Dust and silk
The morning sun filtered through the tall, glass windows of the home office, glinting off the sleek, dark wooden desk where Tunde sat. A black mug of untouched coffee sat by his MacBook, steam still rising lazily. Fisayo leaned against the bookshelf, flipping through one of Tunde's countless business journals, but his attention flickered back to the man in the leather chair—the man everyone in the village now called the billionaire stranger.
Tunde's British accent sliced through the calm air, firm and fluid.
"No, no, listen—if we're scaling the expansion into East Africa by Q3, I'll need the water treatment equipment in Lagos port by the 22nd at the latest. Yes. I already spoke with Aguda. He's arranging customs clearance. Make sure his people don't sleep on this one."
A brief pause.
"Exactly. We're dealing with an entire community that hasn't had access to clean water in decades. I don't want press. I want results."
His voice was calm but commanding, a tone that made you want to nod even when you weren't in the conversation. Fisayo, watching from across the room, gave a small chuckle and shook his head.
"Your father's son, truly," he muttered, just loud enough.
Tunde gave him a side glance, lips twitching.
"Wrap the Ghana call after this. Then we'll finalize the village inspection team."
The meeting continued for a few more minutes—fluid negotiations, cost breakdowns, logistics, timelines. When it finally ended, he leaned back with a long sigh and raked a hand through his low-cut fade. His phone buzzed on the desk.
Incoming FaceTime: Morolake 💫
Tunde's face lit up.
"Give us space," he told Fisayo, who raised his hands and stood from the leather couch.
"I dey go. Greet your twin for me," he said with a smirk, strolling out.
Tunde answered the call.
"Morolake mi," he greeted, voice softer now, warmer.
"Egbon mi!" she beamed, her face framed with a satin bonnet and a cheeky smile. "How's our one and only billionaire doing, ehn?"
"I'm alright jare. Trying to save the world one borehole at a time," he said, dragging his accent playfully.
She rolled her eyes. "Yoruba demon ni ehn naw. Fine boy. Even my friends in Lagos dey talk about you like you're one kind Greek god."
"Please," he groaned. "I'm just Tunde. They treat me like I walk on water here."
"Abeg, no pretend humility. You do be walking on it small small," she teased, laughing.
They bantered for a while before she suddenly paused, squinting. "Oh! Guess who I saw?"
Tunde raised a brow. "Who?"
"Your ex," she sang out.
He groaned and leaned his head back. "Morolake..."
"She was so happy to see me. Asking of you, saying she hopes you're well and all. Me sef smiled, but in my mind I was like hmmn, aunty go dey alright."
Tunde laughed softly, shaking his head. "You know you've never asked why we broke up."
She tilted her head. "True, but I figured you'd tell me if you wanted to. So...?"
He hesitated, then said, "Sometimes two people can love each other and still not be right together."
She gave a dramatic "Awwww," then leaned closer to the screen. "That's your therapy voice. Spill."
He chuckled, then spoke quieter. "She cheated… not on me. On her partner. With a girl."
Morolake blinked. "Wait—"
"I know. She was... confused. Bi, lesbian, I don't know. But I wasn't angry. We both needed different things. We're cool now, when we see each other. But the spark's gone. It's ashes."
"Hmm. You and your poetic wisdom." She paused. "Honestly, I liked her. But I'm glad you're not bitter. That's rare."
"Bitterness is expensive," Tunde said dryly. "I'd rather invest in boreholes."
Morolake burst into laughter. "You're impossible."
They shared a comfortable silence before he asked, "Where's that old man?"
"Your father?" she asked, laughing. "You have a phone—call him."
"Still," he said. "The man never answers my calls. I wanted to ask how his girlfriend is."
Morolake gasped, then laughed. "Tunde! She's younger than me, no lie! I still don't know how that man bagged that beauty."
Tunde snorted. "Please, you know Daddy was once fine. Where do you think I got my charm from?"
Morolake gave him a mocking glare. "Get your eyes off your father's girlfriend, please!"
"My eyes ain't even f*cking with her before though," Tunde said, accent slipping effortlessly.
"Your mouth!" she laughed. "You need Holy Water!"
They talked a while longer, cracking jokes, gossiping about family, laughing at old memories. When the call finally ended, Tunde leaned back in his chair again, staring at the ceiling.
He missed her already. Not just his sister, but all of them—the chaos, the culture, the noise.
After the FaceTime Call Ends
Tunde dropped his phone on the leather couch, the glow from the screen dimming as the FaceTime ended. He sighed lightly, leaning back with a stretch. Just as he reached for the glass of whiskey on the side table, Fisayo walked back into the home office with a lazy swagger and a bag of chin-chin he must've stolen from the kitchen.
"Your sister na wah," Fisayo muttered, sitting across from him and tearing open the snack. "She too dey drag you like say na her boyfriend you be."
Tunde chuckled, eyes still on his phone. "We practically twins, bro. You know how it is. That girl fit sense my mood from a voice note."
Fisayo smirked. "Na why you dey single. She don use your emotional quota finish."
Tunde scoffed. "Fuck off."
They both laughed.
Then, Fisayo leaned forward, lowering his voice like he was about to spill government secrets. "So... I dey hide one babe."
Tunde raised a brow. "Again?"
"This one fine die. Like..." Fisayo kissed his fingers dramatically. "Chocolate skin, slim waist, fire body. My actual spec. But omo—village babe."
Tunde laughed so hard he nearly spilled his drink. "Bro! You sef. Every fucking thing you dey do, no go spoil our reputation for here abeg."
Fisayo threw a pillow at him. "I'm serious, man. I just dey fear say if I go too deep now, next thing na her mama go show up with 'we are family now' talk."
"Then don't go deep." Tunde shrugged, taking another sip. "Sample the vibes, no collect the land."
Fisayo cackled. "You're mad."
Silence stretched between them for a moment as they enjoyed the comfort of wealth and friendship—the hum of the AC, the clean tile floor, their peaceful world in a house that could pass for a Lagos mansion but sat right there in a sleepy town.
Then Fisayo asked, "So what's the next thing you wan build for the village? Na only this water project?"
Tunde nodded slowly. "Yeah. I've been checking around. I mean, I'm not a fucking governor—I can't do everything. But at least water, man. Their water's bad. Really bad."
As he said it, Amaka's face flashed in his mind—that heated glare, her sharp mouth, the way she dragged that iron bucket like she was about to drown someone with it.
He smiled faintly.
Fisayo noticed the smirk. "What's funny?"
Tunde shook his head. "Nothing."
Then he went quiet for a second, then asked almost casually, "Bro... you think a 19-year-old and a... fucked-up 30-year-old man can be friends?"
Fisayo gave him a hard stare, blinking slowly. "Omo, say that again?"
"I said, do you think it's possible? Like—genuine friendship. No madness involved."
Fisayo frowned. "Tunde, that sounds like pedo shit."
Tunde burst out laughing. "Guy relax—no be like that. I'm just saying, hypothetically."
"Hmmm." Fisayo narrowed his eyes. "Well, I guess it depends. If the 19-year-old actually wants to be friends, and you no dey plan nonsense, then... maybe it can work."
Tunde tilted his glass at him. "See? Exactly."
Fisayo gave him a suspicious look. "Hope it's not about you."
"Ah! Nahhhhh," Tunde said quickly, waving him off like the idea was absurd. "I'm just asking, man. Chill."
"Hmm. Better." Fisayo leaned back. "Because 19-year-olds no dey do small friendship. Na 'what are we' go land you."
Tunde raised his hands, laughing. "God forbid."
But his smile lingered longer than necessary.
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