It's always too early in the morning in Lagos.

The sun peeks under the door like a thief, dragging you out of bed whether you're ready or not.

I opened my eyes to see Luis still curled beside me, breathing slowly, one arm cast wide across his chest. For a moment, I watched him — the tiny expansion and contraction of his ribcage, the small bruise-colored circles about his eyes, the soft ring of curling hair that refused to lie flat.

Then my gaze crept, half unwilling, to the mat by the door.

Alex lay on his side, knees slightly bent. His eyes were wide open, staring at nothing, as if the cracks in our ceiling might hold solutions he'd been hunting all night.

I couldn't say if he'd slept at all.

---

We moved awkwardly around each other that morning, two dancers in a space not large enough for dancing.

I got water boiling for tea; Alex volunteered to assist, then stopped when the handle of the kettle was inconvenient from his position. Luis limped over to the sink with a toothbrush stuck in his mouth, sneaking nervous glances at Alex, curiosity clear written across his face.

No one talked much. Words seemed too burdensome, or perhaps too unsafe.

---

Alex asked quietly over tea, "Do you always get up so early?"

"Work starts early," I said to him. "And Luis has school."

He nodded, looking at Luis. "What year are you in?"

"JSS2," Luis said happily. "I like literature. And integrated science."

"That's a nice combination," Alex said, something almost proud in his voice. "Stories and systems. Heart and mind."

Luis grinned at that, the words apparently spinning round and round in his head like a new coin.

---

I sat observing them, tea heating my palms.

It was so ordinary. Too ordinary. A guy at the table, not arguing, not demanding, just. there.

And yet, echoing in the recesses of my mind, a voice was chanting: You don't know anything about him. Nothing.

---

Luis was up and leaving before I could give that voice much notice. "I'll be late," he announced.

"Take your backpack," I told him, and he did — quickly, thriftily, the way children who grow up poor are taught.

Alex snatched the backpack first, jerking it up to Luis with a speed that I found startling.

"Thanks," Luis whispered, throwing it over his shoulder.

---

We departed together, the morning already hot and thick with humidity.

Luis ran on ahead a little way, whistling softly to himself, his shoulders fidgeting as they hadn't for weeks.

"You take care of him on your own?" Alex asked, speaking low, as if he shouldn't have spoken at all.

Yes," I said. "His father left when Luis was two. My mom died a few years later."

"I'm sorry," Alex said, and it sounded genuine. No sympathy, just sorrow.

"It was a long time ago," I said, even though there is no grief calendar.

---

There was a corner. Luis stopped. "Will you be here when I come back?" he asked Alex, the request direct and innocent.

Alex's jaw fell open, then he looked at me.

"If it's all right," he whispered.

Luis smiled, the issue settled.

---

After we'd seen him vanish in the sea of school uniforms and danfos, Alex turned to me. "You don't need to leave me behind," he said. "I'll arrange a guest house."

"Can you afford to do that?" I growled, colder than I meant.

His mouth curled, the shadowy promise of something unrevealed. "Most likely," he said. "But it's not always about money."

We walked back towards the compound.

"I don't trust people easily," I told him. "Especially not men."

"I know," he said.

"Why do you think that is?" I asked, prodding him.

His eyes met mine, hard but soft. "Because some have shown you it isn't safe."

The simplicity of it stunned me, left me blinking at the sun.

---

I put out the mat inside, swept the floor, and opened the window to drive away yesterday's heat.

Alex watched in silence. "You're in the tailoring trade?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "Small shop off Yaba. Repairs and school uniforms mostly."

"And you do designs," he said, glancing at my sketchbook surreptitiously hidden under a magazine.

I stiffened. "I dabble," I said.

He shook his head, grinning. "You don't 'dabble.' You dream."

---

The words discovered a piece of me I'd almost buried: the little girl who used to stay up late at night drawing dresses, who dreamed of strutting down runways in cities she would never visit.

"That girl is gone," I whispered.

