The bathroom mirror was clouded with steam, blurring David's reflection into a ghostly figure. He wiped it clean with the palm of his hand, revealing a face that looked both refreshed and thoughtful. Drops of water clung to his hair, glistening as though they too had been caught by the morning light. The warm shower had done more than wash away sleep—it had rinsed away yesterday's weight, leaving him lighter, freer, as though a page had been turned.
He dressed simply but neatly: a crisp shirt, comfortable trousers, and his favorite pair of loafers. There was something satisfying about starting the day looking presentable, even with no urgent destination. "Respect for the day," his father used to call it. If you respect the day, it will respect you back.
The words echoed in David's mind as he stood by the window once more, gazing at the streets slowly filling with life. Vendors called out to early customers, their voices overlapping in a colorful chorus. A motorcycle whizzed past, its rider expertly balancing a stack of crates that looked ready to topple at any second. Across the street, Mrs. Aluko had finished tending to her plants and now sat outside with a small radio, tapping her feet to a cheerful highlife tune.
David smiled. It felt as though the whole world had conspired to remind him that life didn't have to be rushed.
In the kitchen, he prepared another cup of tea—this time adding a dash of ginger for spice. He carried it to the balcony, where he could sit and watch the morning fully unfold. He settled into the old wicker chair, its creaks familiar, and placed his mug on the small wooden table beside him.
The first sip was fiery, the ginger cutting through the lingering coolness of the morning air. He sighed contentedly, letting the warmth spread through his chest.
It was in that stillness that his thoughts drifted to the week before. He remembered sitting at his desk, drowning in unfinished tasks, deadlines pressing like an invisible weight. He had gone to bed late each night, restless and unsatisfied. Yet today, here he was—resting, breathing, savoring. It struck him that starting fresh wasn't about escaping responsibility. It was about approaching it differently, with clarity instead of clutter.
As he reflected, his phone buzzed again. This time it wasn't Amaka. It was his younger sister, Tolu.
"Big bro! Hope you're good. Don't forget Mum's appointment at the clinic this Friday. Call me later, okay?"
David chuckled softly. Tolu was always the practical one, reminding him of things he sometimes let slip. He typed back quickly: "Thanks, I'll call you this evening. Sending you a big hug."
Placing the phone aside, he leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes for a moment. A gentle breeze caressed his face, carrying with it the sound of laughter from the street below. He listened without opening his eyes. Laughter was medicine, he thought—medicine for the soul.
The balcony gave him a view of the narrow dirt path that wound its way between houses, leading eventually to the main road. He remembered walking that same path as a boy, racing with friends barefoot, their shouts echoing long into the evening. He remembered stumbling, falling, and always getting back up. Childhood had been simple. Maybe that was why mornings like this felt so precious—they were a return to simplicity, even if just for a while.
After finishing his tea, David went back inside. His small study was cluttered with notebooks, scattered papers, and an open laptop from last night. He considered tidying up, then laughed at himself. "One step at a time," he murmured. Today was not about tackling everything at once. It was about setting the tone, building momentum gently.
He picked up a notebook instead and flipped to a blank page. At the top, he wrote in bold letters:
"What I Want This Week To Feel Like."
Beneath it, he wrote a list—not of tasks, but of feelings:
• Calm, not rushed.
• Purposeful, not pressured.
• Joyful, not distracted.
• Connected, not isolated.
The words looked simple on paper, but they carried weight. He underlined them twice. If he could hold onto these, perhaps the week would unfold with less chaos.
A knock at the door startled him from his thoughts. When he opened it, he found a small boy holding a basket of bread. "Uncle, my mummy said I should ask if you want fresh bread. It's hot."
David laughed. "Of course, I want fresh bread! How much?"
The boy grinned, holding up three fingers. David handed him the money and received a warm loaf wrapped in brown paper. The smell was irresistible, filling the room almost instantly. He tore off a small piece, the crust still crisp, the inside soft and steaming. He hadn't planned on more food, but the bread seemed to belong to this morning as much as the sunlight did.
"Tell your mother thank you," he said as he handed the boy an extra coin for himself.
The child's eyes lit up. "Thank you, Uncle!" he shouted, darting down the path with bare feet slapping against the earth.
David closed the door, smiling to himself. Another small gift from the day.
By late morning, the sun was higher, its light brighter, stronger. He tidied his study just enough to feel comfortable and opened his laptop. For the first time in weeks, the screen didn't feel like a chain. He typed slowly, deliberately, working on a draft he had been postponing. Words flowed more easily than expected. It wasn't about speed—it was about rhythm, and today, rhythm was on his side.
As the clock edged closer to noon, he stretched and stood by the window again. The world outside was fully awake now—buses rumbling down the road, schoolchildren marching in lines, women bargaining loudly in the distance. Yet, inside, he carried stillness.
And in that moment, David realized something important:
A fresh start doesn't always come with fireworks. Sometimes, it arrives quietly—in a warm shower, a cup of ginger tea, a loaf of fresh bread, a new page in a notebook. It comes when you choose to honor the day instead of rushing through it.
He leaned against the window frame, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Yes, today was proving itself once again.
What a great day, indeed.