Getting A Call

"Hey, Ebilade, what's up? What are you doing later tonight?" A man in his late twenties approached, his steps casual as he made his way over to where Ebilade was wiping down a table. His uniform was a little rumpled, a stark contrast to Ebilade's clean, crisp appearance.

Ebilade paused mid-swipe, glancing up at his senior coworker with a faint smile. "Nothing much," he shrugged, leaning the rag over his shoulder for a moment. "After work, I'm heading back to my shared apartment, take a quick dump, then back to a shift I've got down at MegaChop Diner." He chuckled lightly, but his tone was tired, the long hours wearing on him. "So yeah, I'm pretty much wiped. What's up?"

His coworker raised an eyebrow, letting out a long sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. "Ah, man. I was just checking if you were free for this get-together we've got going on later today. But looks like your night's already booked," he said, shaking his head with a wistful smile. His eyes softened as he took in Ebilade's expression, the exhaustion visible in the younger man's posture, the slight slouch in his shoulders.

Ebilade glanced down at the table, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge as he listened, feeling a little guilty but not enough to change his plans. "Yeah... thanks, though. Maybe another time," he offered with a faint, apologetic smile, knowing deep down his schedule didn't leave room for much else.

The older man chuckled under his breath as he turned to walk away, shaking his head in a mixture of amusement and sympathy. He couldn't quite figure Ebilade out. Ever since the kid showed up last week, he'd been working nonstop, scrubbing tables, taking extra shifts, never complaining. Some of the staff had thought, at first, that maybe he was angling to become the boss's favorite, hoping for a raise or some recognition. But as the days passed, they realized it was something else.

The kid was just that hard-working, no hidden agenda—just a drive to keep his head above water. To make ends meet. It made his coworkers feel for him, seeing the quiet determination in his eyes, the way he never flinched under pressure. They'd tried to loosen him up a bit, see if he'd let himself have a little fun, but it always came back to the same answer. He was busy. Always busy.

Ebilade watched his senior coworker walk away, the man's shoulders slumping in quiet defeat. A slight frown tugged at the corner of Ebilade's mouth. He appreciated the gesture, he really did, but there wasn't much room in his life for downtime right now. He had responsibilities, rent to pay, and a future to chase—no matter how exhausting the journey felt. With a sigh, he picked up the rag and resumed cleaning, his movements methodical, the weight of the day already settling in his bones.

After a long day of work, Ebilade finally finished his last task, wiping his brow with the back of his hand as a small sigh of relief escaped his lips. He slipped out of his uniform and changed into his regular clothes—worn jeans and a faded T-shirt that had seen better days but still fit him comfortably. The fabric clung to him in the humid Lagos evening, but it was familiar, and it made him feel a little more like himself as he stepped out of the eatery.

As he exited, he exchanged casual nods and waves with his coworkers, offering tired but genuine smiles. "Goodnight, bro," someone called, and he raised a hand in acknowledgment. He was about to walk down the busy street when suddenly, his phone rang.

The intro to "Stand Strong" by Davido blared from his pocket, the familiar beat catching him off guard for a moment. He paused, glancing down in mild surprise, feeling the vibration in his pocket. With a slight frown, he dipped his hand into his jeans, fishing out his old, cracked Gionee S9. The phone was a far cry from new—its screen was splintered in the corner, the edges scuffed from countless falls. But it had been his lifeline since his time in Bayelsa, and despite its worn condition, it still worked, more or less.

He had bought it for twenty-eight thousand naira at Tombia Phone Village, back when he thought things were simpler. His lips curled slightly as he remembered that day—how he'd haggled over the price, thinking he'd gotten a good deal. Now, as he stared at the phone's flickering screen, he realized just how long ago that felt.

With a resigned sigh, he swiped to answer, lifting the phone to his ear. "Hello?" he said, his voice steady despite the weariness tugging at him. As he listened to the voice on the other end, his gaze drifted out to the busy street ahead, the chaos of Lagos life swirling around him, but his mind still half-rooted in the quiet memories of his past.

"How are things in Lagos?" A deep, familiar voice crackled through the phone's old speaker. It was his father, Owner Albert. The maturity in his tone was undeniable, steady and calm, yet it carried the weight of expectation. "Hope you're all settled down?" his father asked.

Ebilade paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the bustling street as people hurried by. His grip on the phone tightened slightly, a mix of emotions running through him. He hadn't spoken to his father in days. It wasn't out of avoidance—he just didn't have the time. Or maybe that's what he told himself.

"Yes, I'm settled," Ebilade replied, keeping his voice neutral. "Since a week ago, but thanks for asking."

There was a slight hesitation on the other end, a gap filled only by the faint static of the old connection. Ebilade shifted his weight from one foot to the other, already thinking about his plans for the evening. He glanced down the road toward his next job.

"Good," his father's voice came again, "Lagos can be rough. Make sure you're keeping your head down. It's not Bayelsa or Port Harcourt."

Ebilade's lips twitched, a faint smile pulling at the corners. "I know, Dad. I'm managing."

"Managing?" His father's tone softened, carrying a hint of concern now. "You've always worked too hard, you know that? You don't have to do everything at once."

Ebilade's eyes flickered with a brief flash of annoyance, though he quickly swallowed it. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the concern, but he had long outgrown the need for it. "It's just how it is, Dad," he replied, trying to keep the conversation light. "Nothing I'm not used to."

Albert let out a small sigh, the kind that spoke of years of experience.