Titus should not have gone back.
That was the thought that followed him the entire night after leaving the hotel.
Not because he was afraid.
But because something inside him had already started to change—and change, in his life, always came with pain.
He lay awake on his thin mat in the village, listening to the usual sounds of his home.
Laughter inside.
His brother’s voice rising.
His father speaking about plans that did not include him.
And for once… Titus did not feel like he belonged even in the silence outside.
The next morning, he woke earlier than usual.
Not because he was called.
But because he was thinking.
About the kitchen.
About the precision.
About the way everything had moved like it mattered.
And about the words the chef had said:
“Come back tomorrow.”
Titus told himself he wouldn’t go.
He worked through the morning like normal. Carried water. Cleaned. Obeyed. Endured.
But something was different now.
He noticed everything more sharply.
Every command felt heavier.
Every insult felt clearer.
Every moment of being ignored felt louder.
By midday, he made a decision he didn’t announce.
He left.
Not for work.
Not for errands.
But for the city.
The hotel kitchen was louder this time.
Not chaotic.
Alive.
Titus stood at the back entrance, unsure if he even had permission to be there. He almost turned back twice.
But then the head chef saw him.
And simply said:
“You’re late.”
Titus blinked. “I wasn’t sure if—”
“If you’re serious or not?” the chef interrupted.
Titus didn’t answer.
Because that was exactly what he wasn’t sure about.
The chef...