The hospital corridor did not stay quiet for long.
At first, it was only the sound of footsteps moving past, nurses speaking in quick low voices, trolleys rolling over the tiled floor, and the sharp smell of antiseptic that never really left a place like that. Dayo stayed where he was, one hand in his pocket, the other resting loosely by his side, his eyes fixed on the doors the boy had been taken through. Sharon stood a few feet away, but unlike him, she could not stay still. She checked the hallway, checked the nurses' station, checked her phone, then looked back toward the doors again as if staring harder would make the doctors come out faster.
A nurse in pale blue scrubs came through the corridor carrying a file, and Sharon stepped toward her at once.
"Please, the boy that was brought in from the road accident, has the doctor said anything else?"
