Morning came slowly, like the city itself was tired of waking up. The rain had stopped, but the streets were still damp, carrying the smell of yesterday's chaos. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone, thumb hovering over my mother's contact.
I didn't call.
I never knew what to say anymore.
"Still pretending everything is fine?" Kemi's voice came from the doorway. He leaned against the frame, chewing gum like he owned the place. "You've been staring at that phone like it owes you money."
I sighed. "You wouldn't understand."
He stepped in, sat on my chair, and stretched his legs. "Try me. I understand hunger. I understand trouble. I understand when a guy starts acting like the streets have adopted him."
That hit harder than I expected.
"I'm just trying to survive," I muttered.
Kemi nodded slowly. "Yeah. But survival can turn into something ugly if you're not careful."
---
Outside, the city was already alive. Vendors argued, bikes splashed through puddles, and people moved like they had somewhere important to be. Zara was waiting near the junction, arms folded, eyes alert. When she saw me, something unreadable crossed her face — relief, maybe.
"You didn't disappear," she said.
"Wasn't planning to," I replied.
Kemi grinned. "See? Told you he's stubborn."
Zara ignored him and turned to me. "We need to talk. Not about fights. About lines."
I frowned. "What kind of lines?"
"The kind you don't cross," she said quietly. "The kind that once crossed… you don't come back from."
That shut Kemi up.
We walked in silence for a while, weaving through narrow streets and open markets. Zara finally stopped near a small food stall, the kind that sold cheap meals and mind-your-business silence.
"You're changing," she said. "The streets do that. They give you strength… then they ask for payment."
I thought about the shadows watching us. About the thrill. About how part of me liked feeling powerful.
"What if I don't have a choice?" I asked.
She looked at me then — really looked. "There's always a choice, Jay. Even when it feels like there isn't."
---
Later, Kemi left us to run errands. The quiet between me and Zara felt heavier than any fight.
"Why do you help me?" I asked. "You could walk away. You move like someone who knows how."
She hesitated. Just for a second.
"Because I've seen where this path leads," she said. "And I don't want you learning the hard way."
That was the first time she sounded… scared.
Before I could ask more, a familiar chill crawled up my spine. Across the street, a man leaned against a wall, pretending to scroll on his phone. He wasn't hiding. He wanted us to notice.
Zara noticed instantly.
"They're testing you," she whispered. "Watching how you move. Who you talk to."
I clenched my jaw. "So what do we do?"
She met my eyes. "We stay smart. We don't rush. And we don't let the streets decide who you become."
The man walked away.
But the message stayed.
---
That night, back in my room, I finally called home.
My mother's voice was soft, tired, familiar. "Jay… are you okay?"
I swallowed. "I'm trying to be."
That was the truth.
When I hung up, I sat in the dark, thinking about Zara's words. About Kemi's warning. About the line between survival and becoming something else.
The streets were calling louder than ever.
But for the first time, I wondered—
What if I didn't answer the way they expected?