Impact (Tomade POV)
1260 Words
The road was clear. Too clear.
At this hour, Lagos usually resisted movement. Headlights. Noise. Traffic pressing against itself in restless waves.
Tonight, the expressway stretched open and dark beneath the rain-heavy sky.
Tomade barely noticed. His attention was split between the road and the voice filling the car through the speakers.
“…I don’t understand why she would do that.”
Muna sounded frustrated in the way she always did when she was trying not to sound hurt.
He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel slightly.
“Muna.”
“I mean it, Tommy. She didn’t even tell me herself. I had to hear it from Grandma first.”
His eyes flicked briefly toward the dashboard clock. Late.
The investor dinner in Victoria Island had dragged nearly two hours longer than expected. Too many questions, too many projections.
Everyone suddenly wanted in once they realized the home energy system actually worked.
HydraGrid had started as an idea scribbled across three notebooks and a sleepless month.
Now investors were calling it scalable. Profitable. Necessary.
Tomade had spent most of the evening pretending not to notice how quickly interest changed once money became visible.
Too late to still be on the road.
But he hadn’t been ready to go home yet. Instead, he had kept driving.
And Muna, somehow, had filled the silence without disturbing it.
“I’ll be home soon,” he said.
“That’s not the point.”
“I know.”
“You always say that.”
The irritation in her voice sharpened briefly before softening again.
“I just…” She exhaled shakily. “I don’t get it.”
The traffic light ahead shifted green.
Tomade drove through without slowing.
Rain still hadn’t started, but the sky looked swollen with it. Heavy. Waiting.
“Muna,” he said calmly, “breathe first.”
Nothing for a second.
When she spoke again, her voice sounded flatter.
“She’s getting married. It’s barely been two years since Dad.”
No anger underneath it anymore. Just disbelief settling into place.
Tomade didn’t respond immediately. Not because he didn’t have an answer.
Because answers only mattered when they reached the right part of a person.
“And?” he asked.
“And?” she repeated. “That’s all you’re going to say?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. Something normal, maybe?”
Despite himself, a faint breath of amusement almost surfaced. Almost.
Instead he said, “Does it change anything?”
“What?”
“Does it change who she is? Or who you are?”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s not supposed to be fair.”
“You always do this,” she muttered. “You make everything sound simple when it isn’t.”
Tomade’s gaze stayed fixed on the road ahead.
“It is simple.”
“It doesn’t feel simple.”
His hand tightened slightly around the wheel.
“I know.”
The words came quieter this time. More honest than he intended.
Outside, wind moved suddenly across the road. Fast enough to shift the trees lining the median.
The first drop of rain struck the windshield. Then another. Then several more in quick succession.
A truck passed in the opposite lane. Too fast. Its headlights flared briefly against the wet road before disappearing behind him.
Muna was still talking. Something about betrayal.
About people leaving before you realise they already have.
He listened.
Even when he didn’t answer immediately, he always listened.
“I just thought…” she started. Then stopped.
Tomade adjusted the wheel slightly as rain thickened against the glass.
“What?”
“That she would care enough to tell me herself.”
Something in his chest shifted at that. Small. Sharp.
“She does,” he said.
“You don’t know that.”
His expression remained unreadable.
“I do.”
“How?”
Because I’ve watched people choose distance when honesty would cost too much.
Because people often chose distance when honesty became difficult.
Because care and avoidance had never been as separate as most people pretended.
The thoughts passed quickly. He said none of them aloud.
“People don’t always show care the way you expect them to,” he replied instead.
Silence settled briefly between them. Rain hammered harder now. The windshield wipers struggled to keep pace. Visibility blurred at the edges of the road.
“I hate this,” Muna murmured.
“I know.”
“I don’t want to stay by myself tonight.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Grandma called. She won’t be back in Lagos till tomorrow. Can I stay at yours when you get back?” she asked quietly.
He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
The answer came too quickly. They both noticed. Neither acknowledged it.
Thunder rolled somewhere overhead. The rain became violent without warning. One second manageable. The next, suffocating.
Water streaked across the windshield so heavily it distorted the lane markings.
Tomade’s posture shifted immediately. Focused now. Fully alert.
“Muna.”
“Yeah?”
“I need you to listen carefully.”
Her voice changed instantly. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Rain’s getting worse. Just stay where you are until I get there.”
She didn't answer for a moment.
“…Okay.”
The headlights ahead blurred strangely.
Tomade narrowed his eyes.
Something moved through the rain. Too large. Too close.
The truck appeared through the downpour at an impossible angle. Wrong lane.
For one suspended second, the world slowed. Instinct took over before thought could.
He turned the wheel hard. Tires screamed against soaked asphalt. The truck’s horn exploded through the rain.
Then— Impact. Violent.
Metal crushing inward. Glass bursting across darkness.
The sound wasn’t loud at first. It was consuming.
Everything folding into itself at once. The world turned sideways. Then upside down.
Something struck his shoulder. Pain followed instantly. Sharp enough to fracture thought.
The car rolled once before slamming to a stop.
Silence crashed in afterward. Not real silence. Distorted silence.
Ringing. Rain.
Distant movement somewhere outside the wreck.
Tomade opened his eyes slowly. Wrong angle.
The seatbelt dug painfully across his chest.
Blood trickled somewhere warm near his temple.
His leg—
Pain shot upward the second he tried to move it.
His breathing stalled briefly. Not good.
Somewhere nearby, faint and broken through static—
“…Tommy?”
His phone. Still connected.
“Muna?”
The word barely formed.
Her voice sharpened immediately.
“Oh my God—Tommy? Tommy!”
He forced himself to focus.
The car smelled like smoke. Wet metal. Rainwater leaking somewhere inside.
He tried reaching for the phone. His arm barely responded.
“…say something, please.”
His vision blurred heavily. Then steadied again.
Outside, headlights slowed somewhere nearby. Distant shouting. Movement.
He forced a breath inward. Pain spread instantly through his ribs.
Still conscious. For now.
“Muna,” he managed.
The relief in her voice broke apart immediately into panic again.
“What happened? Tommy, what happened?”
He swallowed against the metallic taste gathering in his mouth.
“Stay where you are.”
“What?”
“Don’t… move.”
“Tommy…?”
“Stay th—”
The words came weaker now.
Darkness pressed harder against the edges of his vision.
Rain hammered against the overturned car.
Somewhere outside, people were running toward the wreck.
His grip loosened slightly.
“…Tommy?”
Her voice sounded farther away now. Distant. Fractured.
He closed his eyes.
And everything disappeared.
- Writer
