Chapter Six
Kola barely slept.
Not because he wasn't tired — his whole body felt like iron beaten on anvil — but because his mind refused to rest. The printing shop buzzed in his thoughts all night: the machines, the customers, the insults, the small tips, the exhaustion. Yet somewhere inside him was a tiny spark, a quiet whisper saying, "Don't stop."
By morning, he forced himself out of bed. His legs ached, but he stood anyway.
The streets were waking up as he walked to the shop again. Mama Taye was sweeping her front yard, singing an old gospel song. The bakery on the corner already smelled like fresh bread. Hawkers arranged their goods, calling out prices even before the sun settled properly.
Everything looked the same as yesterday — but Kola didn't feel the same.
He felt… different. Sharper. Hungrier.
When he got to the shop, Mr. Chuks wasn't there yet, but Timi was. As usual, Timi leaned on the counter scrolling through his phone.
"You came early," Timi said, raising a brow.
"I want to learn everything," Kola replied simply.
Timi smirked. "No be small thing o."
But he still showed him more. How to refill ink without staining the whole machine. How to take proper passport photos. How to talk to difficult customers politely even when they weren't polite. Little things that mattered.
Around noon, a man walked in — tall, clean, wearing expensive perfume. He placed a USB drive on the table.
"I need posters printed. Five hundred copies," the man said.
Kola blinked. This was the biggest order he had seen since he started.
Timi glanced at Mr. Chuks, who had just walked in, and whispered, "Oga fit give you this one. Try impress am."
But Mr. Chuks didn't say anything to Kola. He simply took the USB and plugged it in, scrolling through the files.
The posters were for a new restaurant opening soon. Bright colors. Catchy font. Clean design.
"This is a rush job," the man added. "I need everything today."
Kola swallowed hard. Today?
Timi looked away as if he didn't want to be involved.
Mr. Chuks exhaled deeply. Then, unexpectedly, he turned to Kola.
"Can you handle this?" he asked.
Kola didn't have time to think—only to choose.
"I can," he said.
The man stared at him like he was a gamble. But Mr. Chuks nodded slowly. "Don't disappoint me."
The machines roared to life.
Ink spread. Papers rolled. Colors merged. And suddenly, the whole shop was moving around Kola's hands.
At some point, he forgot the hunger, the heat, the noise. He lost himself in the work — printing, checking, trimming, packing. He worked like someone fighting for breath.
By evening, the last poster slid out perfectly.
The customer returned, inspected the posters carefully, and nodded once.
"Good job. Fast and clean."
He handed Mr. Chuks the payment. Then surprisingly, he dropped a folded note directly into Kola's hand.
"For your effort," the man said before leaving.
Kola stared at the money — more than his entire weekly pay.
His chest tightened. For a moment, he felt seen.
But the moment didn't end there. As they closed the shop, Mr. Chuks called him aside.
"You didn't run from work," he said calmly. "You didn't make excuses… and you didn't spoil anything."
Kola didn't know what to say.
Mr. Chuks continued, "If you keep this up, you can stay long-term. I don't hire children who only come to waste time, but you… you have something."
Nobody had ever told Kola he had "something" before.
Walking home that evening, for the first time in a long while, he felt his dream wasn't foolish. He felt that maybe — just maybe — he wasn't just struggling. He was building.
And somewhere deep within him… hope stretched, like a tired man finally standing tall again.