Chapter 10:
Kola's fingers trembled slightly as he lifted the worn wrench from the workbench. The oil-stained tool felt heavier than it had yesterday, or the day before. Or perhaps it was simply that everything felt heavy now — the work, the silence, even the air.
He wiped his forehead, already damp from the morning's heat. The sun beat down relentlessly through the small window in the workshop, casting shadows that seemed to stretch too long. Outside, the city hummed with life, but here in the back of the shop, the quiet was suffocating.
The faint hum of traffic outside seemed far away, as if the rest of the world was going on without him. He set down the wrench, wiped his hands on his overalls, and stared at the half-finished motorcycle in front of him. Its polished chrome gleamed faintly under the overhead lights, but even its sleek design felt disconnected — a work in progress, but so far removed from the life he once thought he'd have.
His mind wandered again to Amara. They hadn't spoken much over the last few days. She had tried to call, but he had been too busy. Too tired. He hadn't answered. There was always an excuse.
The truth was, he was afraid. Afraid of what she might say, afraid of what he might hear. Afraid of the growing distance between them, the way her words felt more like distant echoes than the warmth they once held. He had always promised her he wouldn't change, that he wouldn't let the weight of the world crush him, that he wouldn't become a stranger to her. But now, as he stood in the workshop, staring at the scattered tools, it felt as though he was already a different person. The promise seemed so far away now, like a dream he had once believed in but no longer had the energy to chase.
The sound of the door creaking open interrupted his thoughts.
"Hey, Kola. How's it going?" It was Timi, his colleague, walking into the shop with a small grin on his face. His presence was always a reminder that life kept moving, whether Kola was ready for it or not.
Kola forced a smile, wiping his hands on a rag. "Same old. Just trying to get this bike ready for delivery."
Timi nodded, glancing around the room. "You look like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. What's going on?"
Kola hesitated. The words didn't come easily. He had always been the one to keep things inside, to keep the heavy thoughts buried under the surface. But Timi wasn't an idiot. He could tell something was wrong.
"I'm just... tired," Kola said, his voice quieter than he intended. "I've been working non-stop. It feels like there's no end to it."
Timi raised an eyebrow. "You're burning yourself out, man. It's not worth it."
Kola let out a short laugh, though it didn't feel real. "I don't have a choice. I need this."
Timi crossed his arms, his expression turning serious. "I get it. But you're not going to be any good to anyone if you burn out. You've got to take care of yourself, Kola. You can't keep pushing like this forever."
Kola met his friend's gaze, the words sinking in slowly. He knew Timi was right, but it didn't make it any easier to accept. He had always believed that hard work was the answer, that if he just kept going, kept pushing, he would find a way to make it. But now, the promise of that distant goal seemed too far to reach.
"I'll be fine," Kola muttered, though even to his own ears, it sounded like a lie.
Timi didn't argue. Instead, he picked up a wrench from the bench and began to help Kola with the bike. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable, but it was full of unspoken understanding. Timi knew that Kola wasn't fine, but he wasn't going to push him. Sometimes, silence was the only way to truly communicate.
Kola's mind drifted again, though this time it was to Amara's face, her smile, her touch. There had been a time when everything had seemed so simple — the promise of a future together, of happiness. They had dreams once, big dreams. Now, it felt as though that future was slipping through his fingers like sand. And no matter how much he worked, no matter how many hours he spent fixing things in this workshop, it never seemed enough.
As Timi worked beside him, Kola found himself looking at the motorcycle in front of him with a strange detachment. The bike was perfect, every detail of the engine fine-tuned to the point of precision. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't see it as anything more than a distraction. The weight of his life was in the things that weren't fixed — his relationship with Amara, the hollow feeling inside him, the sense of loss that seemed to follow him wherever he went.
Hours passed, and the work was done. The motorcycle was ready for delivery. Kola wiped the sweat from his forehead, but his mind didn't feel any clearer. He turned to Timi, who was checking over the final details of the bike.
"You good?" Timi asked, sensing the shift in Kola's mood.
Kola nodded. "Yeah. Just… tired."
"Take it easy, man," Timi said, clapping him on the back. "Don't let this place wear you down."
Kola smiled faintly, but the words didn't carry the weight they once had. As Timi left, Kola lingered in the workshop for a moment longer. He stood there, staring at the motorcycle, thinking of the life he had built here, the life that had started to fray at the edges.
The sound of his phone ringing broke the silence, but Kola didn't move. He didn't need to look at the caller ID to know who it was. It was Amara again.
He stood still for a moment, his phone vibrating in his hand, the weight of it pressing against him. He stared at the screen, knowing that he had to make a decision. He could answer, hear her voice, try to make things right. Or he could ignore it, keep pretending everything was fine, keep burying his doubts.
The choice was harder than it should have been.
With a sigh, he put the phone back on the counter. It wasn't time yet.
Kola wasn't ready to face the conversation that he knew was waiting for him. Not yet.
But the longer he waited, the heavier the silence grew.