"She doesn't seem gone to me," Alex replied.

---

Just as I could have responded, a knock shook the metal door. Janet's voice drifted in: "Emilia? You in?"

My heart leapt. "One moment!" I shouted, looking at Alex.

He relaxed a little, posture relaxing into something more guarded. I saw it: the subtle bunching of his shoulders, the cautious mask readopting its position.

---

I opened the door. Janet, a whirlwind of bright color and sharper eyes, stormed in.

Her eyes landed on Alex straight away. "Oh. You have company."

"This is Alex," I said quickly. "He's… staying for a while."

Janet's eyebrows went up, questions twisted behind them. "Oh really?"

Alex gave a small tilt of his head. "Nice to meet you," he said.

"Same," Janet replied, but her tone was cautious.

She turned to me. "Can we go outside?"

---

The courtyard outside was baking in late-morning sun.

"You brought a strange man into your home," Janet began, not rough, but blunt.

"I know," I replied.

"And you don't know anything about him," she continued.

"I know something," I insisted, although it sounded less forceful than I'd meant.

"You know what, Emi?" she panted, sweeping braids out of her face. "You always see the good first. That's sweet. But it's dangerous too."

---

"I don't know how to describe it," I whispered. "But… he doesn't feel like danger."

"Neither did Femi at first," she reminded me.

The memory hurt. Femi — the one who'd vowed softness, then welts. Luis never knew; I'd taken care of that.

---

"I'll be okay," I said. "I promise."

"Don't you know you will," Janet sighed. "But make sure he's worth it."

---

When I came back inside, Alex glanced up, curiosity in his eyes.

"She's worrying," I informed him.

"She should," he murmured. "It's a good friend who asks questions."

---

Hours passed in quiet. I processed orders for the store; Alex read a dog-eared paperback Luis had left on the table.

At one time, I glanced up to catch him looking at me.

"What?" I asked.

"You look different when you're concentrating," he whispered.

"Different how?"

"Softer," he replied. "And stronger."

---

The words unsettled me. No man had ever addressed me like this in years — noticed me, not merely what I could do or repair.

"Why are you actually in need of a roof over your head?" I blurted out.

His gaze fell. "The truth is… I don't belong anywhere at the moment," he said.

---

Before I could call out, Luis's bellow from the courtyard. "I'm back!"

He rushed in, out of breath, beads of sweat on his forehead.

"Did you wait?" he asked Alex, dreading almost what he would find out.

"I did," Alex smiled.

Luis smiled, relief pouring over in laughter. "Good!"

---

We prepared dinner — rice and beans, small fish fried golden.

Alex offered to chop onions, tripping once but stubbornly through. Luis told of school: one boy given detention, one girl reciting a poem so perfectly the class clapped.

Alex listened, heard intently, as if every word mattered.

---

As dusk descended, I stood in the doorway observing them: Luis on the mat, huddled up, Alex sitting beside him, talking of far-off places — Paris, London, someplace snowy.

Luis listened, wide-eyed, though sleep tugged at him.

---

"He's never seen snow," I said softly.

"Neither had I, until I was fourteen," Alex breathed.

"You traveled young?" I asked.

He hesitated. "You could say that."

Again, the half-answer, the shadow.

---

Luis fell asleep in the middle of a sentence. Alex fell silent, eyes distant on some memory.

"You don't have to tell me everything," I breathed.

"But you'd want me to," he said softly.

"I would," I admitted.

---

Later, lights out, I slept on my mat, the city sounds far beyond the walls.

In darkness, Alex's voice whispered close to tears: "Thanks. For today."

"For what?" I breathed.

"For treating me like… just a man," he said. "Not a problem. Not a burden."

---

And for an instant, in the quiet space between us, truth hung — unspoken, weighty, but very much alive.

I almost asked, What did you do before Lagos?

But fear caught words in my throat.

Some truths, I believed, come when we are prepared.

Others come regardless of whether or not we are prepared.

---

End of Chapter 4