Ruth's POV
1:10am. Oshodi.
Night's done.
Four men. Quick. Cash. Black top. Makeup on.
I'm tired, not broken. This is work.
1:48am.
Last one.
He flagged me down himself. Didn't bargain. Didn't stare.
"I'm Tony," he said. Just like that. Like we were ordering food.
I didn't ask. I never do. But he gave it anyway.
"Tony," I repeated, because he waited for me to.
He said it without me asking. "Things keep getting me," he said in the cab.
I nodded. I don't fix men. I just work.
"Hotel?" I asked.
"Yeah."
1:59am. Hotel Gate, Ikeja.
We're at the gate. He's talking to security. I'm behind him. Arms folded.
"Brother Tony."
Tony froze.
A man. Early 30s. Plain shirt. Phone in his hand. Bible app open.
Church member.
"Brother Tony, we've been asking about you at church," the man said. Concern, not fire. "You haven't been around in weeks. Is everything—"
He stopped.
His eyes moved.
Past Tony.
To me.
Our eyes locked.
Danfo. Thursday. Pothole. Half a second. Air gone again.
He didn't flinch.
He didn't look disgusted.
He didn't look at my body.
He looked at me.
Tony shifted. "Uh… Samuel. This is Ruth."
So that's his name. Samuel.
I didn't look down. I didn't cover myself.
I just held his gaze.
Because I'm not ashamed tonight. I'm just Ruth. Standing at a hotel gate at 2am.
And Samuel kept looking.
Like he was trying to see past all of it.
Like he saw me.
Nobody moved.
Tony was stuck between us. Sweat on his neck now. Not because he's shy. Because he's tired.
"Samuel…" Tony started again. "This is Ruth."
Samuel still hadn't blinked.
His eyes were on mine. Dark. Tired. But not hard.
"Ruth," he said.
My name. Out of his mouth.
He didn't ask if it was real. He didn't smirk. He just said it. Like he was testing if it fit.
I nodded once. "Yes."
Tony exhaled. Loud. "Samuel, look man, it's not what it—"
"It's 2am at a hotel gate, Tony," Samuel said. Still looking at me. Not cruel. Just true.
Tony went quiet.
The security man behind us cleared his throat. "Oga, una go enter or…?"
Samuel finally broke eye contact. He looked at Tony.
"You haven't been at church in weeks," he said. Quieter now. "We've been praying for you. Your wife called Mama Esther yesterday."
Tony's jaw tightened. "Life is… hard, bro."
"I know," Samuel said. "That's why we come to church."
Then his eyes came back to me.
Not to shame me. Not to preach.
Just to look.
"You're cold," he said.
It was random. It was true. Lagos night wind was hitting my bare arms through the thin black top.
I didn't answer. I don't do small talk with church people.
Samuel reached into his bag. Pulled out a plain black hoodie. Not new. Washed a lot.
He held it out. Not to Tony. To me.
"Take it," he said.
I stared at it.
Nobody gives me clothes. They pay me. They use me. They leave.
I didn't take it.
"Why?" I asked.
Samuel shrugged. "Because you're cold.
Tony looked at the hoodie. Then at me. Then at Samuel. Like he didn't know which of us was stranger.
The gate was still open.
Security was still waiting.
And Samuel's hand was still out. Hoodie between us.
His hand was still out. Hoodie. Black. Worn soft at the edges.
"Why?" I asked again.
Samuel didn't move it closer. Didn't drop it.
"Because you're cold," he said.
Tony was looking at both of us like he wanted the ground to open.
The security man cleared his throat again. "Oga, una dey go inside abi I dey close gate?"
Samuel finally lowered the hoodie. Didn't offer it again. But he didn't put it back in his bag either.
He looked tired. Real tired.
"Mountain of Fire," he said. Out of nowhere. Like he didn't want me thinking he was just roaming streets at 2am. "Ogba."
He shifted his bag. The zip was open. I saw it.
Bible. Corner bent. Highlighter marks on the pages.
White shirt under his jacket. Crushed. Sleeves rolled up. He smelled like sweat and candle wax.
"Vigil ended 1:40am," he said. Voice flat. No performance. "My cousin is in hospital. We were praying."
He rubbed his eyes. Red. No sleep.
"I was supposed to go home," he said. "But Pastor said we should drop flyers. Early morning park. Bus drivers. Market women before market opens."
He pulled a folded paper from his pocket. Creased.
*RCCG Jesus House Ikeja - 8AM SUNDAY SERVICE. YOU ARE WELCOME.*
So that's why he was walking this street. Shortcut from Ogba to Ikeja bus park. Phone out. Bible app on.
That's when he saw us.
"Brother Tony," he said again. But softer. To himself.
He looked at Tony. Then at me.
Tony's phone buzzed in his pocket. Loud.
Neither of us looked at it.
Samuel's eyes came back to me. To my bare arms. To the goosebumps from Lagos night wind.
He set the hoodie down. On the concrete ledge by the gate. Right between us.
Then he took two steps back.
So it wasn't in my face. So it wasn't a trap.
"It's there," he said. "If you want it. If you don't… that's fine too."
He didn't wait for an answer.
He just stood there.
Just a church boy at 2am. Bible in his bag. Hoodie on the ledge.
Tony was still sweating. Security was still waiting.
And I was still standing there. Staring at the hoodie.
Tony's phone rang. Loud.
Not buzz. Full ringtone. "My Wife" flashing on the screen.
Tony's face changed. All the sweat, all the shame, came at once.
"Ah," he said. Low. Panicked.
He looked at Samuel. Looked at me. Looked at the phone.
"I… I have to go," Tony said. Fast. "Now."
He didn't wait for an answer.
He turned and walked through the gate. Past security. No hotel. No me.
"Brother Tony—" Samuel started.
Tony didn't stop. He was already pulling the call to his ear. "Yes, ma… yes, traffic…"
Gate clanged shut behind him.
Just like that.
It was me. And Samuel.
Security man looked at us, shrugged, and went back to his post. Gate still open.
Samuel's eyes came back to me. To my bare arms. To the goosebumps.
He set the hoodie on the concrete ledge. Two steps back.
"It's there," he said. "If you want it."
I didn't answer.
I turned.
I started walking. Away from the gate.
Ikeja street. 2am. Empty.
Footsteps behind me.
Soft. But there.
I stopped. Didn't turn.
The footsteps stopped too.
I turned around sharp.
Samuel. Few steps behind. Hands in pockets.
"Oga why you dey follow me?" My voice cut. "Abeg go back."
He stopped right there. Didn't come closer.
"I'm just going to bus park," he said. Quiet. "Same direction."
"Liar," I said.
He didn't argue.
"I'm not talking," I said. "I'm not going to church. I'm going home."
"I know," he said.
"Then go back," I said again. "Abeg. Go back."
Samuel nodded once.
He turned. Started walking back to the gate. Back to the hoodie.
I watched him for two seconds.
Then I turned. And kept walking.
Alone.