The meeting finally ended a few minutes past nine. Michael—Ethan to everyone in Abuja—walked out of the towering glass building with a quiet sigh he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The night air was cooler than he expected. It carried the scent of rain that had fallen earlier in the evening, leaving the roads slick and shimmering beneath the city lights. Waiting at the entrance were the same three black SUVs that had brought him there hours earlier. His security detail stood by the vehicles with the alertness of men who had been trained never to relax. One of them hurried to open the rear passenger door. "Sir." Ethan gave a brief nod before sliding into the leather seat. The door closed behind him with a soft thud. Silence settled inside the SUV. Outside, Abuja was still awake. Headlights stretched endlessly ahead. The city's notorious evening traffic had eased, but construction work on one of the major roads had forced vehicles into a single lane. Cars crawled forward inch by inch. Motorcycles weaved recklessly between them. Street vendors wandered through the traffic selling bottled water, roasted corn, plantain chips, phone chargers, and umbrellas. A little boy couldn't have been older than ten balanced a tray of groundnuts on his head while darting carefully between cars. Ethan watched him through the tinted window. For reasons he couldn't explain, the sight reminded him of simpler days. His assistant glanced up from his tablet. "We can take the expressway, sir." He shook his head. "No." "It'll save almost thirty minutes." "I'm not in a hurry." He nodded without uttering another word. Nobody in the vehicle understood why the CEO who once measured every minute of his life now preferred slower roads. But Ethan did. Slower roads gave him time to think. And lately... Thinking had become unavoidable. His thoughts drifted toward Midnight Brew. He pictured the warm lights. The familiar aroma of freshly ground coffee. The worn wooden counter he had polished himself before opening day. The old jazz playlist that had become part of the café's identity. Then, unexpectedly... Adaora. He pictured her sitting beside the window, silver laptop open, completely absorbed in work. She rarely noticed how often she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear whenever she concentrated. She frowned slightly whenever she read difficult emails. She stirred her cappuccino exactly three times before taking the first sip. Little things. Meaningless things. Yet somehow he remembered every one of them. He frowned at himself. This wasn't like him. He barely knew her. Didn't know her favourite colour. Didn't know where she lived. Didn't know her birthday. They hadn't even exchanged phone numbers. Still... She had somehow become part of the rhythm of his evenings. The traffic crawled forward. His assistant's voice interrupted his thoughts. "The Hong Kong delegation wants a second meeting next week." "No." He blinked. "They're offering significantly better terms." "I said no." "Should I tell the board—" "Tell them I'm unavailable." He hesitated before quietly closing his tablet. The conversation ended there. Outside, the traffic slowly gave way to quieter roads. Streetlights became fewer. The city's noise softened. By the time the convoy turned onto the street leading to Midnight Brew, the neighbourhood had already settled into silence. The café stood exactly where he had left it. Warm. Peaceful. Unassuming. Nothing about the little building suggested that its owner had once controlled one of the largest business empires in the country. And that was precisely why he loved it. The security vehicles drove away after dropping him off. He preferred closing the café alone. Always. For a long moment, he remained outside. Hands tucked into his coat pockets. Looking through the large glass windows. Moonlight mixed with the soft glow from the lamps inside. The empty chairs stood exactly where customers had left them. The pastry display had been cleaned. The espresso machine gleamed beneath the lights. Everything was still. Everything was ordinary. He smiled. Ordinary had become his favourite luxury. Nobody demanded quarterly reports here. Nobody expected billion-naira decisions. Nobody wanted a piece of him. Here... People simply wanted coffee. He unlocked the door. The tiny bell chimed softly above his head. The familiar scent welcomed him home. Fresh coffee beans. Vanilla, Cinnamon, Warm bread. Sighhh He breathed deeply. Some people found peace in expensive vacations. Others found it in luxury homes. Ethan found his behind an espresso machine. He slipped off his jacket and folded it neatly behind the counter. Without thinking, he began his nightly