Evian's mansion was quiet the next morning. The servants moved about with lowered eyes, afraid to disturb their master. But Evian's thoughts were far away. He sat at the breakfast table, staring at his untouched food.
The grand dining room was filled with expensive furniture. A long polished table stretched across the room, lined with golden cutlery and fine china. Tall curtains, embroidered with silver designs, swayed gently as the morning breeze entered through the open windows. On the wall hung portraits of Evian himself, dressed in elegant suits, painted at the height of his wealth. Yet none of these things brought him comfort.
The food before him was a feast fit for royalty—freshly baked bread, eggs, sausages, steaming tea, and a bowl of exotic fruits flown in from abroad. The aroma filled the air, but to Evian it all smelled tasteless. His eyes were heavy with a sadness he could not explain.
For reasons he could not explain, his mind drifted back to the days of his youth, back to the dusty streets of his childhood village.
He remembered running barefoot under the hot sun, his laughter mixing with the voices of his two closest friends—Adisa and Halima. They were more than friends; they were his family outside of blood.
Adisa was bold and curious, always the first to climb trees or dive into the river. His laughter could brighten the darkest day, and he always had ideas that led the three of them into adventures. Halima, on the other hand, was gentle but firm. She had a sharp mind and often reminded the boys to be careful. She was the balance to Adisa's daring and Evian's pride.
The memories became alive, playing before his eyes like a film. He could hear Adisa's loud voice daring him to climb the tallest palm tree in the village. He could see Halima standing at the bottom, hands on her waist, shaking her head but smiling all the same. He could feel the heat of the sun on his skin and the dust between his toes.
One afternoon stood out clearly in Evian's mind. The three children had been playing by the riverbank. Adisa had found a long stick and declared himself a warrior defending the land. Evian, unwilling to be left behind, picked up another stick and announced himself the king.
"You can't be king of everything," Halima said, folding her arms. "A king must first learn to serve his people."
The boys had laughed then, not taking her words seriously. They ran about the riverbank, splashing water, throwing stones to see who could reach the farthest. They shouted and played until their voices echoed across the still waters. But now, years later, those words returned to Evian like an echo from the past. A king must first learn to serve his people.
He remembered another time, when they had gathered under the old mango treeafter school. Halima had shared roasted corn with them, even though she had little. Adisa had spoken about his dream of becoming a teacher. Evian, even as a boy, had declared that he would one day be the richest man in the land.
They had laughed at him then, but Halima had warned softly, "Wealth without kindness will make you lonely, Evian."
Her words had meant nothing to him at the time. He wanted riches, cars, and houses. He wanted to be admired, respected, and feared. And now, as a man, he had all those things. Yet the loneliness she predicted had come true.
The memories grew sharper. He saw their young faces again, their smiles, their trust. Adisa's endless energy, Halima's calm voice, the way they always included him even when he acted proud. But time had carried them apart. Evian had gone to the city for school and business, while Adisa had stayed behind in the village. Halima too remained, helping her family and later working as a teacher.
Letters had been exchanged in the early years. He could still remember Halima's neat handwriting and Adisa's bold scrawl. But soon, Evian had stopped writing back. He was too busy chasing wealth and surrounding himself with new "friends" who praised him. Friends who only saw his money, not his heart.
As he sat at his breakfast table, the weight of guilt pressed on him. He had abandoned the people who truly cared for him. Adisa and Halima had been loyal, but he had forgotten them in his race for riches.
A servant entered quietly and bowed. "Sir, shall I warm your tea?" the man asked.
Evian looked at him, his eyes distant. "No. Leave it."
The servant bowed again and left silently. Evian rested his head in his hands, struggling to fight back the emotions rising in his chest.
Later that day, Evian went out in his car. The engine roared, and the air smelled of fresh leather. The streets cleared as people turned their heads to admire his shining black car. Children pointed, men whispered, and women smiled in awe. But even as he drove past admiring eyes, his thoughts were still with his childhood.
He saw images of himself laughing freely, without worrying about money or fame. He saw Adisa daring him to jump into the river, Halima patiently tying the torn hem of her school uniform, the three of them racing towards the mango tree after class. That joy seemed so far away now, like a dream that faded with the dawn.
At a stoplight, a small boy ran up to his car window, trying to sell him groundnuts. The boy's clothes were torn, his feet dusty, his eyes wide with hope. For a moment, Evian saw himself in the boy's dusty face. He thought of the little Evian who once dreamed under the mango tree.
He rolled down the window, bought the groundnuts, and handed the boy more money than he asked for. The boy's smile was wide, and his voice cracked with excitement as he said, "Thank you, sir!" He ran off, clutching the money tightly, his laughter trailing behind him.
Evian watched him disappear into the crowd, and for the first time in many years, he felt a small, unfamiliar warmth in his chest. It was not the thrill of buying a new car or hosting a grand party. It was something quieter, something deeper.
That night, lying in bed, Evian whispered Halima's words to himself: Wealth without kindness will make you lonely. He could not sleep. The echoes of his childhood were too loud. He turned on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The glittering chandelier above seemed to mock him with its brightness.
Somewhere deep inside, Evian began to wonder if life had given him a second chance to listen to the voices he once ignored