episode 2:Love Without Money
723 Words
May arrived with heavy heat and restless nights.
The morning Elija left Oduke Village, the sky was grey, as if it also felt the weight in his heart. His small bag lay at his feet—two shirts, one pair of trousers, slippers, and a Bible his mother forced into his hand.
“Hold this,” she said, pressing it against his chest. “No matter what happens, remember who you are.”
Elija nodded, unable to speak.
His mother hugged him tightly. “Money is good, my son, but don’t let it change your heart.”
“I promise, Mama,” he whispered.
At the edge of the village, Mirabel stood waiting. She wore a bright yellow top and jeans, her phone in her hand. When she saw Elija, she smiled, but her eyes were already looking beyond him—toward the road that led to the township.
“You will call me every day,” she said.
“I will,” Elija replied. “Every morning and every night.”
She hugged him, then pulled back quickly. “Don’t forget why you’re going.”
“For us,” he said again.
She nodded. “For us.”
As the bus carried him away, Elija watched the village disappear. The farms, the mango tree, the red soil—everything that made him who he was—slowly faded into the distance.
The township was loud, fast, and unforgiving.
Cars honked endlessly. People rushed past without greeting. Tall buildings blocked the sky. Elija felt small, lost, and scared, but he hid it well.
He stayed with a distant friend in a single room where heat refused to leave. Every morning, he went out looking for work. Some days he carried cement. Some days he washed cars. Other days, he returned home with nothing.
At night, his body ached, but his heart ached more.
Mirabel’s calls became shorter.
“Did you get work today?” she asked one evening.
“Yes,” Elija lied.
“Good,” she said. “I need money for my hair this weekend.”
Elija swallowed hard. “I will try.”
“Try?” she repeated. “Elija, other girls don’t beg like this.”
The call ended, and Elija stared at the wall. He had earned only enough to eat that day.
That night, hunger fought asleep inside him.
Back in the village, Mirabel’s life continued—but her patience did not.
She watched her friends post pictures online. New clothes. New phones. Smiling faces beside rich boyfriends. Every scroll felt like a slap.
“Your boyfriend is in town now,” one friend teased. “Soon you’ll be rich.”
Mirabel forced a smile. Deep inside, fear grew. What if Elija failed? What if he returned the same?
That evening, Nora visited her.
“You worry too much,” Nora said gently. “Give him time.”
“I’m tired of time,” Mirabel snapped. “Love without money is suffering.”
Nora sighed. “Love without patience is destruction.”
Mirabel looked away.
Weeks passed.
Elija sent small amounts whenever he could. Each transfer made him proud—and empty. He skipped meals. He wore the same clothes. He ignored his mother’s calls so she wouldn’t hear how tired he was.
One night, after a long day of labor, Elija called Mirabel.
“I miss you,” he said softly.
“I miss the life I want,” she replied.
The words cut deep.
Silence filled the line.
“Elija,” she continued, her voice softer now, “Christmas is coming soon. I don’t want to be ashamed.”
His heart raced. Christmas. December. The season of joy—and pressure.
“I won’t disappoint you,” he said.
After the call, Elija sat outside, watching city lights flicker like false stars. A group of young men laughed nearby, flashing expensive phones.
“You’re suffering too much,” one of them said, noticing Elija. “There are easier ways to make money.”
Elija looked up. “Like what?”
The man smiled, slow and dangerous. “Township ways.”
For the first time since arriving, Elija did not walk away.
Above him, the night sky was silent. Somewhere far away, Christmas waited patiently—bringing both light and darkness with it.
To be continued…
- Writer
