The rain had grown heavier. Tiny droplets that had begun as a gentle tap against the windows of Midnight Brew had become a steady downpour, blurring the lights outside into soft streaks of gold. Ethan stood by the café window, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other wrapped around a mug of black coffee that had long since gone cold. He barely noticed. His eyes followed the rain instead. Funny... Rain had a way of dragging old memories out of hiding. It reminded him of another season. Another city. Another version of himself. Long before he became Ethan... Before Midnight Brew. Before betrayal. Before loneliness became something he wore like a second skin... There was Michael. A nineteen-year-old boy with a suitcase almost bigger than himself and dreams far too large to fit inside it.
•••••••••••
"Grandma, I'll miss my bus." "You'll survive another five minutes." Michael sighed dramatically. "I said that twenty minutes ago." His grandmother ignored him completely. Instead, she carefully folded another white handkerchief and slipped it into his travel bag. "You sweat too much." "I don't." "You do." "I don't." She gave him a look. "The day you start winning arguments with me is the day I stop making your favorite akara and tiger nut drink." Michael immediately raised both hands. "I surrender." She laughed. It was the kind of laugh that filled an entire house. Warm and gentle. The kind that made every worry seem smaller. The small bungalow in Kaduna buzzed with unusual excitement that morning. His parents had driven in the previous evening. His mother had barely slept, insisting on checking his luggage every hour. His father had spent the night pretending not to be emotional. Michael noticed anyway. His father wasn't a man who expressed affection easily. But the repeated reminders... "Call your mother." "Don't skip lectures." "Study before exams." "Stay away from trouble." ...were his own way of saying I'll miss you. Breakfast was unusually quiet. Even his grandmother, who usually had endless stories to tell, spoke very little. She simply watched him eat. As though trying to memorize him. When it was finally time to leave, she walked him to the front gate herself. The morning sun painted everything in soft shades of gold. Birds chirped from the mango tree. The familiar scent of wet earth lingered after the previous night's rain. She reached up and adjusted the collar of his shirt. "You'll do well." "I hope so." "No." She smiled. "I know so." Michael swallowed. "I'll come home during the holidays." "I'll be waiting." Then, as always "Ethan." He smiled. "There it is." She cupped his face with both hands. "Don't let the world change your heart." He laughed. "Grandma..." "I'm serious." "I know." "You'll meet many people." He nodded. "Some will help you." "Some will hurt you." The words settled between them. "But never allow anyone make you become someone you're not." She kissed his forehead. "I raised a good man." "Remain one." Those words would stay with him for the rest of his life. Even after she was gone.
•••••••••
The journey from Kaduna to Lagos felt endless. He spent most of it staring out the window. Villages became towns. Towns became cities. The farther they travelled, the more his excitement grew. So did his fear.... University. A fresh beginning. A chance to become somebody. By the time they reached Lagos, the city overwhelmed him. Everything moved faster. The traffic. The people. The noise. Cars honked without reason. Street traders walked confidently between moving vehicles. Tall buildings stretched toward the sky. Nothing looked like Kaduna. Nothing felt familiar. Yet somehow... He loved it instantly.
••••••••
Registration week was chaos. Hundreds of students squeezed into long queues beneath the scorching afternoon sun. Parents carried boxes. Students dragged suitcases across campus. Directions were shouted from every corner. Nobody seemed to know where anything was. Michael stood in one queue for almost two hours before discovering it was the wrong one. By the time he found the correct line, he was exhausted. "This place is trying to kill us." The voice came from behind him. Michael turned. A tall young man balanced two heavy bags on one shoulder while wiping sweat from his forehead. "If I stand in one more queue today," the stranger continued, "I'm dropping out before lectures even begin." Michael laughed. "You've already thought that far?" "I've written the resignation speech." The stranger extended his hand. "Ryan." "Michael." Ryan glanced toward the painfully slow-moving line. "You think we'll graduate before this queue finishes?" "At this rate?" Michael smiled. "We'll probably retire first." Ryan burst into laughter. It was loud. Unrestrained. The kind of laugh that made other people smile too. By the time registration finally ended, they had spent almost four hours talking. Where they grew up. Their favourite football clubs, music, movies, food, hobbies and aspirations. By evening, it already felt as though they had known each other much longer than a single day. Life had an odd way of introducing people who were meant to matter.
