile thread of sisterhood that helped her heal. She never imagined anyone outside her circle reading it. It felt too personal. Too honest.
"What if I send it and they just… ignore it?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Then at least you'll know you gave it a shot," Tonia said gently. "But I promise you, they won't ignore it."
That night, Zoey stared at her manuscript like it was a sleeping dragon. She opened the file, scrolling through the pages. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she read each chapter slowly, her own words crashing into her like waves.
There were parts that made her cry again.
There were paragraphs she rewrote, trimming the fat and deepening the truth.
There were lines she left untouched because they felt too sacred to change.
At 3:17 a.m., she saved the final version and uploaded it to the Horizon Prize portal. Her hands trembled as she hovered over the "Submit" button.
She whispered, "Let this mean something," and clicked.
The confirmation page blinked at her, cold and impersonal.
It was done.
She looked over to where Tonia was already asleep on the couch, hugging a pillow and breathing softly. Zoey walked over, gently pulled a blanket over her, and whispered, "Thank you, T."
Three weeks. It felt like an eternity. Three whole weeks since Zoey had sent her novella, The Sky Between Us, off into the unknown, submitting it for the prestigious Horizon Literary Prize. She had poured her soul into those pages every line threaded with memories, pain, and hope. Yet now, in the quiet aftermath, she was left with nothing but silence.
Each morning, she'd wake and check her email with the same nervous anticipation. Maybe today. Maybe this time. But day after day, the inbox remained stubbornly empty of any message from the prize committee.
The waiting was worse than she'd imagined. It gnawed at her confidence, twisting hope into doubt. Maybe her story wasn't good enough. Maybe her truth wasn't loud enough to reach the judges. Maybe she was fooling herself all along.
Zoey tried to focus on her other writing projects, but the cloud of uncertainty followed her everywhere. She found herself rereading The Sky Between Us late at night, wondering if the words were strong enough, if the emotions would resonate with anyone else.
One rainy evening, she curled up on the old sofa in their small apartment, the soft glow of the lamp barely cutting through the gloom. The rhythmic tapping of raindrops on the window matched the slow sinking feeling inside her chest.
"I should just give up," Zoey whispered to herself. Her voice cracked with exhaustion. "Maybe this was never meant to be."
Tonia, her flatmate and fiercest champion, sat nearby, pretending to read but actually watching Zoey closely. She hated seeing her friend like this defeated, doubting her own talent.
"Don't say that," Tonia said softly, putting down her book. "You've worked too hard. The prize committee gets thousands of entries. They probably just haven't made it to yours yet."
Zoey managed a small smile but it didn't reach her eyes. "Three weeks is a long time to wait, Tonia."
"Yeah, but it's not over yet. And no matter what, your story matters."
Zoey leaned back, staring at the ceiling, trying to hold onto that thread of hope. The silence in the apartment was heavy.
Suddenly, the sharp buzz of Zoey's phone broke the stillness. Tonia jumped up, eyes wide as she read the notification.
"Zoey, you have to see this. Now," she said, almost breathless.
Zoey's heart pounded. "What is it?"
Without waiting, Tonia rushed over and held out her phone. Zoey took it with trembling hands and saw the subject line:
"Congratulations, Ms. Oge. You are the winner of the 2025 Horizon Literary Prize."
Her breath caught. The words blurred as tears sprang to her eyes.
"I won…" she whispered, disbelief and joy crashing together inside her.
Tonia threw her arms around Zoey, who sobbed into her shoulder. "I told you, your voice was meant to be heard."
Zoey pulled back, blinking away tears. "This changes everything. The trip to Seoul… the gala… I'm really going."
Her mind spun, heart racing with a new kind of energy. She couldn't wait to share the news.
Immediately, Zoey grabbed her phone and dialed her parents' number, fingers shaking with excitement.
The phone rang twice before her mother's warm voice answered. "Hello, my dear! How are you?"
Zoey struggled to steady her voice. "Mom, Dad… I have news. Big news."
A pause, then her father's calm tone. "What is it, Zoey?"
"I won the Horizon Literary Prize." She said it again, as if hearing it aloud would make it real. "They just emailed me. I'm going to Seoul for the gala."
Her mother gasped softly, tears threatening to spill. "Oh, Zoey! That's wonderful! We're so proud of you."
Her father chuckled, a rare sound of joy. "Finally, some good news for once. We've been waiting for this moment."
Zoey felt the weight of months without good news lift from her shoulders. "I know. It's been hard. But this… this feels like a new beginning."
Her mother's voice cracked with happiness. "We always believed in you, baby. You deserve this."
