( dreams comes real )
Unlike John spending his afternoon buried in steam and noodles, Jennifer spent hers walking through streets beneath harsh Lagos sunlight beside Jessica.
By the time they reached the fifth location that day, both women were exhausted.
Jennifer's slippers scraped lightly against the pavement while sweat gathered near the back of her neck beneath the warm weather. Jessica looked equally tired, though she carried herself with more dramatic suffering.
"My feet are filing complaints," Jessica muttered.
"You wore heels for shop hunting."
"I wanted to look professional."
"You look injured."
Jessica glared weakly.
The estate agent walking ahead of them pretended not to laugh.
The man was short, sweating heavily beneath a cream-colored shirt already darkened under the arms from heat. He carried a folder pressed tightly against his chest while leading them down a quieter road away from the busier market area.
The environment changed gradually.
Less crowded.
Cleaner.
More structured.
Jennifer noticed it immediately.
A large company building stood not too far away with polished glass windows reflecting afternoon sunlight.
Better Choice.
Workers moved in and out through the entrance carrying files and coffee cups while security guards stood outside beneath shade umbrellas.
Further down the road sat a smaller shoe factory with delivery vans parked outside.
And nearby—
a modest public library.
A school.
Quiet residential buildings.
No nearby restaurants.
Jessica noticed too.
Her eyes sharpened thoughtfully.
"This area has customers already," she murmured.
Jennifer nodded slowly.
Office workers.
Students.
Factory staff.
People needing somewhere to sit.
Somewhere peaceful.
The agent finally stopped in front of a large building with faded cream paint and wide glass windows coated lightly with dust.
The signboard above had long been removed, leaving only empty bolts behind.
"This is the place," the agent announced proudly.
Jessica blinked.
Jennifer stared upward slowly.
The building was old.
Very old.
But huge.
Far larger than every other place they had viewed.
The front hall alone looked spacious enough to hold dozens of tables comfortably. Wide windows allowed natural sunlight inside while the tiled floor, though worn, remained solid beneath their feet.
The agent unlocked the glass doors and pushed them open.
Warm dusty air greeted them immediately.
Jessica stepped inside first.
Then froze.
"Oh."
Jennifer followed quietly.
And understood instantly.
The place had possibilities.
Massive possibilities.
The hall stretched far deeper than expected with enough room for reading corners, dining areas, decorations, even small performance space if arranged properly.
The ceiling was high.
The walls old but strong.
And toward the back—
the kitchen.
Jennifer's eyes widened slightly.
It was enormous.
Industrial sinks.
Storage space.
Ventilation already installed though needing repairs.
Old shelves still attached to walls.
Jessica slowly turned in a circle.
"This place is huge…"
Her voice echoed lightly through the empty hall.
Jennifer walked farther inward quietly, her fingers brushing against old wooden counters left abandoned near one wall.
Dust clung lightly to her fingertips.
But beneath the neglect—
she could already imagine it.
Warm lights.
Bookshelves.
Music.
People sitting quietly reading while eating.
Small plants near windows.
Soft conversations.
Not just restaurant.
Something different.
Something alive.
Upstairs surprised them even more.
The staircase creaked slightly beneath their footsteps as the agent guided them upward.
The second floor opened into an airy balcony-like space overlooking the main hall below. Several private rooms lined the corridor while large windows allowed sunlight to pour beautifully across the dusty floor.
Jessica stopped walking entirely.
"Oh this is beautiful."
Jennifer nodded silently.
For once—
she could actually see the dream clearly.
Not just surviving.
Building something.
Something theirs.
The agent immediately sensed interest and straightened proudly.
"As I said, madams, location is excellent."
Jessica crossed her arms.
"The building is old."
"Yes," the man admitted quickly. "But structure is strong. Very strong. Previous owner moved abroad. No damage issue. Water working. Electricity connected. Good environment. Peaceful area."
Jennifer walked toward one of the large upstairs windows overlooking the road outside.
From here she could see workers leaving nearby offices.
Students walking home in groups.
Cars slowing near the junction.
Potential customers.
Potential future.
Her chest tightened unexpectedly.
