Ebilade sat on a sleek, modern couch in his living room, the soft glow of the overhead lights reflecting off the minimalist decor. His living room was a blend of sharp elegance and comfort, with polished wooden floors and a panoramic window offering a view of the shimmering Lagos skyline. A faint hum from his system echoed in the background as he dialed his mother, Lucky, on his phone.
His posture was relaxed, one arm draped casually over the backrest of the couch, but the faint tension in his jaw betrayed his concern. As the call connected, his sharp eyes softened, and a small smile formed on his lips. He could already imagine his mother's voice—a mixture of worry and strength.
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"Hello, Mama?" Ebilade's voice was warm, but his tone carried the weight of reassurance.