••••••••
Two days later... Michael dragged his suitcase into the hostel. Room 214. He pushed open the door. Someone was already inside. A young man stood on a chair, struggling to hang a mosquito net. The chair wobbled dangerously. Michael watched silently for three seconds. Then.. The chair slipped. "Whoa!!!" and boom__ Ryan went crashing onto the mattress below. Silence. Michael blinked. Ryan looked up. "You saw everything." "I did." "You'll never speak of this." Michael failed spectacularly at hiding his laughter. Ryan pointed a finger at him. "If we're going to be roommates..." "We're not." Ryan frowned. "We're not?" Michael checked the room number again. Ryan looked at his own key. Both stared at each other. Then at the room. Then back again. Ryan groaned. "So we are roommates." Michael grinned. "Looks like you're stuck with me." Ryan sighed dramatically. "I was hoping for someone boring." "You got me instead." "I noticed." Within an hour, they had unpacked together. Argued over which side of the room had better ventilation. Discovered both of them hated washing dishes. Agreed to split cleaning duties. Then immediately forgot whose turn it was. That first night, neither of them slept early. The ceiling fan squeaked rhythmically overhead. Voices echoed from nearby rooms. Some students played music. Others argued over football. Somewhere down the corridor, someone burned noodles badly enough for the smell to invade the entire floor. Ryan lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. "What do you actually want from life?" Michael didn't answer immediately. Finally he spoke. "I don't just want a job." Ryan turned toward him. "I want to build something." "What?" "I don't know yet." "But something that outlives me." Ryan was quiet. Then smiled. "I thought I was the only crazy one." Michael laughed softly. "What about you?" Ryan folded his hands behind his head. "I want people to know my name." "For what?" He thought for a moment. "For proving that ordinary boys can build extraordinary things." Silence settled over the room. Not uncomfortable silence. The kind shared between people who understand each other without needing many words. Michael stared at the ceiling. "You know..." "What?" "I think we're going to do something great someday." Ryan chuckled. "We'd better." "Why?" "Because after standing in those registration queues..." He grinned. "We deserve compensation." Michael laughed so hard he had to cover his face with a pillow. Outside, the campus slowly fell asleep. Inside Room 214, two young men stayed awake until nearly dawn talking about impossible dreams. Neither of them knew that one day they would build one of Nigeria's fastest-growing companies together. Neither knew they would become brothers in everything but blood. And neither could have imagined that the friendship born beneath the squeaking fan of Room 214 would one day end in the most devastating betrayal either of them could have conceived.
(Part Two) The first Monday of lectures arrived sooner than either of them expected. At exactly six o'clock, the shrill sound of someone's alarm echoed through the hostel corridor. It wasn't just one alarm. It was dozens. Some students ignored theirs. Others threw pillows across the room hoping to silence them. Doors slammed open. Buckets scraped across concrete floors as students rushed toward the communal bathrooms before the morning queue became impossible. Ryan groaned into his pillow. "If education requires waking up at this hour every day..." He peeked at Michael with one eye. "...I'm beginning to question my future." Michael laughed while buttoning his shirt. "You questioned your future during registration." "I've matured since then." "You matured in three days?" "I'm evolving." Michael shook his head. "You talk too much." Ryan sat upright dramatically. "I possess leadership qualities." "You possess noise." Ryan pointed accusingly. "You'll miss me when I'm quiet." "Hahaha I sincerely doubt that."
