The afternoon sun tried its best to soften the city, but the streets refused to look innocent. Dust floated in the air, mixing with the smell of oil, food, and sweat. I sat on a low wall near the junction, watching people pass like they all had somewhere better to be.
Kemi dropped beside me with a sigh. "You've been quiet since yesterday. That's never a good sign."
"I'm thinking," I replied.
He snorted. "That's worse."
I shot him a look, but he just laughed. That was Kemi — always joking, even when things felt heavy. Maybe that was how he survived.
"You remember when we used to argue about football and music?" he said suddenly. "Life was simple then."
"Yeah," I said softly. "Before the streets started watching."
He didn't joke this time. "Exactly. You're changing, Jay. I don't know if that's good or bad."
Before I could answer, Zara appeared from across the road. She wore a simple hoodie, no weapon visible, but I knew better. Her eyes swept the area first, then settled on me.
"Walk with me," she said.
Kemi raised both hands. "I'll pretend I didn't see anything," he muttered, standing up and walking off.
---
We walked through a quieter part of the neighborhood, where the noise faded into distant echoes. Laundry hung from windows, children played with broken toys, and old men sat on plastic chairs arguing about politics.
"This place," Zara said, glancing around, "this is what the streets protect and destroy at the same time."
I nodded. "Sometimes I wonder if the streets even care."
She stopped walking. "They don't. That's why you have to."
Her words surprised me.
"Care about what?" I asked.
"Your future," she said. "Your family. The people around you." She hesitated, then added, "Yourself."
We sat on a concrete step, silence stretching between us. For once, it wasn't uncomfortable.
"I didn't grow up here," Zara said quietly. "But I learned fast. The streets don't give second chances. They only test how far you're willing to go."
I turned to her. "And how far are you willing to go?"
She met my eyes, something vulnerable flickering there before it disappeared. "Far enough to survive. Not far enough to lose myself."
That stayed with me.
---
Later that evening, I went home earlier than usual. My mother was in the kitchen, stirring something that smelled like comfort. She looked up, surprised.
"You're home early."
"Yeah," I said. "Just… wanted to be."
She studied my face the way mothers do, like they can read things you don't say. "The city is hard," she said gently. "Don't let it harden you."
I nodded, unable to speak.
That night, I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Zara's words echoed in my mind. Kemi's concern. My mother's quiet fear.
Outside, footsteps passed my window. Slow. Deliberate.
I sat up.
A shadow paused under the streetlight. Someone was there — not hiding, not rushing. Watching.
The message was clear.
The streets hadn't forgotten me.
I clenched my fists, heart pounding, but this time, there was no panic. Only resolve.
I whispered to the empty room, "I'll choose my own path."
And for the first time, I believed it.