THE ILLUSION OF PERFECTION 21

Tayo jerked awake, his singlet soaked through with sweat that smelled of salt and the lingering scent of the police cell—he had fallen asleep on the bed without a shower. Chest heaving, he scrambled to sit up, eyes wide with terror until they landed on the two sagging wooden chairs in the corner. They were relics of a better time, but today Tayo stared at them with relief as they pulled him back from the nightmare of that cold dark cell. 

Shielding his eyes from the harsh and unapologetic morning light filtering through the dusty louvers of his Lagos apartment, Tayo took deep steadying breaths to calm his racing pulse before falling back onto the mattress. 

Wondering what time it was, he turned to his side and frowned as the hollow stillness of the apartment suddenly felt suffocating. It was the kind of silence that only existed when you had no family, no friends, no phone, no data, no credit, and no way of connecting with the world. It gnawed at him and worsened his mounting despair. Each passing hour felt like a reminder of how fragile his world had become, leaving him drained of life, lost and alone.

By midmorning, a sharp, insistent knock at his apartment door broke through his web of thoughts. The thud reverberated through the bare room, echoing in his aching head and eventually Tayo dragged himself up from the bed. His legs felt leaden as he trudged, bare feet, across the cold floor, each step heavy. 

Reluctantly unlocking the door, he pulled it open and his breath hitched.

There, dorminating the doorway, stood a familiar figure he had been trying to avoid—his landlord. The man’s glare was cold and pierced through him as his voice clipped with irritation.

"Tayo!" His voice boomed, vibrating through the narrow corridor. "I am tired of hearing your promises! If not for the respect I have for your mother, I would have changed this lock since. Listen to me well! I am not running a charity home here. If my complete rent is not in my bank account by the end of this month, I will throw your things out myself. No more stories!"

Tayo’s grip on the door tightened as the landlord’s words struck him like blows. He nodded mutely, unable to muster a defense. The landlord’s eyes lingered a moment longer on his disheveled hair with obvious disdain before he turned sharply and stalked down the corridor.

Tayo stood there staring blankly at the wall of the corridor, his face emotionless while his mind buzzed with questions; where was he going to get a million naira from? To make matters worse, month end was in seven days. Sighing deeply, he started to pull the door shut, but his hand froze. A few paces down the hall stood Nadia. 

She looked unfazed by the chaos, calm, steady and holding a covered basket. The faint, unmistakable aroma of freshly made Jollof rice and fried plantain drifted toward him and his stomach growled in response. 

Tayo knew for a fact that she had heard every word of the landlord's tirade and his shame burned deeper as he stood frozen, staring back at her. She silently walked over, her eyes fixed on him. Tayo suddenly felt terrified that the last piece of his façade was crumbling faster than he could rebuild it.