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Their first lecture was Introduction to Economics. The lecture theatre looked more like a cinema than a classroom. Hundreds of students squeezed onto long wooden benches. Some sat three to a seat meant for two. Others stood near the walls because there were no spaces left. The room buzzed with nervous excitement. Freshers whispered among themselves. Nobody wanted to look lost. Even though everyone was. Ryan leaned toward Michael. "If I fail this course..." Michael sighed. "The lecturer hasn't arrived." "I'm preparing emotionally." Before Michael could answer, the entire room fell silent. A tall elderly man walked in carrying nothing except a thin attendance register. No laptop. No notes. No textbooks. His white hair contrasted sharply against his perfectly ironed black suit. He surveyed the room without speaking. The silence became uncomfortable. Finally... "Good morning." The class answered together. "Good morning, sir." "I dislike noise." Nobody moved. "I dislike excuses." More silence. "And I dislike students who believe university is an extension of secondary school." Ryan whispered without moving his lips. "I already dislike him." Michael elbowed him. The lecturer continued. "My name is Professor Adewale." He slowly wrote three words on the board. DISCIPLINE. CONSISTENCY. THINKING. "If all you intend to do here is memorize textbooks..." He turned around. "...you have already failed." Michael felt something stir inside him. Those three words stayed with him long after the lecture ended.
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Their next lecturer couldn't have been more different. Mrs. Ibrahim entered fifteen minutes late carrying four textbooks, two files, a handbag, and a bottle of water. Everything slipped from her hands the moment she reached the desk. Books scattered everywhere. The entire class froze. Ryan quietly muttered, "She's fighting for her life." Michael burst into laughter. Unfortunately... So did everyone else. Mrs. Ibrahim looked up. "So we have comedians." Ryan immediately sat upright. "No, ma." She smiled. "Good." "Because my tests are funnier." The entire class groaned.
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By lunchtime, both of them were starving. The university cafeteria overflowed with students. The aroma of jollof rice, beans, fried plantain and pepper soup floated through the crowded hall. Finding an empty table became another competition. Ryan finally spotted two seats. "There!" They rushed toward them. Only to discover another student had reached them first. Ryan sighed dramatically. "We're homeless." Michael laughed. "We're table-less." Eventually they squeezed onto one end of a crowded table shared by six strangers. Ryan emptied his wallet. Three crumpled one-hundred-naira notes. A handful of coins. He counted twice. "I can afford rice." Michael looked over. "And?" "Not the meat." Michael smiled. "We'll share." Ryan frowned. "No." "Why not?" "Because next week you'll be the broke one." "So?" "So then I'll buy yours." Michael looked at him quietly. "You've known me for less than two weeks." Ryan shrugged. "So?" "So you don't have to." Ryan smiled. "I know." "But I want to." That simple conversation stayed with Michael. Real friendship rarely announced itself dramatically. Sometimes... It looked like sharing one piece of meat because neither person could afford two.
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Life inside Room 214 quickly developed its own rhythm. Every Thursday was laundry day. Every Friday was argument day. Usually about whose turn it was to clean. Ryan somehow possessed the remarkable ability to forget every agreement they ever made. "You washed plates yesterday." "So?" "So today is your turn." "I don't remember that." Michael pointed toward the sink. "The plates remember." Ryan looked offended. "They're accusing me." "They're dirty." "They're judgmental." Michael threw a sponge at him. Ryan caught it dramatically. "I've been attacked." "You've been assigned." "There's a difference." Power outages became almost routine. Some evenings electricity disappeared before sunset. The hostel transformed instantly. Rechargeable lamps appeared. Phone flashlights illuminated textbooks. Students gathered in corridors discussing assignments while trying to escape the unbearable heat inside their rooms. Whenever the darkness became too frustrating, Ryan would begin telling ridiculous stories. Within minutes, half the corridor gathered around him laughing. Michael usually sat nearby pretending to read. "You know," Ryan said one evening. "You smile more than you admit." Michael looked up. "I do not." "You do." "I don't." Ryan grinned. "You smiled exactly seven times today." "You counted?" "I count important things." Michael shook his head. "You need help." Ryan laughed. "I have you."
