No Turning Back
(Mike’s POV) The sun dipped below the horizon, staining the sky with hues of orange and bruised purple, the kind of sky that made memories resurface—old dreams, half-formed promises, the taste of almosts. Mike sat on the narrow balcony of his flat, legs stretched out, his phone pressed to his ear as the traffic below hummed like a distant thought. A soft wind moved through the air, carrying with it the faint scent of fried plantain from the neighbor’s kitchen. “Lance says there might be a full-time job opportunity,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “But… it would mean relocating to Port Harcourt.” There was a pause. Not long, but long enough to feel it. “That’s far,” Danika finally said on the other end. Her voice was gentle, but edged with something uncertain—caution, maybe.
- Writer
