By Monday, the buzz from Cultural Day had melted into the routine of Lagos life—rush hours, school bells, and the weight of midterm tests. But inside her, something still glowed. The applause. The nods from strangers. Idris's quiet pride in her. It all stayed.
At the Badmus residence, things were less warm.
Mrs. Badmus barely acknowledged her that morning. Derin wore her usual smirk and scrolled endlessly on her phone. But Amina was getting better at folding herself into quiet corners, carrying her joy like a secret flame.
She had barely settled into the kitchen after school when Kunle walked in.
"You're back early," he said, his tone casual as he reached into the fridge.
"I didn't have after-school practice," she replied, wiping down the counter.
A brief silence passed between them. Then, unexpectedly, he said, "You looked… different on Saturday."
She turned slightly, startled. "Different how?"
He shrugged. "Confident. Like you weren't trying to disappear."
She wasn't sure how to respond.
"Anyway," he added, pulling out a bottle of water, "you did good."
"Thank you," she said, quietly surprised.
Their eyes met for a beat, and he gave a small nod before walking out.
---
During lunch break at school, Idris was already waiting under the mango tree. He always saved her a spot.
"I have something for you," he said with a grin.
He handed her a flyer. It was a call for entries—Young Lagos Creatives Design Contest. Open to senior secondary students. First prize: a scholarship worth N150,000 and a three-month mentorship with an elite fashion and design studio.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she read it.
"I don't think I'm ready for something like this," she said.
"You are," he said simply. "You just don't know it yet."
"I've never done a full collection. Or presented in front of strangers."
"I'll help you," he offered. "Whatever you need."
She blinked at him. "Why are you so kind to me?"
He smiled, slower this time. "Because I see something in you. Maybe what you haven't fully seen yet."
Her heart beat faster. That sentence… it stayed with her.
---
That evening, she set up her workspace in her small corner of the room—old sketchbooks, pencils, and a candle flickering near the window. She'd barely gotten halfway through her first concept when there was a knock.
Kunle.
He leaned against the doorway, not stepping inside, just watching her.
"You're drawing?"
She nodded. "For a competition. Idris told me about it."
He walked in quietly, eyes scanning her work. After a pause, he said, "Your shading's better than before."
"You've seen my work before?" she asked, surprised.
"I've passed by," he said, vaguely. "Didn't look bad. This one… is even better."
Amina didn't know what surprised her more—his compliment or the quiet sincerity in it.
"Thanks," she said.
He looked like he was about to say something else, but just nodded and turned back toward the door.
"Kunle?"
He paused.
"Did you ever want to do something creative?"
He chuckled softly. "Me? I was always pushed toward serious things—economics, numbers, business talk. I draw with words, maybe. Not pencils."
She smiled at that. "Still art, in a way."
Their eyes met again. This time, it felt… easier. Less like strangers.
Then he was gone.
---
By the end of the week, she submitted her design sketch and entry form.
Idris grinned when she told him.
"I'm proud of you," he said.
It was the first time anyone other than her mother had ever said that.
---
The announcement came quickly—she had been shortlisted for the final five. Amina was to present her concept to a panel of judges at the showcase the following weekend.
She stood in the principal's office, stunned.
"You'll need to prepare a short speech," the principal added kindly. "Talk about your inspiration. Your journey."
That evening, Mr. Badmus nodded approvingly as he read the email from the school.
"Well done, Amina," he said. "We'll drive you there."
It felt like a small win, but it meant everything.
At dinner, even Derin raised an eyebrow. "So... design star now?"
Amina didn't reply. She was still processing.
Kunle didn't say anything during the meal, but his eyes lingered on her once or twice. She noticed.
---
The day of the showcase arrived. Amina wore a simple blouse and skirt she had adjusted herself, paired with handmade slippers she had dyed the night before. Her fingers shook as she got ready.
"You'll do great," Idris whispered when he met her at the venue.
The panelists included two women from Lagos Creative Collective, a guest judge from Ghana, and a celebrity stylist. Students displayed their sketches and mood boards on large easels, then delivered short speeches.
When it was Amina's turn, she stood behind the podium, knees knocking, breath short.
But then she saw Idris in the crowd.
She began.
"I come from Oyo State. From a home filled with love—and now, with memory. When I lost my parents, I thought I lost the part of me that could imagine beautiful things. But sketches helped me breathe. Designing gave me words when I had none…"
Her voice trembled once, but she kept going. When she finished, there was a long pause. Then applause—warm, genuine, rising.
She didn't win first place. But she came second. N75,000 in prize money. And a mentorship offer.
Amina stood in disbelief, certificate clutched tightly in her hand.
---
Back at home that night, Kunle passed by the living room where she was polishing her award plaque.
He sat down across from her, silent for a minute.
"I heard," he said finally.
She smiled, tired but glowing. "Yeah."
"I mean it when I say I'm happy for you."
She looked at him. "That means a lot. Thank you."
He hesitated before adding, "Don't let anyone convince you that you don't deserve good things. Not even... yourself."
It was unexpected. Soft. Real.
"Do you ever feel that way?" she asked.
He gave a faint smile. "More than you'd think."
The air between them felt different now. Softer edges. Shared silence. Something unnamed.
"Maybe one day," he said, standing, "you'll design something just for yourself. Not to win. Not to prove anything. Just... because you can."
She watched him leave the room and wondered who was Kunle when no one was watching?
---
Later that night, Idris texted her:
"Second place is just the world's way of saying you're too special to fit in a box."
She smiled, the screen lighting her face. Kunle's words echoed behind it.
Maybe Lagos was beginning to feel less like a cage, and more like a challenge. A rough city, yes—but one that respected growth, even when it came quietly.