“I could say the same about you.”
This time, he stayed.
Over the next few weeks, he kept returning. At first, he told himself it was convenience. Then escape. Then habit.
But the truth was simple.
He was coming back for Ada.
Their conversations grew slowly. At first, they were light.
“What will you have today?”
“The usual.”
“You don’t strike me as a man who likes routine.”
“Maybe I’m learning.”
Then they became deeper.
“What scares you most?” he asked one evening.
“Losing the little I have,” she said.
“And what would you do if money didn’t matter?”
She looked away for a moment.
“I’d rest.”
That answer stayed with him.
Rest.
Such a simple dream. Such an impossible one for so many people.
One rainy evening, when the restaurant was nearly empty, Ada sat across from him for the first time.
“I don’t know much about you,” she said.
“You know enough.”
“I don’t even know your full name.”
He hesitated. “Okafor.”
Her eyebrow lifted. “That sounds important.”
“It’s just a name.”
She did not believe him, but she did not push.
“You’re hiding something,” she said.
“Maybe.”
“And I’m supposed to trust someone who won’t tell me who he really is?”
That question struck him.
He wanted to tell her everything. The money. The family. The arranged marriage. The life waiting to swallow him whole.
But he was afraid that once she knew, everything would change.
So he said, “Maybe you’ll just have to trust what you see.”
Ada looked at him for a long moment.
“You’re lucky I’m patient.”
“I know.”
Soon, their connection became impossible to deny.
They walked after her shifts. They shared roadside snacks. They talked under dim streetlights.
Ada tried to protect her heart.
