Amina stood at the edge of the construction site long after the workers had gone home. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, leaving behind a faint orange glow in the sky. Dust clung to her shoes, to her clothes, to the palms of her hands, but she barely noticed. All she could see was the half-finished structure in front of her — another dream that looked like it was about to collapse.
This was her third attempt at rebuilding her cassava processing unit. The first had failed due to lack of funds. The second had crumbled because of sabotage from local officials who wanted a slice of the business she refused to give. And now the third had been delayed again, this time by an unexplained restriction placed on her land documents. Someone powerful was working against her, and this time she knew exactly who.
Chief Ben Okorie.
He was a man with a wide smile and a heart full of rot. He walked around claiming to support young entrepreneurs, yet behind closed doors, he pulled strings, delayed permits, and made calls that could end lives and businesses. When Amina refused to partner with him under unfair terms, he became her silent enemy.
"You're very stubborn for a woman," his assistant had told her two days earlier at the local council office.
"And you're very comfortable supporting corruption," she had replied before walking out.
Now, that same stubbornness was the only thing still standing.
Her phone vibrated in her hand.
Daniel: "You're still there, aren't you?"
A weak smile crossed her lips. Daniel had become her quiet support system — not loud, not controlling, just present. A teacher by profession and a dreamer by nature, he had been watching her struggle from the sidelines, always ready with kind words when the world felt too heavy.
Amina: "Just thinking."
Daniel: "About quitting?"
She hesitated for a long moment before typing.
Amina: "About why I shouldn't."
A minute later, his message came through.
Daniel: "Then remember this: Fire doesn't die easily. It waits. And when the time is right, it burns brighter than before."
Those words settled into her heart like a warm blanket. For the first time in weeks, she felt something shift inside her. Not hope — but anger. A good kind of anger. The kind that forces you to stand up when your legs want to give in.
She turned around slowly, staring at the metal poles and broken bags of cement.
"This isn't where my story ends," she whispered to herself.
Just then, the sound of footsteps approached behind her. She turned quickly, her heart skipping.
It was Clara.
Clara was her old school friend, now working with a private NGO that supported small women-owned businesses.
"I had to see it for myself," Clara said, looking around. "You really are starting from scratch again."
Amina laughed softly. "Story of my life."
Clara stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Then let it be the last time. My organization just approved a new grant program. It's for women who have faced unjust obstacles. When I saw the requirements, your name was the first thing that came to my mind."
Amina froze. "A grant?"
"Yes. It's not much, but it's enough to finish this project and protect it legally so nobody can touch it again."
Tears welled up in Amina's eyes. Not from sadness this time — but from relief.
For months, she had fought in silence.
Now, help had finally come.
Above them, the first stars appeared in the night sky, small, but stubbornly bright.
And within Amina, that same stubborn light was finally starting to blaze.