Ikeja Computer Village on a weekday morning was like stepping into a fever dream shouts from traders colliding with honking buses, the scent of roasted plantain mixing with engine smoke, and tech jargon thrown like bullets between competing stalls. It was chaos. And somehow, it was where Mike believed the next phase of his life would begin.
He needed to trade his future to survive the present.
"I have to sell my laptop," he said to Danika the night before, his voice flat but steady. "It's the only way I can raise some money and still get a working replacement. I'll also downgrade my phone. Use the extra to get you a signboard and tools for your shop."
Danika had gone silent for a moment, chewing on the words like they were soaked in guilt.
"You don't have to do all that for me," she finally said.
"I'm not doing it for you," he replied. "I'm doing it for us."
Her eyes had softened then. She touched his hand across the bed and whispered, "Then let's do it together."
Now, as the hot sun poured down on Ikeja, Mike stood outside a stall marked "A2 Digital Systems", his laptop bag slung across his chest, Danika beside him in a jean jacket and tight braids, and Lance pacing behind them like a restless hawk.
"This guy dey take forever," Lance muttered. He was also carrying a phone he hoped to sell a clean iPhone XR with a cracked back glass. He needed to move out, too. "If he price this laptop below 80k, I go slap am."
Mike smiled, but his heart thumped.
This wasn't just a machine. It was his work, his hustle, his late-night companion through thousands of lines of code, dozens of rejected proposals, and the few accepted ones that had paid his rent and fed his soul.
Now, he was about to let it go.
The trader finally emerged, pulling the laptop from its bag and turning it like a puzzle piece in his hands.
"Hmm. HP Pavilion… Intel i5… screen dey okay, but e don dey weak. Battery no dey last like that again, abi?"
Mike nodded. "Yes."
The man exhaled. "60k. Final."
Lance hissed. "Ah! Baba, e never reach 8 months wey him buy am"
Mike raised a hand to silence him. He looked at Danika.
She didn't speak, but her eyes hopeful and worried at the same time gave him all the confirmation he needed.
"Done," Mike said.
The trader counted out the money in worn notes, handed it over, and Mike immediately began scanning the nearby stalls for a usable replacement. Eventually, he found a slightly older Lenovo model, basic but clean. 35k. No warranty. No promise. Just hope.
He bought it.
Next was his phone. The iPhone 11 he'd used for gigs, UI mockups, and client Zoom calls. Danika watched as he handed it over and received a smaller, less flashy iPhone XR in return used, scratched, but working.
"I don't even mind," Mike said, tucking the new phone into his back pocket. "The work must continue."
Danika's throat tightened. She pulled him aside, away from the noise.
"You didn't have to do all this. Not all at once."
"I did," he said softly. "You need to win. If you're winning, we're winning."
She kissed his cheek not out of passion, but reverence. Then she took out her own phone.
"I'll sell mine too," she said. "Let me match your sacrifice."
"No," Mike said quickly. "You need it to run your business. Yours is better than mine now. Use it to market your shop, post your styles, reply customers."
She hesitated.
Mike smiled. "Let me feel like your man, Danika. Let me carry it this time."
By mid-afternoon, they were seated at a roadside buka, sharing a plate of amala and gbegiri, sweat pouring down their faces, and laughter escaping their lips despite the weight they were carrying.
Lance joined them with a plastic bag in hand. "I sold mine too. Na Infinix I buy. Omo, na to start hustle afresh o."
"You still moving out?" Mike asked.
"Definitely," Lance replied. "We too many in that house. You flush toilet, person dey brush. You sleep, person dey do video call beside your head."
They all laughed, even though it wasn't really funny.
Danika turned to Mike. "You're brave."
He shook his head. "I'm just tired of waiting for things to change. If I can help push us forward, even by inches… I'll do it."
Later that day, Danika went to pick up the signboard for her shop small but professional, black with gold lettering:
Danika Beauty Room
"Where Confidence Begins"
When she sent Mike a photo, he didn't respond immediately.
Not because he didn't care.
But because he was standing outside a church, staring up at the wooden cross, his mind torn between gratitude and a quiet voice inside him whispering something colder.
"You've given everything, Mike. What will be left of you?"
He shook it off.
Went home.
Opened the new laptop.
Began typing again.
Started over.
Three nights later, Mike lay on a thin mattress, sharing the space with two others in the overcrowded apartment. He was texting Danika:
Mike: How's the salon?
Danika: Getting there. Fixed the chair. Painted one wall today. You made it possible.
Mike: We made it.
Danika: I owe you everything.
Mike: No. We're just getting started.
He paused, then added:
Mike: I just want to build with you. Even if we start with blocks made from sacrifice.
Danika: Then I'll build too. Even if my hands bleed.
He smiled.
But somewhere deep in him, past the hunger and the tiredness, past the pride and the plans, a question stirred like smoke.
What if love alone wasn't enough?
What if giving up everything for someone… left you with nothing for yourself?