𝓛𝓲𝓶𝓲𝓽𝓼

Abike stamps her feet, and as she walks toward the door where I stood, I quickly opt out of my position, putting a fine distance between myself and the door.
 

She slams the door hard, forcing it open. And the unfortunate human obstructing her clear view of the empty hallway becomes evidently me. She falls her gaze instantly on me before walking towards me.
 

“Hi.” I dare say, watching her draw closer.
 

“Save it.” She shuts me up rudely with her left hand mid-air. But before she walks away, she throws me the strangest look.
 

I chuckle. “What’s her deal?" I find that question hard to answer. Not my cup of tea.

 
I walk toward the door again, and just as I am about to hold the door knob, the door swings open, nearly causing me to trip forward.
 

“Oh dear, I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t see you coming.” Chef Chris, an average-looking man in his late 30s, apologizes politely.

 
He is known for his fair skin and average height. His face is completely hairless, and his hair is precisely carved and very low-cut. He is donning a black polo with an inscription of Greg Institute at the back and left breast of the shirt. Along with it, he has on a pair of black trousers.

 
He smiled warmly at me, but it didn't do justice to the frustration hidden in his eyes.
 

“It is fine, sir.” I say, smiling at him, “I just want to pick up my apron.”
 

“I hope the exam wasn’t too tough." He inquires warmly.
 

“Not at all, sir," I reply.

 
“Very good. As a chef, I must confess, your dish was very appetizing.” He compliments, “I don’t know how you did it; the judges can’t stop talking about it.”

 
Another compliment like this, and I'll be over the moon. My smile stretches from ear to ear, and I reply, “Thank you; it means a lot coming from a professional like you.”
 

“Keep it up.” He adds, then taps my shoulder before walking out of the hall.
 

I enter the hallway, proceed directly to my table, grab my apron, and dash out before I see any more turmoil.
 

******

 
"Do you think Abike's father will bribe his daughter's way to California?" Omoh inquires as she assists me in washing dirty dishes at home. When I returned to her at the canteen, I told her about the exchange I overheard between Abike and the chef.
 

“I don’t know, but if he does, it is bye-bye California Greg resort for me and anyone who merits it.” I expressed my fears sadly as I scrub hard on the bowl in my hand.
 

Omoh casts me a pitiful glance, and I know she can tell how anxious I am about the situation at hand.

 
“Eno, listen.” She calls my attention: “Keep doing your best; don’t be discouraged; I believe God will crown your effort.” Her words bloom gently in my heart, making me feel a little at ease.

 
“I don’t mind if I get the third position.” I voice with content. Truthfully, competing with Abike scares me a little. My only motivation is my daughter; if not, I won't even bother.

 
"Don't say anything like that, Eno. Listen, we're shooting for the moon. And even if we fail to reach the moon and fall, we will live among the stars, and if we aim for the stars, we will move beyond the sky; it will no longer be our limit." Omoh informs me while simultaneously capturing my attention.

 
“Is this a proverb, a parable, or a riddle?” I am confused, but amused.

 
“I don’t know.” She chuckles, “But this is what I know; don’t aim for third; it’s too cheap, and because of that, your mentality will be limited. You might end up in fourth place or worse. Instead, aim for the first position. Now, even if you don’t reach that position—which I’m not praying for—you will fall into the second or third position. That way, you won’t be limited. Think about it.” She elaborates.

 
"Wow, that's just raw wisdom right there." I respect her and am taking in all she has said.

 
She laughs at me while I make my way back to reality.
 

"So, when are you planning on seeing your baby daddy?" Omoh inquires, shifting the conversation to a more uncomfortable subject.
 

I sigh. “Tomorrow, I just want to get this thing with him over with.” I reply.
 

“Are you sure you want to go down that road?” She asks again, feeling terrified for me.
 

I'm genuinely not sure, but how can I escape from it? “That is the only road leading to my destination, and I’ll have to go through it sooner or later.” I reply.
 

“I simply worry about the result.” She informs me.
 

I can relate to her concerns, and I'm also concerned about the result. But I'm confident that I'm acting morally. “I know, me too, but I'll be alright.” I assure her.
 

"I know you will." She gives me a warm smile before dabbing her wet hands on a clean, dry towel that hangs on the peg by the kitchen window before exiting to the living room.
 

I can hear her changing the channel on the TV and stopping on the African Magic channel.
 

Now left to my thoughts, I sigh slowly. I really don’t know what to expect when I see Ubong. I only pray that my emotions will be under control.

920 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