The workshop woke before Leo did.
By the time he rolled up the shutter, the sun was already pressing heat into the concrete, the air thick with oil and yesterday's mistakes. The radio crackled to life on its own frequency, some old love song that sounded too hopeful for a morning like this. Leo didn't turn it off. Silence had started to feel louder than noise.
He tied his apron, grease-stained and stiff at the edges, and went straight to the blue Corolla parked in bay two. It had been there since yesterday evening, a customer's voice still echoing in his head: "If it's more than this, just call me. I don't want surprises."
Surprises. Life had been nothing but those lately.
He slid under the car, wrench in hand, letting muscle memory take over. Tighten. Loosen. Check. Repeat. His hands worked even when his mind didn't want to. Especially when his mind didn't want to.
Sophia hadn't called back.
Not since the argument three nights ago. Not since she'd stood in his doorway, bag in hand, eyes cold in a way he didn't recognize.
"Leo, you don't get it," she'd said. "I'm stepping into a different world now."
A different world. Like the one he'd paid for with late nights and borrowed money.
The thought made his jaw tighten. He bumped his knuckles against metal, cursed softly, and kept working.
Around mid-morning, Musa walked in, wiping sweat from his neck with a rag. Musa had been with him since the early days, back when the shop was just a rented space and a borrowed jack.
"You look like hell," Musa said, leaning against the tool rack.
"Morning to you too."
Musa studied him for a moment. "You eat?"
Leo slid out from under the car. "I will."
"That's not an answer."
Leo stood, dusting off his hands. "Later."
Musa sighed. "She still not calling?"
Leo stiffened. "Focus on the work."
"That bad, huh?"
Leo didn't reply. He picked up his phone, more out of habit than hope. No new messages. He locked the screen and shoved it back into his pocket like it had burned him.
Musa shook his head. "You know, people show you who they are when money enters the room."
Leo looked up sharply. "Don't."
"I'm just saying—"
"I said don't." His voice came out harsher than he intended.
Musa raised his hands. "Alright. I'll go finish the brake job."
When Musa walked away, Leo exhaled slowly. He hated how defensive he'd become. Hated how the truth felt like an attack now.
By noon, customers had started trickling in. A delivery van with a whining belt. A woman with a cracked headlight and impatience written all over her face. Work helped. Work always helped.
Until the accountant called.
Leo stepped outside to take the call, the sun blinding after hours in the dim shop.
"Mr. Ade," the woman on the line said, professional and polite, "we need to discuss the outstanding balance."
He closed his eyes. "I thought we agreed I'd settle part of it next month."
"That was before the interest adjustment."
"Interest?" His chest tightened.
"Yes. And there's also the loan repayment due next week."
He leaned against the wall. The heat seeped into his back. "I'll figure something out."
There was a pause. "I hope so. Because the bank will not wait."
When the call ended, Leo stayed there, phone in hand, staring at nothing.
The numbers started running in his head the way they always did when he was cornered. Rent. Salaries. Parts. Electricity. Sophia's final semester fees he'd just cleared two months ago, proud of himself for doing it without telling her.
I've got you, he'd said then, smiling as she hugged him.
Now the shop felt smaller. The walls closer.
Inside, Musa was arguing with a customer over pricing.
"This is too much!" the man snapped. "Another mechanic said he'd do it cheaper."
"Then go to him," Musa replied, tired but firm. "We do quality work here."
The man scoffed and walked out.
Leo watched from a distance. That was another job lost. Another crack.
That evening, as the sky darkened and the last customer left, Leo sat on the wooden bench outside the shop. His body ached in places he didn't have names for. Musa locked up and joined him, handing him a bottle of water.
"You can't keep carrying everything alone," Musa said quietly.
Leo laughed without humor. "Funny. That's exactly what I've been doing for years."
Musa hesitated. "What if… what if she doesn't come back?"
The words hung in the air.
Leo stared at the ground. "She will."
"You sure?"
"She has to."
Musa studied him. "You're not a stepping stone, Leo."
Leo swallowed. "I know."
But did he?
That night, he returned to the small apartment that still smelled like Sophia's perfume. Her slippers were by the door. Her mug still in the sink. He hadn't moved anything. As if time would reverse itself if he pretended nothing had changed.
He sat on the edge of the bed and finally called her.
It rang. Once. Twice.
She picked up on the third ring.
"Leo."
Her voice was calm. Too calm.
"Where are you?" he asked.
"At my friend's."
"For how long?"
A pause. "I don't know."
He ran a hand through his hair. "We need to talk."
"We already did."
"No," he said. "You talked. I listened."
Another pause. He could hear faint city noise on her end. Laughter somewhere far away.
"Leo," she said gently, "I'm tired of struggling."
He laughed bitterly. "You think I enjoy it?"
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?"
She exhaled. "I want more. And I don't think you can give me that anymore."
The words landed heavier than any insult.
"I gave you everything I had," he said, voice low.
"And I'm grateful," she replied. "Truly. But gratitude is not enough to build the life I want."
"So I'm not enough?"
Silence.
That was answer enough.
"Okay," he said finally. "I hear you."
Her voice softened. "I don't want us to end badly."
He almost laughed. "That ship has sailed."
When the call ended, Leo sat there long after the screen went dark. Something inside him shifted—not shattered, but cracked in a way that couldn't be ignored.
The next morning, he woke before the alarm.
For the first time in weeks, he didn't reach for his phone.
At the shop, he worked harder than ever, but something was different. He was watching. Listening. Calculating.
He sat with Musa during lunch, pulled out a notebook.
"We need to cut costs," Leo said. "Re-negotiate suppliers. Drop the extra shifts."
Musa blinked. "You okay?"
"I will be."
He met with a parts dealer that afternoon and refused a deal he would've accepted months ago just to keep peace. He called the bank and asked questions instead of begging. He stayed late, not out of desperation, but planning.
That night, alone in the apartment, he packed Sophia's things into boxes. Carefully. Respectfully. When he was done, the place looked emptier—but clearer.
He stood in the middle of the room and realized something unsettling.
The loss hurt.
But the fog was lifting.
For the first time since she'd walked away, Leo wasn't asking why wasn't I enough?
He was asking something else.
What do I do now?
And in that question, buried beneath the pain and grease and exhaustion, was the beginning of something he hadn't felt in a long time.
Resolve.