The room was too quiet.
Dayo sat in the chair by the window, the one that faced the city without really seeing it. His posture looked relaxed shoulders down, one arm resting against the armrest, legs crossed at the ankle but the stillness had a quality to it that wasn't rest. It was the kind of stillness that came from waiting, from holding something in place that wanted to move.
He had been sitting there for almost an hour. The competition was over. The wins were logged, the times recorded, the official business finished. There were things he should be doing now calls to return, schedules to confirm, the machinery of his career waiting for his attention. He wasn't doing any of it.
His mind kept returning to the same room. The same chair. The same conversation that had ended without ending, that had closed a door while leaving every window open.