Tonia hovered quietly nearby, smiling as Zoey shared the moment with her family.
"I'll send you the details soon. I can't wait to see you again," Zoey said.
"We can't wait either," her father replied warmly. "You keep shining, Zoey."
After the call ended, Zoey sat back, the warmth of her family's support wrapping around her like a blanket. For the first time in weeks, the future felt bright and full of promise.
She looked over at Tonia, who gave her an encouraging smile. "See? I told you. Your story has power."
Zoey nodded, a new fire kindling inside her. This was just the beginning. Her words would carry her further than she ever imagined.
That night, as she lay in bed, Zoey let herself dream—not just of the gala in Seoul, but of all the stories still waiting to be told, the voices waiting to be heard. She was ready to face whatever came next.
Because now, she knew her voice could change her world
———-
The moonlight bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Jae Hyun's private suite, casting long shadows across the room. He sat alone in the silence, the city of Seoul buzzing far below him. Despite the luxury surrounding him, his mind was anything but calm.
Something about Zoey Oge had taken root in him—and it was unsettling.
He had met many women elegant, powerful, strategic. Yet this girl… this soft-spoken, stubbornly passionate writer, had stirred something in him he wasn't prepared for. And that terrified him.
He had been avoiding the thought for days now, brushing off the way his chest tightened when she laughed, the way his gaze lingered when she looked away. But it was happening.
He was falling for her.
"Damn it," he muttered, reaching for his phone.
A few minutes later, Min Jun arrived, slipping through the door like the ghost of Jae Hyun's better judgment.
"You look like you haven't slept in days," Min Jun remarked, sinking into the couch opposite him.
"I haven't," Jae Hyun said bluntly. "There's something about her. I can't stop thinking about her."
Min Jun smirked. "So? Admit you like her and go for it."
"I don't know her, Min Jun. I know nothing about her. What if she's like the others? What if I'm just… infatuated with a fantasy?"
"Then find out. You have the means."
That was all the encouragement he needed.
An hour later, his private tech team was mobilized. Covert and elite, they worked in silence, diving into digital trails Zoey hadn't even realized she'd left behind. Jae Hyun paced the room, waiting impatient, unsure if he wanted to know the truth or run from it.
The first report arrived at 2 a.m.
Subject: Ozioma Oge
Age: 21
Nationality: Nigerian
Origin: Imo State
Marital Status: Single
Family: First daughter and only girl. Three younger brothers.
Jae Hyun stared at the screen, his eyes scanning every detail. So young, yet already she carried herself with a grace and resilience far beyond her years.
Then came the photos dozens of them.
One showed her ex-boyfriend, Matt, dark-eyed and brooding. A two-year relationship, the report said. He became controlling, obsessive after their breakup. The team had even found screenshots of messages, hints of his stalking, and images of him watching her from across the street.
Jae Hyun's jaw clenched.
Another photo showed her ex who had married Zoey's best friend. The betrayal radiated from the image itself Zoey, smiling tightly at a wedding reception, pain hidden behind her eyes.
Then there was David. Her so-called male best friend, who had gaslighted her emotionally, only to go back to his ex-girlfriend the same girl who had cheated on him multiple times. The report noted messages between Zoey and David, ending in silence and heartbreak.
Jae Hyun sat in stunned silence. Her love life wasn't just messy it was tragic.
The next wave of intel arrived like a slow burn.
Education: Mass Communication major
Writing Career: Rising talent in African literary circles
Then came a string of photos and headlines.
BREAKING: Nigerian Author Zoey Oge Wins 2025 Horizon Literary Prize
ABUJA: Young Nigerian Writer Delivers Emotional Speech at Literary Gala
His breath caught.
He hadn't known.
Photo after photo showed Zoey in a cream-colored gown, radiant as she stood onstage in Abuja. Her speech, transcribed and attached, moved even him. Her voice confident, vulnerable, proud—echoed in his head as he read.
"This story is for every girl who thought her scars made her unworthy. Your pain is not your prison. It is your power."
He leaned back in his chair, stunned. Not just by what she had survived, but by what she had become.
This wasn't a fantasy. This was a woman who had climbed out of heartbreak, betrayal, and silence and turned it into something beautiful.
Something powerful.
Something… he didn't understand yet, but deeply wanted to.
He stared at her picture a long time. A girl from Imo State, standing on a global stage, carrying every wound and turning it into gold.
"She's not just someone to admire," Jae Hyun whispered to himself. "She's someone to protect."
He picked up his phone again. "Min Jun," he said as soon as the line connected. "I was wrong. I'm not just falling for her."
There was a long pause on the other end.
"I already have."