Tunu told Mariam before breakfast.
“I want to meet Jabi today.”
Mariam's spoon stopped inside her cup.
“Why?”
“He's leaving Bandari Mtoni.”
“Good.”
“I want to say goodbye.”
“You don't have to.”
“I didn't say I have to.”
Mariam set down the spoon. “After everything, you want to go to the market again?”
“Not at night. Not secretly. I'll tell Nuru. We'll meet at the main stage at noon.”
“Why can't you say goodbye by phone?”
Tunu felt anger rising, then remembered the plan. “Because I want to do it in person, and I want to do it using the rules we agreed on.”
Kassim ate quietly, watching both of them.
Mariam said, “I don't like it.”
“I know.”
“And you'll still go?”
“I want us to discuss it instead of me disappearing.”
That changed something in Mariam's face. She looked toward the safety plan posted inside the cupboard.
“Where exactly?”
“Main stage, beside the juice stall. Noon.”
“How long?”
“Half an hour.”
“Phone?”
“With me.”
“Nuru?”
“I'll message her now.”
Mariam closed her eyes briefly. “Okay.”
The permission contained no happiness. It was fear agreeing to live inside boundaries.
Nuru replied to Tunu's message: *Seen. Remember, you can change your mind even after you arrive.*
Just before noon, Tunu reached the stage carrying no large bag—only the phone, a small notebook, and a Hatua Mpya contact card.
Jabi waited beside the juice stall in his familiar gray shirt. A small sack tied with rope sat beside him.
“That's all your luggage?” Tunu asked.
“You expected a suitcase?”
“I thought maybe you owned two shirts.”
“I do. I'm wearing one.”
Tunu laughed.
For a few seconds they were simply themselves again, before school meetings, rent arguments, and everyone trying to turn Jabi into a symbol.
“So where are you going?”
“North first. The truck reaches a town near another lake. Someone says there's loading work.”
“You have his number?”
Jabi showed her the cracked phone.
“And a place to stay?”
“I have a contact and a place to check.”
Tunu looked at him.
“I know,” he said. “Still not much of an answer.”
They sat on a bench while buses arrived and left. Nobody cared about their conversation.
“I came to say thank you,” Tunu said.
“Why are you talking like the final scene of a movie?”
“Be quiet.”
“Fine.”
“You helped me before. Food sometimes. Work. You kept the radio.”
“And you fixed it badly.”
“One broken radio.”
“Still.”
Tunu folded her hands. “But I don't want to return to that life.”
Jabi did not become angry. “I know.”
“And I don't want to make you the reason I go back.”
“Okay.”
“If you return to Bandari Mtoni, don't come to the house without telling me.”
“Many rules.”
“Yes.”
“You've changed.”
Tunu stiffened.
“Not badly,” he added.
She handed him the Hatua Mpya card. “Nuru's number and the center. You don't have to call.”
“You want them to save me?”
“No. I want you to have one more number besides the truck contact.”
Jabi studied her, then took the card. “Don't tell Nuru I promised anything.”
“You didn't.”
He put it in his pocket.
“And you?” he asked. “School?”
“Still there.”
“Home?”
“Still there.”
“Rent?”
“Back to normal.”
Jabi laughed. “You won a great war.”
“It wasn't mine alone.”
A blue truck stopped across the road. Jabi checked the time.
“That one?” Tunu asked.
“Yes.”
Her chest tightened. Part of her life was about to leave with one small sack for a place she did not know.
“You can still decide not to go,” she said.
“And you can still decide not to stay in school.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“Exactly why it's a good answer.”
Jabi opened the sack and pulled out the little radio.
“You had it?”
“You left it on a crate the last time. Keep it.”
“It was mine already.”
“Then I've returned it twice.”
The driver sounded the horn.
Jabi lifted his sack. “Tunu. Don't pretend those months never happened.”
“I don't.”
“But don't live inside them forever either.”
She nodded.
Jabi crossed the road, then turned back.
“When you hear voices,” he called, pointing at the radio, “choose which one is yours.”
The horn sounded again before Tunu found an answer.
There was no dramatic final embrace and no promise that he would return. The truck pulled away, leaving Tunu at the stage with the radio in her hand.
Her phone vibrated.
Mariam: *Are you okay?*
Tunu typed: *Yes. I'm coming home now.*
Then she switched on the radio and found one clear station among three competing signals.
This time she was not listening because she had nowhere else to go.
She listened while walking home.
---