The Boy Nobody called
The phone was on the bed. Louis looked at it again.
Nothing.
He unlocked it, opened WhatsApp and waited for the messages to load. There were notifications, but none were from the people he wanted to hear from. A group chat had thirty-seven new messages. A classmate had posted a funny video. Someone had changed a profile picture. But the private conversations he cared about remained quiet.
He locked the phone and stared at the ceiling.
Outside, motorcycles passed along the road. A generator coughed somewhere nearby, then settled into its familiar mechanical hum. From a neighbouring compound came the sound of a radio presenter laughing at a joke Louis could not hear clearly.
Life was moving.
Louis felt strangely still.
His stomach was empty. His wallet was almost empty too.
That was the problem with having little money. Every small decision became serious. Food or transport. Data or food. School expenses or food. A recharge card could suddenly feel like a luxury. A short journey could become a calculation.
Louis had a skill. He could design flyers, invitations, business adverts and frames. He could sit with a laptop for hours, adjusting fonts and colours until a design finally looked right. He knew he was good.
What he did not know was how to make people consistently pay for it.
He had sent messages to customers. Some had promised to reply. Some had promised to recommend him. Some had said, “I will get back to you.” Others had never opened the messages.
He smiled without humour.
“Maybe I'm invisible.”
The words sounded like a joke, but they were not completely a joke.
He stood up, slipped his phone into his pocket and walked outside. He had no clear answer for tomorrow.
But he knew one thing.
He could not remain in the room waiting for his phone to save him.
So he kept moving.
