Chapter Four - Episode One: Starting Again With Nothing
882 Words
The next morning, she woke up earlier than usual.
For a few seconds, she forgot.
She reached beside her for her phone.
Nothing.
Then she remembered.
The bag.
The road.
The shock.
She sat up slowly.
Lagos was already awake.
Through the window, she could hear the familiar sounds of buses, motorcycles, people calling out to one another, and the constant movement of a city that never seemed to wait for anyone.
She looked at the Bible beside her.
At least that was still there.
She picked it up and held it for a moment.
Then she whispered, “God, I don’t know what I’m doing.”
It wasn’t a long prayer.
She didn’t have the words for one.
“Please just help me.”
That was all.
She got ready.
There was no phone to check.
No messages.
No social media.
No missed calls.
For the first time since she arrived in Lagos, she had no way of knowing what was happening outside the room unless she physically went out to find out.
And somehow, that made the world feel even bigger.
Her friend noticed.
“You’ll need money for transport.”
She shook her head.
“I’ll walk if I have to.”
Her friend reached into her pocket and brought out some money.
“Take this.”
She stared at it.
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“But—”
“Take it. You need it.”
She hesitated before accepting it.
“Thank you.”
Her friend smiled.
“You’ll pay me back when you start working.”
She nodded.
“I will.”
But as she stepped outside, she realized something she hadn’t expected.
Starting again wasn’t as embarrassing as she thought.
She had always believed strong people were people who could handle everything themselves.
People who didn’t need to ask.
People who didn’t need help.
But standing there with the small amount of money her friend had given her, she began to understand that sometimes strength looked different.
Sometimes strength was admitting, I need help.
She found a place where she could print her CV again.
The man behind the counter looked at the document and asked, “How many copies?”
“Three.”
He printed them.
She collected the papers and looked at them.
Three fresh copies.
Three more chances.
She carefully folded them and placed them inside a clear folder.
This time, she wasn’t carrying them in a bag.
She held the folder close to her.
She smiled.
“Back to work,” she whispered.
She spent the rest of the morning walking from one place to another.
A shop said they weren’t hiring.
Another asked her to leave her number.
She almost laughed.
Her number was gone.
At another place, the woman simply shook her head.
“No vacancy.”
By afternoon, her feet hurt.
She sat down at a roadside stall and drank a sachet of water.
She watched people passing by.
Everyone seemed to have somewhere to go.
Everyone seemed to know what they were doing.
She wondered if they ever felt lost too.
Maybe they did.
Maybe everybody was simply better at hiding it.
She stood up again.
There was still daylight.
She could still try.
On her way back, she boarded a bus.
When it was time to pay, she reached into her pocket.
Her money was almost finished.
She counted it twice.
Not enough.
She looked at the conductor.
“I’ll pay tomorrow,” she said quietly.
The conductor stared at her.
For a moment, she expected him to shout.
Instead, he waved his hand.
“Just sit down.”
She blinked.
“Thank you.”
She sat near the window.
The city passed by.
She watched Lagos through the glass.
Yesterday, she had felt like Lagos was against her.
Today, she wasn’t so sure.
Maybe the city wasn’t kind.
But maybe it wasn’t completely cruel either.
Sometimes help came from the people you expected.
Sometimes it came from strangers.
Sometimes it came in the form of a bus conductor allowing you to ride home when you couldn’t pay.
And sometimes it came through a simple sentence.
You have yourself.
When she got home, she found an old notebook.
She opened to a blank page.
For a long time, she didn’t write anything.
Then she picked up her pen.
Slowly, she wrote:
She lost her bag.
She paused.
Then added:
She did not lose herself.
She stared at the sentence.
It wasn’t a motivational quote.
It wasn’t something she had read online.
It was simply what she needed to believe.
She closed the notebook.
Then she opened her Bible.
She didn’t read for long.
She just sat there with it open on her lap.
For the first time since arriving in Lagos, she wasn’t asking God to make everything easy.
She was simply asking Him to help her keep going.
And somehow, that felt different.
That night, she slept without knowing what tomorrow would bring.
But she wasn’t as afraid of tomorrow anymore.
She had learned something important.
Starting over didn’t mean she had failed.
Sometimes, starting over simply meant life had given her another chance to build differently.
And maybe nothing wasn’t the end.
Maybe it was simply where the next chapter began.
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