routine. Straightening chairs. Checking inventory. Wiping every wooden surface until it shone. Refilling sugar jars. Cleaning the coffee grinder. Tiny routines. Predictable routines. The exact opposite of the life he had left behind. Long before Midnight Brew... Long before Abuja... Long before people called him Ethan... He had been Michael Davou Nasir. The name still existed on legal documents. On business magazines. On newspaper headlines that had once called him Nigeria's Youngest Corporate Visionary. At twenty-six, he had become one of the youngest CEOs to build a company valued in the billions. By thirty, commentators described him as a force to be reckoned with. Investors competed for meetings with him. Business schools studied his strategies. Television stations fought for exclusive interviews. He had everything he once believed success looked like. Money Influence, Respect, Power, Love. Or at least... What he believed was love. A quiet laugh escaped him. Funny how quickly life could humble a man. His thoughts travelled much farther back. Back before Lagos. Back before success. Back to Kaduna. His grandmother's small bungalow sat at the end of a quiet street lined with neem trees. To anyone else, it was an ordinary house. To Michael, it had been paradise. Every school holiday was spent there. He remembered racing barefoot across the compound after the rain. Climbing the old mango tree despite being warned not to. Stealing guavas from the neighbour's garden and pretending he knew nothing when his grandmother questioned him. She always knew. She simply laughed instead of scolding him. Every Saturday morning she woke before sunrise. The smell of akara and pap drifted through the house long before he opened his eyes. He would shuffle into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his face, only to find her humming old hymns while cooking. "Good morning, Ethan," she'd say with a smile. Back then he would laugh. "Grandma, I'm Michael." She would wave a dismissive hand. "I know your name." "Then why do you keep calling me Ethan?" "Because that's who you remind me of." She would never explain further. Not then. After breakfast they watered her tiny garden together. She spoke to every flower as though it were alive. She insisted plants grew better when spoken to kindly. Michael thought she was joking. She wasn't. In the evenings they sat on the veranda. She drank her favorite green tea while he drank his tiger nut drink. Together they watched the sun disappear behind distant rooftops. Those evenings became his favourite part of childhood. She told him stories. Stories about honesty. Stories about kindness. Stories about forgiveness. But her favourite stories were always about one man. Her husband. Ethan. "The strongest man I ever knew wasn't the richest," she'd often say. "He was simply the kindest." She described the way he laughed. The way he danced terribly. The way he never allowed her carry heavy bags. The way he believed a man's greatest wealth wasn't money... It was his character. Even decades after losing him, love still filled her voice whenever she spoke his name. Michael used to wonder if anyone could ever love another person that deeply. After Ethan's grandfather died, something quietly changed inside her. She missed him every single day. And somehow... She found pieces of him in her grandson. Gradually, Michael became Ethan. Not because she forgot. But because remembering brought her comfort. By the time he turned thirteen, almost everyone in the family had accepted it. Only his parents still corrected her. She ignored them every time. One afternoon he finally asked, Na Na. She looked up to him and smiled, putting away the news paper she was reading. "Yes Ethan " Why do you always refer to me as Ethan, not minding my actual name? She placed a wrinkled hand against his cheek, smiling fondly at him. "You have his eyes." "His eyes?" "And his heart." He laughed. "I don't even know what that means." "You will." She kissed his forehead gently. "One day life will break your heart." His smile disappeared. "But when that day comes..." She squeezed his hand. "Don't let it change the kind man you were created to be." Standing alone inside Midnight Brew all these years later... Ethan closed his eyes. His grandmother had been right all along. Life had broken his heart. More than he bargained for. But every time a customer walked into his café and left feeling a little lighter than when they arrived... He liked to think she would have smiled. Because somewhere beneath all the betrayal... Beneath all the loss... Michael Davou Nasir was still trying to become the man his grandmother always believed he could be.
Anticipating the next chapter.