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Exams arrived with frightening speed. The once lively hostel suddenly became silent. Students who had ignored lectures all semester now borrowed notebooks from everyone. Photocopy shops operated late into the night. Coffee replaced sleep. Michael and Ryan studied together almost every evening. Whenever one became tired, the other continued explaining difficult concepts. Neither allowed the other to give up. "If one of us passes..." Ryan often joked. "...both of us pass." "And if both fail?" Ryan looked thoughtful. "We'll become farmers." Michael laughed. "I don't even know how to farm." "We'll learn."
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One rainy Saturday evening, after finishing an assignment, Ryan noticed something unusual. Michael wasn't reading. Instead... He had covered almost the entire floor with sheets of paper. Columns, numbers, flowcharts Ideas. "What are you doing?" Michael didn't look up. "Thinking." Ryan picked up one of the papers. "Thinking looks complicated." Michael smiled faintly. "I've been studying companies." "What about them?" "Why some survive." "And?" "Why others fail." Ryan pulled his chair closer. Michael continued drawing diagrams. "I think most businesses solve the wrong problems." Ryan frowned. "What do you mean?" "They build products people don't really need." "So?" "I want to build something people can't live without." Ryan stared at him. For a long moment he said nothing. Then quietly asked, "Have you always thought like this?" Michael finally looked up. "I don't know." Ryan smiled slowly. "I think you're different." Michael frowned. "Different how?" "You don't just dream." "You calculate." "You don't just imagine success." "You build a path toward it." Michael laughed awkwardly. "It's only ideas." Ryan shook his head. "No." He tapped the papers. "This..." "...is a company waiting to happen." For the first time, Michael wondered if he might actually be right. Outside, rain drummed steadily against the hostel windows. Inside Room 214, two young men pushed aside their textbooks and spread fresh notebooks across the floor. One notebook became two. Two became five. Ideas filled page after page. Transportation. Agriculture. Technology. Finance. Education. Healthcare. Most ideas were terrible. Some lasted only five minutes before they rejected them. Others survived an entire week before discovering impossible flaws. Yet neither became discouraged. Every failed idea taught them something new. Near midnight Ryan leaned back against the wall. "You know..." "What?" "We spend more time talking than building." Michael nodded. "Maybe." Ryan extended his hand across the scattered notebooks. "Then let's stop talking." Michael looked at him. A slow smile spread across his face. Ryan's eyes shone with determination. "Let's build something." Michael clasped his friend's hand firmly. "No matter how long it takes." "No matter how many times we fail." "We keep going." Ryan nodded. "Deal." Outside, another storm swept across the campus. Inside Room 214, beneath the weak glow of a rechargeable lamp, two young men unknowingly took the first step toward building what would one day become Nasir Group. Neither of them realized that history had just begun in a cramped hostel room with peeling paint, two rusty bunk beds, and five cheap notebooks scattered across the floor. Sometimes, the biggest empires begin in the smallest rooms.