Jessica finally asked the important question.
"How much?"
The agent cleared his throat.
"One hundred and thirty thousand for one year."
Jessica's eyebrows lifted slightly.
"For two years," he added quickly, "two hundred and sixty thousand."
Silence followed briefly.
The price was higher than the tiny cramped shops they viewed earlier.
Those had been cheaper.
Safer financially.
But none felt like this.
Jessica glanced toward Jennifer carefully.
Jennifer looked around the hall again.
The old walls.
The sunlight.
The empty space waiting to become something else.
Then she spoke quietly.
"I will pay."
Jessica blinked.
Jennifer looked at her.
"We already agreed. Fifty-fifty."
Jessica stared for a second before laughing softly in disbelief.
"You're serious."
"Yes."
For once there was no fear in Jennifer's expression.
Only determination.
Raw and trembling—
but real.
The agent immediately became more energetic.
"Madams should confirm papers first," he said quickly. "Everything genuine."
Jessica nodded sharply.
"Yes. We're checking properly."
Neither woman trusted easily anymore.
Not life.
Not people.
Certainly not Lagos property agents.
The next hour passed carefully.
Phone calls.
Document checks.
Address confirmations.
Ownership verification.
Jessica called a cousin who understood property agreements better than either of them. Jennifer quietly cross-checked registration details while the agent sweated nervously nearby under their suspicious questioning.
Eventually—
everything matched.
The building was genuine.
No hidden dispute.
No fake ownership.
No outstanding debt.
Real.
Jessica exhaled deeply first.
Jennifer looked around the empty hall again.
Then slowly—
she smiled.
Not her guarded survival smile.
Not forced politeness.
A real one.
Small.
Soft.
Hopeful.
The payment process felt surreal.
Jessica transferred her part first while muttering prayers under her breath.
Jennifer sat beside her holding the phone carefully with slightly trembling fingers before sending her own half.
The confirmation alert arrived seconds later.
Paid.
The agent nearly glowed.
Receipts were printed.
Documents signed carefully.
Keys handed over one by one into Jessica's waiting hands.
Metal against skin.
Cold.
Heavy.
Real.
Jennifer stared at the keys longer than expected.
Because prison took ownership away from people.
Choice away.
Future away.
Yet now—
she held keys to something that belonged partly to her.
Something clean.
Something forward.
Jessica suddenly grabbed her arm hard enough to shake her.
"We actually did it."
Jennifer laughed breathlessly.
"We did."
Then unexpectedly—
her eyes filled.
Jessica's expression softened instantly.
"Oh no. Don't start crying here."
"I'm not crying."
"You are absolutely crying."
Jennifer wiped quickly at her face while laughing embarrassedly.
The empty hall echoed softly around them.
Dust floated through golden afternoon sunlight.
And for the first time in years—
Jennifer did not feel trapped inside survival.
She felt possibility.
Raw.
Terrifying.
Beautiful possibility.
The payment alert entered almost immediately after the transfer.
₦30,000.
Agent agreement and inspection settlement.
Jessica stared at the notification on her phone like someone watching personal tragedy unfold in real time.
"My money…" she whispered weakly.
The agent standing nearby pretended not to hear.
Jennifer looked over and almost laughed.
"You're behaving like they removed your kidney."
"That thirty thousand could have bought paint."
"It bought stress."
"It bought suffering."
Jessica pressed one hand dramatically against her chest while following the agent back toward the entrance of the building after collecting the temporary keys and signed papers carefully sealed inside a brown envelope.
The afternoon sun had softened outside now, pouring warm orange light through the dusty windows as they stepped back into the empty hall alone.
And suddenly—
it felt different.
Not a random building anymore.
Not another failed shop inspection.
The space belonged to them now.
Jennifer stopped in the middle of the hall slowly turning around once again.
Her chest tightened.
The empty building no longer looked abandoned.
It looked unfinished.
Jessica walked farther ahead counting steps carefully beneath her breath before looking up toward the high ceiling again.
"Oh my God…"
Jennifer blinked.
"What?"
"This place is huge."
Her voice echoed lightly through the hall.
