The dining table turned into an accounting counter.
Nuru put the household ledger on her side. Salim placed the shop ledger in the middle. Then, one by one, they opened mobile money, the bank balance, and messages from suppliers.
None of the numbers was enormous on its own.
The problem was that every number wanted to be paid before the others.
“Start with the money we actually have,” Nuru said.
Salim gave her the shop cash figure.
“Mobile money?”
He told her.
“The reserve?”
Salim hesitated before giving the remaining balance.
Nuru made no comment. She wrote it down.
“Debts?”
Salim began with the first supplier. Then the deposit held by the second supplier. The refund he'd already paid. Parts trapped in the claim. Customer balances on phones not yet collected.
Nuru asked, “And Tunu?”
Salim gave her the first payment.
Then the second.
Nuru added them together.
“You paid him this much?”
“Yes.”
“For how many days?”
“Not days. Sessions.”
“Two sessions?”
“Yes.”
Nuru turned the calculator toward him.
“This is several times Alya's trip fee.”
“I know.”
“It's more than some of the stock you keep saying you don't have.”
“I know.”
“And he wants more?”
Salim said nothing.
Nuru looked at him.
“He wants more?”
“He said there's one step before Friday.”
“Today is Friday.”
“I know.”
“How much?”
“He hasn't said.”
Nuru took a breath.
“Don't call him.”
The instruction irritated Salim even though part of him agreed.
“I already told him I won't pay today.”
“Then it's over.”
“It's not that simple.”
“Why?”
Salim looked at the ledger.
Because if he admitted it was over, he would also have to admit the first two payments weren't investments waiting to produce results. They were simply money that had gone out.
Money he could have used for stock.
Money Nuru had asked him not to touch.
“Because I've already paid,” he said.
Nuru said nothing for a while.
Then she asked, “Is that a reason to pay again?”
Salim knew the answer.
Knowing an answer and accepting it were two different things.
“What if I stop here and tomorrow everything goes bad again?”
Nuru looked at him.
“And what if you pay again and on Monday the stock still hasn't arrived?”
Salim didn't answer.
“We'll do this,” Nuru said. “No more reserve money. Tomorrow we pay Alya's trip if the numbers allow it. The shop uses shop money. If the supplier refunds you, you decide what the business needs. But no secrets.”
Salim nodded.
His phone vibrated.
Bwana Tunu.
Nuru saw the name.
“Don't answer.”
Salim watched it flash until the call ended.
A few seconds later, a message arrived.
**I've respected what you said about not paying today. But there's one thing I must explain before the time passes. Even if you do nothing, come for ten minutes. No fee to enter.**
Nuru read it from across the table.
“Don't go.”
“He says there's no fee.”
“What did he say the first time?”
Salim didn't answer.
Nuru closed the ledger.
“If you go, go because you've decided. But don't use our money.”
Salim slept badly again.
In the morning, he didn't open the kiosk early. He sat outside the arcade with tea, watching cars pass.
Kassim arrived.
“You look like a man who did accounts all night.”
“I did.”
“Bad?”
“Real.”
Kassim sat beside him.
“Tunu messaged me.”
Kassim wasn't surprised.
“What did he say?”
“Come for ten minutes. No entry fee.”
“Are you going?”
“I don't know.”
Kassim drank his tea.
“I'd tell you not to.”
“But you went three times.”
“That's why I'm telling you.”
Salim looked at him.
“What did he tell you the third time?”
Kassim looked toward the road.
“That I was close to completing the cycle. If I stopped there, the first two payments would have been wasted.”
Salim felt his back tighten.
“Those exact words?”
“Close.”
“Final step?”
Kassim nodded.
“Yes.”
“And was it final?”
Kassim laughed without humor.
“After that there was something he called protection of results. I didn't buy it.”
Salim put down his cup.
“Why didn't you tell me this on the first day?”
“Because I was still defending myself.”
“You brought me to him.”
“I know.”
“You told me he helped you.”
“I wanted it to be true.”
Salim stood.
“And now?”
“Now I want to know what I paid for.”
Those words stayed in Salim's head until noon.
The second supplier confirmed the stock wouldn't arrive before Monday. Salim canceled one model and kept two. He requested a refund for the remaining amount.
He paid Alya's trip fee to the school number after he and Nuru agreed on the amount.
When the receipt arrived, he sent Nuru a screenshot.
Nuru replied:
**Thank you.**
There was no emoji. But Salim felt it was the first money in several days whose purpose he understood completely.
At two, Bwana Tunu called again.
Salim answered.
“Yes.”
“I thought you didn't want to talk.”
“I have a minute.”
“Come. I don't want to explain by phone.”
“Why?”
“Because some things need to be understood before a person makes a decision.”
“Is it about payment?”
“It's about the final step.”
Salim closed his eyes.
The same words.
“And after the final step, is there protection of results?”
Silence on the other end.
“Where did you hear that?” Tunu asked.
Salim didn't answer.
“Salim?”
“I'll come.”
He ended the call.
When Kassim saw him closing the kiosk, he asked, “You're going?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I want to hear him say it himself.”
“Don't carry money.”
Salim tapped his pocket. “Only fare.”
Tunu's room looked exactly as it had the first time: table, chairs, scraping fan.
But Salim now noticed things he hadn't seen that day.
There was a box of receipt books in one corner. Two phones lay on the table. The door to an inner room was closed, and from behind it he could hear another person speaking quietly.
Tunu sat down.
“You've started falling into fear again,” he said.
“No. I've started counting.”
“Good. Counting matters.”
“How much is the final step?”
Tunu looked at him.
“You haven't even asked what it is.”
“I'm asking the price first.”
Tunu named the amount.
It was larger than both previous payments combined.
Salim laughed.
“And when I finish that?”
“Then we close the current stage.”
“The current stage.”
“Yes.”
“Not the final one?”
Tunu frowned slightly.
“Don't play with words.”
“You called it the final step.”
“For the problem you came with.”
“And then there's protection of results?”
Tunu leaned back.
“Kassim has spoken to you.”
“So it's true.”
“No two people have the same situation.”
“But the names of the stages are similar.”
“Because the work has a system.”
Salim looked at the receipt book.
“And the fee increases at every stage?”
“Not necessarily.”
“It has for me.”
“Because your problem has shown greater depth.”
Salim felt anger, but underneath it was something else: the shame of recognizing a sentence that only days earlier would have made him ask how to pay.
“And if I walk away?”
Tunu was silent for a moment.
“You can. But don't say I didn't warn you. You've reached a point where stopping halfway may prevent what you've already put in from producing results.”
For the first time, Salim smiled.
“There.”
“What?”
“That's what Kassim said you told him.”
Tunu didn't answer.
From the inner room, the other man's voice became clearer.
“But I've already paid twice.”
Salim turned his head.
Another voice—someone Salim didn't know—answered too softly for him to catch every word.
Then the man said:
“You said this was the final step.”
Salim and Tunu looked at each other.
For several seconds, the scraping fan was the only sound in the room.
---