Chapter 8:
Morning came too quickly.
Kola woke before the alarm, his body stiff from the thin mattress and his mind already awake. For a few seconds, he forgot where he was. Then the smell of oil and metal settled into his senses, and reality returned.
The room behind the shop.
He sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes. The bulb was still on, casting a weak yellow light over the bare walls. He switched it off and stretched, feeling a dull ache in his shoulders. This was going to take getting used to.
Outside, the shop was quiet. The city hadn't fully shaken off sleep yet. Kola stepped out, washed his face at the tap behind the building, and stood there for a moment, letting the cold water wake him up properly.
This was his life now.
He opened the shop early, same as the day before. Cleaning. Arranging. Preparing. The routine gave him something to hold on to. When everything else felt uncertain, work was the one thing he could control.
By the time Mr. Chuks arrived, the shop was already in order.
"You're settling in fast," the man said, glancing around.
Kola nodded. "I didn't want to waste time."
Mr. Chuks studied him for a moment, then said nothing more. But there was approval in the silence.
As the day picked up, customers came and went. Some asked for Kola by name now. Others simply watched him work, curious. He felt their eyes on him — measuring, judging, deciding whether he was worth trusting.
Each job mattered.
One mistake could erase the progress he had made.
Around noon, Timi finally spoke.
"You're really serious about this, aren't you?" he asked, not looking at Kola directly.
"I don't have another choice," Kola replied.
Timi scoffed softly. "We'll see how long that lasts."
Kola said nothing. He had learned that not every challenge needed a response. Some only needed endurance.
Later, during a short break, Kola checked his phone. A message from Amara sat unread.
Did you eat?
He stared at the screen longer than necessary before replying.
I will.
It was a small lie, but a familiar one.
The afternoon dragged. By evening, his hands were sore and his back ached, but there was a quiet satisfaction in knowing the day had been productive. When the last customer left and the shop finally closed, Kola leaned against the counter and exhaled deeply.
There was no journey home anymore. No distance between work and rest.
Just a door behind the shop.
Inside the room, he sat on the mattress and counted his earnings for the day. It wasn't much, but it was more than yesterday. Enough to remind him that progress didn't always come loudly. Sometimes it whispered.
He thought of home.
Of the expectations he carried with him when he left. Of the people who believed he would "make it" simply because he had gone to the city. They didn't see this part — the cramped room, the exhaustion, the quiet fear that crept in at night.
His phone buzzed again.
Amara was calling.
"How was today?" she asked.
"Long," Kola said with a faint smile.
"Are you okay?"
He hesitated. "I'm trying to be."
She sighed softly. "I wish I could see you."
"Soon," he replied, though neither of them knew when.
After the call, Kola lay back and stared at the ceiling. The city noise filtered in through the small window — laughter, engines, distant music. Life was happening everywhere, and he was stuck in this small room, chasing a future he couldn't yet see.
Doubt crept in quietly.
What if this wasn't enough?
What if staying cost him more than he could afford?
He turned on his side and closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slowly. Tomorrow would come whether he was ready or not. All he could do was meet it standing.
Before sleep claimed him, one thought settled deep in his chest:
Dreams don't break you all at once.
They wear you down day by day — and watch to see if you still show up.
And tomorrow, Kola intended to show up.