Jessica turned fully now, eyes bright despite the exhaustion hanging beneath them.
"It can actually contain almost fifty-nine chairs comfortably."
Jennifer stared.
"That many?"
"Yes!"
Jessica pointed rapidly around the space while excitement began replacing fatigue.
"Tables here."
"Couple seating near the windows."
"Group seating there."
"Oh! We can even add soft lighting upstairs."
Jennifer smiled slowly watching her friend come alive.
For days they had walked under harsh sun from one disappointing location to another.
Too expensive.
Too small.
Too hidden.
Too damaged.
Too suspicious.
Now finally—
something felt right.
Jessica climbed halfway upstairs again before gripping the wooden railing dramatically.
"I never expected our first restaurant would be this big."
Jennifer followed more slowly, fingers brushing lightly against the old walls as she walked.
Dust clung softly against her skin.
The building smelled faintly of old wood, dry paint, and closed-up rooms.
But beneath that—
possibility.
Her mind had already begun imagining things.
Bookshelves.
Warm yellow lights.
People sitting quietly reading while eating.
Soft music.
Fresh bread.
Comfort.
A place where lonely people rested without being questioned.
A place she herself would have needed once.
Jessica suddenly spun around.
"We need attention."
Jennifer nodded immediately.
"We use the best ingredients only."
"No cheating quality."
"No bad meat."
"No spoiled fish."
Jessica pointed toward the kitchen downstairs.
"Fresh ingredients every morning."
Jennifer added softly:
"And homemade juices."
"Yes!"
"And baked cakes."
Jessica gasped dramatically.
"Oh my God little desserts upstairs with books."
Jennifer's eyes brightened fully now.
"And stuffed animals."
Jessica blinked once.
"What?"
"Small ones."
Jennifer looked suddenly shy defending the idea.
"For decoration."
Jessica stared at her.
Then burst out laughing.
"You want soft emotional restaurant."
"I want peaceful restaurant."
"That is worse somehow."
Still—
Jessica secretly loved the idea.
Both women slowly began dividing responsibilities naturally while walking through the building again.
Jennifer crouched near the old kitchen outlets thoughtfully.
"I'll handle repairs."
Jessica nodded immediately.
"You understand those things better."
"I'll fix lighting too. And ventilation."
"The kitchen definitely needs changing."
Jennifer touched one of the cracked counters.
"We may need around eighty thousand for kitchen repairs alone."
Jessica winced physically.
"My spirit left my body hearing that."
Jennifer ignored her calmly.
"You handle painting."
"Easy."
"And tables and chairs."
Jessica immediately began calculating aloud.
"If we buy fifty-nine chairs…"
Her face slowly changed.
"…do you know how expensive chairs are?"
Jennifer looked toward the empty hall again.
"We can start with fewer first."
Jessica visibly relaxed.
"Yes. Wisdom."
Both moved upstairs afterward where sunlight poured warmly across the dusty floorboards.
Jessica stretched both hands dramatically.
"This section will become reading area."
Jennifer nodded immediately.
"And bookshelves."
"I'll handle shelves."
"I'll buy books slowly."
Jessica turned sharply.
"You're serious about the library part."
"Yes."
"What if customers destroy them?"
Jennifer shrugged softly.
"Then we buy more."
Something about that answer felt strangely personal.
Jessica noticed.
But said nothing.
Instead she sat cross-legged directly on the dusty floor while pulling out her phone calculator.
"Alright."
Business mode.
"Paint first."
"Maybe seventy thousand."
Jennifer sat beside her.
"Too much."
"This place is huge!"
"Fifty."
Jessica narrowed her eyes.
"You bargain with reality too?"
"Yes."
Jessica snorted before continuing.
"Tables and chairs…"
She paused dramatically.
"…Jesus."
Jennifer leaned over to look.
The amount nearly killed both of them instantly.
They burst into helpless laughter.
Real laughter.
The kind born from exhaustion and fear mixing together.
"How are humans starting businesses willingly?" Jessica cried.
"I think rich people are hiding the truth from society."
"No wonder everybody sells online now."