(Part Three) Morning arrived quietly over the University of Lagos. The first rays of sunlight slipped through the cracked louvre windows of Room 214, painting narrow strips of gold across the worn terrazzo floor. Outside, the campus was already beginning to stir. The distant whistle of the security guards signaled the opening of the main gates, while the chatter of students echoed from the hostel courtyard below. Someone was playing gospel music from a small radio. Another student hurried down the corridor with a bucket balanced against his hip, racing to beat the morning rush at the communal bathrooms. The familiar smell of frying akara drifted in through the open window from a roadside vendor just outside the hostel fence. Ryan buried his face deeper into his pillow. "If whoever invented eight o'clock lectures is still alive," he mumbled, "I'd like to have a serious conversation with them." Michael chuckled from the opposite side of the room as he folded his bedsheet with practiced precision. "It won't stop the lecture from starting." "It might make me feel better." "You said the same thing yesterday." "And I still mean it today." Michael shook his head, smiling. Living with Ryan had taught him one important lesson. No matter how difficult life became, Ryan would always find a way to laugh at it. It was a gift Michael admired. Where Michael naturally carried the weight of responsibility, Ryan carried light. Where Michael overthought everything, Ryan reminded him to breathe. They balanced each other without even trying. "You're smiling again," Ryan said suddenly. Michael looked up. "What?" "You've been smiling a lot lately." "I have not." "You have." Ryan sat upright, pointing dramatically. "See? There it is again." Michael rolled his eyes. "You need glasses." "No." Ryan grinned. "I need evidence." He reached beneath his pillow and pulled out a tiny notebook. Michael frowned. "What is that?" "My observations." "You have observations?" Ryan flipped open the notebook with exaggerated seriousness. "Day 71 of living with Michael Nasir." Michael laughed so hard. "You're impossible." Ryan cleared his throat. "'Subject smiles when discussing family, business, books, or food. Subject also smiles whenever he wins an argument, although subject denies smiling at all.'" Michael snatched the notebook. "You've actually been writing these?" Ryan reached for it. "Give it back!" Michael opened another page. "'Subject refuses to admit he snores.'" "I don't snore." Ryan gasped theatrically. "Another lie for the records." The notebook landed harmlessly on Ryan's chest. Both young men burst into laughter. From outside their room came an annoyed knock against the wall. "Some of us are trying to sleep!" Ryan lowered his voice. "See? Even our neighbors know you're loud." "I wasn't the one reading secret reports." "They're confidential." "They're ridiculous." "They're history." Michael smiled. History. Perhaps one day it would be. Their morning lecture was held in the largest auditorium on campus. Students streamed toward the building from every direction, some carrying backpacks bursting with textbooks, others clutching loose sheets of paper that threatened to fly away with every gust of wind. The pathways buzzed with life. Vendors called out breakfast specials. Buses rattled past, dropping off latecomers. Friends greeted one another with loud laughter. Someone argued passionately about football. Another rehearsed a presentation while walking. The university had developed its own rhythm. A rhythm Michael had grown to love. As they entered the lecture hall, Ryan sighed dramatically. "Front row?" Michael nodded. "Front row." "I knew you were going to say that." "You hear better." "I sleep better at the back." "You sleep everywhere." Ryan looked offended. "I call it strategic resting." Before Michael could respond, a voice thundered across the hall. "If you have enough energy to talk..." Professor Okonkwo strode into the room carrying nothing but a piece of chalk. "...then you have enough energy to answer questions." Silence swept through the hall almost instantly. Unlike Professor Adewale, whose calm authority commanded respect, Professor Okonkwo ruled through unpredictability. He could begin a lecture with a joke. Or with a surprise test. No one ever knew which version of him would appear. Today, unfortunately for the students... It was the second. "Take out a sheet of paper." Groans rippled across the auditorium. Ryan whispered under his breath. "I rebuke this." Michael hid a smile. Professor Okonkwo adjusted his glasses. "I heard that." The hall erupted in laughter. Even the professor smiled. "Good," he said. "At least someone still has a sense of humor before failing my quiz." Ryan leaned toward Michael. "I don't think he likes me." Michael whispered back. "I think he likes embarrassing you." "Same thing." By noon, the quiz was over, and both friends walked toward the faculty cafeteria, the midday sun beating down on the paved walkways. The queue stretched almost to the entrance. Ryan stared at it in disbelief. "Another queue." Michael folded his arms. "We survived registration." "We barely survived registration." "True." As they joined the line, Ryan emptied the contents of his wallet into his palm. A few crumpled notes. Several coins. He counted twice. Then sighed. "I have enough for rice." Michael smiled. "But not enough for chicken?" Ryan looked genuinely impressed. "How do you always know?" Michael shrugged. "You make the same face every time your money finishes." Ryan laughed. "I have a money face?" "You do." "What does yours look like?" Michael smiled. "I don't have one." Ryan shook his head. "You hide your worries too well." For a brief moment, Michael didn't answer. Some worries... He had learned long ago... Were easier to carry quietly.
To be continued...