“I don’t even know your full name.”
He hesitated. “Okafor.”
Her eyebrow lifted. “That sounds important.”
“It’s just a name.”
She did not believe him, but she did not push.
“You’re hiding something,” she said.
“Maybe.”
“And I’m supposed to trust someone who won’t tell me who he really is?”
That question struck him.
He wanted to tell her everything. The money. The family. The arranged marriage. The life waiting to swallow him whole.
But he was afraid that once she knew, everything would change.
So he said, “Maybe you’ll just have to trust what you see.”
Ada looked at him for a long moment.
“You’re lucky I’m patient.”
“I know.”
Soon, their connection became impossible to deny.
They walked after her shifts. They shared roadside snacks. They talked under dim streetlights.
Ada tried to protect her heart.
“People like you don’t end up with people like me,” she told him one night.
“People like me?” he asked.
“You know what I mean. You speak differently. You carry yourself differently. You belong somewhere else.”
“And if I don’t want to?”
She looked away. “Then you’ll learn why you should.”
He stepped closer. “Ada, I don’t care about any of that.”
“You should.”
“I don’t.”
“You will.”
He reached for her hand gently, giving her time to pull away.
She did not.
“I’m not asking you to believe me,” he said. “I’m asking you to give me a chance to prove it.”
