I took a moment to gather myself before speaking, carefully arranging my thoughts as though they were fragile glass.
"My phone is off," I said at last, my voice low. "So I can't reach my aunt anymore."
He looked at me, sympathy softening his features.
"I'm really sorry," he said. "I would have given you my power bank, but I used the final percentage just to keep my phone alive."
He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice, his eyes searching my face.
"Do you know where you're going?"
"Yes," I answered. "My aunt lives at FO1 Estate, in Kubwa."
He exhaled, nodding slowly, as if mapping the city in his mind.
"I'll be stopping at Jabi," he said. "Delta Line Park—that's the final stop. From there, I can help you get a cab."
Relief washed over me, warm and sudden.
"Thank you," I said sincerely. "I really appreciate it."
The bus hummed on, headlights slicing through the gathering dusk. For a moment, we sat in silence, the kind that feels safe rather than awkward.
Then he spoke again.
"Sorry, Miss Adillia," he said softly. "How old are you?"
"I'm fourteen," I replied. "I'll be fifteen on the fifteenth of November."
He turned fully toward me, disbelief written plainly across his face.
"That's hard to believe," he said. "You look eighteen—maybe nineteen."
I laughed under my breath, the sound light despite the long day.
"You're not the first person to say that," I told him. "People always say I don't look or act my age. My mum says I look exactly like my grandmother—I inherited her maturity."
He nodded slowly, as though that answered everything.
The road stretched on, Abuja drawing closer with every mile. Fatigue settled gently into my bones, heavy but comforting. I told him it had been nice talking to him, then leaned back and closed my eyes.
Sleep claimed me quickly.
I drifted into a quiet dreamscape, far from worry and wandering thoughts—until a voice pierced the calm.
"Driver, stop me here."
My eyes fluttered open.