Jennifer laughed harder.
Their voices echoed warmly through the empty building.
Then slowly—
the laughter softened.
Jessica looked toward her quietly.
"How much do you have left?"
Jennifer checked her banking app before answering honestly.
"I have about five hundred thousand left."
Jessica blinked.
"That's still a lot."
"It suddenly feels small."
"Very small."
Jessica checked hers too before groaning dramatically.
"Six hundred."
Both stared at each other.
Then laughed again.
Not because it was funny.
Because if they did not laugh—
they might panic instead.
Outside the building, traffic moved steadily through late afternoon roads while workers from nearby companies slowly began leaving offices.
Inside the old hall—
two women sat on dusty upstairs floors calculating dreams with tired phones and trembling hope.
No investors.
No wealthy family support.
No safety net.
Just savings.
Courage.
And stubborn belief.
Jessica leaned backward against the wall eventually.
"You know what's scary?"
"What?"
"This might actually work."
Jennifer looked around the quiet hall once more.
At the cracked walls.
At the huge empty space.
At the windows glowing gold beneath evening sunlight.
Then softly—
"I want it to."
And for the first time in years—
hope no longer felt dangerous inside her chest.
It felt possible.
( Later in the day)
Two lives moved through the same city beneath the same Lagos evening sky without knowing how closely fate had already begun circling them.
Two ambitions.
Different.
Quietly desperate in their own ways.
One man chased excellence so fiercely it had almost consumed his body.
One woman simply wanted proof that life could still become soft, safe, and worth staying for.
At exactly six in the evening, the old noodle restaurant returned fully to life.
The street outside glowed beneath fading sunset while warm yellow bulbs flickered alive one by one across nearby shops. Motorcycles passed noisily through the junction. Office workers from nearby companies drifted in slowly searching for affordable dinner after long shifts. Elderly regulars occupied their usual tables like permanent furniture while students gathered noisily near the entrance sharing drinks and gossip.
Inside the restaurant—
heat.
Steam.
Movement.
Life.
Ceiling fans rotated endlessly overhead fighting against the warmth from boiling broth and frying oil. Pots hissed loudly. Metal ladles struck against deep cooking pans. Voices overlapped continuously beneath the rich scent of pepper, garlic, roasted meat, broth, and soy sauce.
And standing in the middle of it all was John.
Even with the apron tied firmly around his waist, he still looked strangely out of place.
Too clean-cut.
Too controlled.
Too sharp around the edges.
Yet his hands moved with terrifying familiarity.
Focused.
Efficient.
Smooth.
He stood near the long steel counter rolling fresh noodles with practiced precision while warm steam curled softly around his face. The sleeves of his pale blue shirt remained folded neatly above his forearms now dusted lightly with flour.
Each movement carried calm confidence.
The dough stretched beneath his fingers before being folded carefully again and again until the noodle strands became long, smooth, thick, and perfectly even.
One younger worker stared openly nearby.
"His hands don't even shake."
"Because unlike you," another whispered back, "he knows what he's doing."
John ignored both conversations completely.
Not rude.
Simply focused.
At the far end of the kitchen, Madam Silver smacked a worker lightly with folded cloth.
"Stop staring and work."
Then louder:
"John! Debone the fish."
He nodded once immediately.
The knife entered his hand naturally.
And suddenly—
the kitchen quieted slightly again.
Because watching John use knives felt strangely dangerous.
His movements were clean.
Fast.
Precise.
Thin silver fish bones separated perfectly beneath his fingers while the blade moved smoothly across flesh with almost surgical control.
Slice.
Pull.
Separate.
Clean.
Even Madam Silver clicked her tongue in approval while pretending indifference.
"Hm."
Nearby workers exchanged glances.
One whispered softly:
"He cuts meat like somebody owing him money."
Another nodded nervously.
"It's scary."
The large duck stew simmering beside him released deep rich fragrance into the air while soft red peppers floated against dark glossy broth. The meat looked tender enough to fall apart beneath chopsticks.
John glanced toward it briefly.
His eyes softened almost unconsciously.
Food had always mattered deeply to him.
Not luxury food.
