Sleep didn't come easily that night.
Mike lay on his back, staring at the ceiling fan as it rotated slowly above him, producing a faint, rhythmic clicking sound. Each turn felt deliberate… almost mocking, like time itself had slowed down just to stretch the night longer.
The room was dimly lit, the faint glow from a nearby streetlight slipping through the window.
Outside, the compound wasn't entirely quiet.
Voices drifted in and out.
Laughter.
Footsteps.
A distant argument.
Ibadan didn't sleep early.
And now… neither did he.
Mike shifted slightly on the thin mattress, adjusting his position. The bed creaked softly beneath him. He exhaled slowly, rubbing his face with both hands.
Everything still felt unfamiliar.
The room.
The air.
Even the silence felt different from what he was used to back home.
He turned to his side and reached for his phone.
The screen lit up his face instantly.
No new notifications.
Just the earlier message from Nathan staring back at him.
He opened it again.
Nathan: "Hope you don settle? Remember why you dey there o."
Mike stared at the words longer this time.
Then he typed slowly.
Mike: "I dey alright. I go manage."
He hesitated before sending it.
Then he did.
Manage.
That word again.
It had followed him through life like a shadow.
When there wasn't enough food—manage.
When school fees were late—manage.
When things got hard—manage.
He dropped the phone beside him and stared into the darkness.
Was this year just going to be another "manage" situation?
Or could it actually change something?
His thoughts drifted naturally to his mother.
Her tired face.
The way she smiled even when things were clearly not okay.
The quiet strength she carried every day.
He swallowed.
"I need to do better," he whispered softly.
"Not just for me…"
For her.
For the family.
For everything they had been through.
He closed his eyes.
But instead of sleep…
A different image formed.
The girl.
The one he had seen earlier that evening.
The way she walked.
The way she ignored him.
The way something about her felt… familiar.
He opened his eyes again.
Staring at the ceiling.
Why didn't she respond?
Even if she didn't recognize him immediately… she should have at least turned.
Or maybe…
He sat up slightly, resting his back against the wall.
"Maybe I was wrong," he muttered.
But deep down…
He knew he wasn't.
There was something about that moment that didn't sit right.
Something incomplete.
Unfinished.
He lay back down again, pulling the thin sheet over himself.
This time, his eyes closed slowly.
And eventually…
Sleep came.
But it wasn't peaceful.
—
When morning arrived, Mike woke up with a strange feeling he couldn't explain.
It wasn't fear.
Not exactly.
But it wasn't comfort either.
It was something in between.
A quiet sense that…
Something had started.