Ajimka stood across the road for a moment. Then she looked away and continued walking, but her steps became slow. Her mind would not rest.
She remembered how he had stood at the restaurant in the morning, how the water had been poured on him, how he had said nothing.
She held her handbag tighter. Inside it was the little money she had left, the only money she planned to use to cook something for herself.
She took a few more steps. Then she stopped again.
She spoke under her breath, almost as if she was arguing with herself.
“If I reduce the ingredients I want to buy for the soup, I’ll cook this evening. The soup will still come out fine.”
She shook her head.
“No, things are already hard.”
She walked again, then stopped. She closed her eyes briefly.
“But I will soon collect my salary. It won’t hurt if I manage for a while.”
She turned. This time, she walked back. Her steps were faster now. She had made up her mind.
“If I leave him like this, I will not be at peace,” she said quietly.
As she got close to where he had been sitting, she slowed down. Then she stopped.
The spot was empty.
She looked around. She turned left, then right.
“Where did he go now?”
She took a few steps forward, stretching her neck, trying to see if he was nearby, but the road was already getting dark. People were passing, but the old man was nowhere to be seen.
She stood still for a moment. Then she let out a quiet breath.
“God, I hope he finds something to eat tonight.”
She looked once more, just in case. Nothing.
Slowly, she turned and continued her walk home.
The next morning, Ajimka arrived at work early. She tied her apron and went straight to work. But her mind was not there.
As she carried plates from one table to another, her thoughts kept going back to the old man, whose name was Ogbon. The way he stood there. The way he said nothing. The way he looked at her before leaving.
Even as customers spoke to her, she had to force herself to listen.
“Waitress, my drink,” one man said.
“Yes, sir,” she replied quickly, snapping back.
She moved faster, trying to keep up, but deep down, something would not settle.
By afternoon, it was time for lunch break. The staff usually gathered at the back to eat. Ajimka stood up slowly. Then something came to her mind. She turned and went straight to the kitchen.
The cook, a middle-aged woman, was serving food into plates.
“Ajimka, come and take your food,” the woman said.
Ajimka hesitated for a second.
“Please, can you help me pack mine in a takeaway plate?”
The cook stopped and looked at her.
“Takeaway? Why?”
Ajimka forced a small smile.
“It’s just a personal reason.”
The cook narrowed her eyes slightly.
“You, this girl. What are you up to?”
“Nothing, Ma. Please just help me,” Ajimka said softly.
The cook shook her head.
“Okay.”
She packed the food and handed it to her.
“Thank you, Ma,” Ajimka said quickly.
She took the food, placed it inside a small nylon bag, and stepped out of the kitchen. Her eyes moved around carefully.
She walked to a table close to the exit and bent down, pretending to clean it. Quietly, she slipped the nylon bag under the table. Then she picked up a hand towel and started wiping the surface of the table. Her eyes kept moving, watching, waiting.
Customers talked quietly at their tables. Waitresses moved up and down, carrying plates from one side to another. Madame Agatha sat in her usual spot, watching everything like she always did.
Ajimka wiped the table slowly, trying to delay.
“Not now. Not yet,” she said softly to herself.
Then suddenly, Madame Agatha’s voice rang out.
“Who served this food?”
The room went quiet. People turned to look. One waitress stood still, confused.
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