Nine months after Temi Adeyemi begged God for a job, she walked into her boss’s office to give it back.
The resignation letter was inside a brown folder.
At exactly eleven, she knocked on the glass door.
Mr. Biodun looked up from his laptop.
“Come in.”
Temi entered and placed the folder on his desk.
He looked at it, then at her.
“What’s this?”
“My resignation.”
For a moment, Mr. Biodun said nothing.
Temi had imagined this conversation several times. In some versions, he was angry. In others, he tried to convince her to stay.
She had never imagined him speechless.
“Temi.”
She waited.
“You’re resigning?”
“Yes.”
“Sit down.”
“I’m fine standing.”
His eyes stayed on her for another second before he opened the letter.
It was short.
Temi had made sure of that.
Nothing about the late-night calls or the weekends that somehow became working days.
Nothing about the 10k that had been missing from her salary every month.
Nothing about the campaigns she had created and later heard referred to as team effort.
Nothing about how many times she had been promised that things would change.
And definitely nothing about the mornings when she had to talk herself into getting out of bed.
The letter didn’t need all that.
It only needed to say she was leaving.
Mr. Biodun finished reading and placed it on the desk.
“I wasn’t expecting this.”
Temi said nothing.
“Can I ask why?”
“I think it’s time for me to move on.”
“Move on to where?”
“I haven’t accepted another job.”
His eyebrows rose.
“You’re leaving without another offer?”
“Yes.”
Mr. Biodun stared at her.
“Temi, there is no job out there.”
“I know.”
“You have less than a year of experience.”
“I know.”
“You’ve built something here.”
Temi almost laughed.
So he knew.
Interesting.
She kept her face straight.
“We’ve invested in you,” he continued. “You’ve had opportunities here that you wouldn’t necessarily get somewhere else.”
Temi nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
“I was actually planning to discuss your compensation again.”
That got her attention.
“When?”
Mr. Biodun paused.
“Soon.”
Temi looked at him.
Soon.
Of course.
There was always a soon.
Salary review soon.
Adjustment soon.
Things will get better soon.
Let’s see how the quarter goes first.
Soon had somehow lasted nine months.
Temi picked up the empty folder.
“I’ve made my decision.”
Mr. Biodun leaned back.
“You’re making a mistake.”
Nine months ago, those words would have entered her chest and stayed there.
Today, they didn’t.
“You’re talented, Temi. I’m not saying you’re not. But you need experience. You need stability. You need people who are willing to give you opportunities.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
Temi looked at him.
“Yes.”
Because that was the thing.
She understood perfectly.
She knew she didn’t have another job.
She knew her savings weren’t impressive.
She knew Seun would still call when he needed money in school.
She knew Lagos had not suddenly become cheaper because she was tired of her job.
She knew all of it.
That was why she had stayed this long.
Mr. Biodun leaned forward.
“Think about this thing very well. There is no job out there.”
Temi looked at him.
That small voice came immediately.
What if he’s right?
She hated that voice.
It had kept her there for months.
What if another job doesn’t come?
What if you regret this?
What if you should just manage?
Temi tightened her fingers around the folder.
Then she reached for the door.
The glass door closed quietly behind her.
Her heart was beating faster than she wanted to admit.
She returned to her desk and sat down.
Nobody looked up.
Nobody knew what had just happened inside that office.
Temi opened her banking app.
The number staring back at her did not exactly inspire confidence.
She locked her phone.
God abeg.
For the first time since printing the resignation letter, she allowed herself to think about what came next.
She had no idea.
And that was terrifying.
Nine Months Earlier
The call came on a Thursday.
Temi was sitting at her mother’s dining table staring at her banking app.
₦47,083.12
She refreshed it.
Same thing.
Her phone rang.
Unknown Lagos number.
Temi watched it for a few seconds.
“Temi,” her mother called from the kitchen. “Your phone dey ring.”
“I know, Mummy.”
“So answer am.”
Temi picked up.
“Hello?”
“Good afternoon. Am I speaking with Temi Adeyemi?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Tolu. I’m calling from Pinnacle Creative Solutions.”
Temi sat up immediately.
Her mother appeared at the kitchen door.
Temi raised one hand.
Mummy, wait.
“We reviewed your application and would like to invite you for an interview on Monday.”
Her heart started beating faster.
“Yes. I’ll be available.”
“Great. I’ll send the details to your email.”
“Okay, thank you.”
The call ended.
Her mother was still standing there.
“Who?”
“Job interview.”
“Thank God!”
“Mummy, interview o. I never get work.”
“Ehn ehn? So I should not thank God again?”
Temi laughed.
“Thank Him. I’m just saying.”
“I have thanked Him already.”
That evening, Temi opened the interview email more times than necessary.
Then she searched Pinnacle Creative Solutions online.
Website.
Instagram.
LinkedIn.
She looked through pictures of the office and checked their clients.
By bedtime, she had already imagined herself working there.
After eight months of applications, rejection emails and people asking So what are you doing now?, even an interview felt like movement.
On Monday, the interview lasted forty-five minutes.
Mr. Biodun asked about content strategy, social media and writing.
Then he gave her a campaign and asked what she thought was wrong with it.
That was when Temi relaxed.
She talked about the audience, the messaging and what she would change.
When she finished, Mr. Biodun closed her CV.
“I like the way you think.”
Temi smiled.
“Thank you.”
“The role is Content Executive. Monday to Friday. There may occasionally be work outside normal hours. Agency life.”
Temi nodded.
“The salary is ₦85,000 monthly.”
85k.
Okay.
Her brain started calculating immediately.
Transport.
Data.
Contribution at home.
Something for Seun.
She could work with 85k.
Mr. Biodun continued talking about growth, exposure and the opportunity to learn across different accounts.
Then he asked, “How soon can you start?”
Temi should have asked more questions.
She should have asked what occasionally meant.
She should have asked about the last person who held the role.
She should probably have asked a few other things too.
But after eight months without a job, she wasn’t thinking like someone evaluating an employer.
She was thinking like someone who had finally been chosen.
“Monday,” she said.
Mr. Biodun smiled.
“Excellent.”
Outside the building, Temi called her mother.
“I got it.”
Her mother screamed.
Temi pulled the phone away.
“Mummy!”
“I told you!”
“You didn’t tell me anything.”
“I said thank God.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“It’s the same thing.”
Temi laughed.
Her phone buzzed a few minutes later.
Seun.
How far?
She replied.
I got the job.
His response came almost immediately.
Ahhhh! Money don land 😂
Temi smiled.
Calm down. I never collect salary.
But e dey come.
She looked at the message.
For the first time in eight months, something was coming.
A salary.
A job.
A chance.
She had prayed for this.
She had waited for it.
And standing outside Pinnacle that afternoon, Temi couldn’t imagine why anybody would willingly walk away from a job they had prayed so hard to get.
Nine months later, she would understand.