Not expensive food.
Warm food.
Comfort food.
Meals cooked by hands that cared whether you survived another day.
Madam Silver noticed the look immediately but said nothing.
Around seven, the restaurant grew even busier.
Though technically a noodle shop, Madam Silver served far more than noodles during evening hours.
Cold dishes.
Sweet-and-sour pork.
Peppered duck stew.
Rice bowls.
Fried meat platters.
Vegetable pottage.
Simple food prepared carefully enough to feel comforting instead of ordinary.
John moved quickly between stations helping wherever needed.
One moment serving tables.
The next plating noodles.
Then carrying trays toward waiting customers.
Despite himself—
he looked calmer here than almost anywhere else lately.
Even Joseph noticed.
Mostly because he kept calling.
Three times already.
The third call came while John adjusted heat beneath a frying pan.
"You answered faster this time," Joseph accused immediately.
"I was holding my phone."
"Have you eaten properly?"
"Yes."
"Vegetables?"
"Yes."
"Lies."
John sighed softly while checking the pork carefully inside the pan.
The meat crackled loudly beneath oil while sweet sauce thickened slowly around the edges.
"I am cooking vegetables myself."
The line paused suspiciously.
"…You sound happy."
John frowned faintly at that.
"What strange accusation."
"Hm."
Then softer:
"Don't skip your medicine."
"I won't."
"Good."
The call ended.
One younger staff member nearby looked horrified.
"Your brother talks to you like pregnant woman."
John calmly flipped the pork pieces.
"He behaves worse in person."
Laughter spread softly around the kitchen.
At that same moment—
the back door pushed open quickly.
Jennifer entered slightly breathless from hurrying.
Warm evening air followed her briefly inside before disappearing beneath kitchen heat.
Her first day at temporary work had ended later than expected.
The small restaurant owner she worked under for the month had been strict but surprisingly fair.
No shouting.
No touching.
No unnecessary cruelty.
Just work.
Jennifer preferred that.
She tied an apron around herself quickly after greeting Madam Silver respectfully.
Unlike John's controlled precision, Jennifer worked with quieter rhythm.
Less sharp.
More instinctive.
She moved toward the vegetable station naturally before beginning preparation without wasting time.
Her fingers moved quickly through fresh vegetables.
Slice.
Stack.
Cut.
Thin even pieces falling neatly across the board.
Steam rose around her while she prepared ingredients for one of the elderly customers' favorite dishes—a sweet but lightly sour vegetable pottage she learned years ago from her grandmother.
The memory softened her chest faintly.
Back then she cooked mostly because somebody had to.
Now—
she cooked because it reminded her of surviving love.
Jennifer's speed surprised the newer workers.
Not aggressive.
Just efficient.
Her hands moved with the unconscious confidence of someone long familiar with kitchens, heavy pots, sharp knives, and exhausting labor.
She stirred vegetables into steaming broth carefully before adjusting seasoning with quiet focus.
Madam Silver glanced over once.
"Good."
Simple praise.
Still—
Jennifer smiled slightly.
The restaurant noise wrapped fully around both her and John now.
Orders shouted across rooms.
Fans humming loudly overhead.
Customers laughing near tables.
Plates clinking endlessly.
And though both stood inside the same kitchen—
they remained entirely separate worlds.
John near the front stations balancing trays and noodles.
Jennifer near the back preparing pottage and vegetables.
Neither noticing the other properly.
Not yet.
But occasionally the workers whispered softly among themselves.
Mostly older women.
Mostly shameless.
"That handsome one should marry."
"He looks expensive."
"He looks tired."
"That girl cutting vegetables is pretty too."
"She works hard."
"She looks sad sometimes."
"Many people do."
Outside, evening deepened gradually across Lagos streets.
Inside the restaurant, steam curled endlessly toward the ceiling while warm lights reflected softly against polished bowls and metal counters.
And beneath all the noise, all the movement, all the ordinary exhaustion of life—
two lonely people worked quietly only a few feet apart.
One searching unknowingly for peace.
The other searching unknowingly for belonging.
Neither realizing fate had already seated them inside the same room.