The Edge of Tomorrow

Prologue: The Beginning of the End

The night was thick with the scent of rain, though the sky had yet to open. The streets glistened under flickering streetlights, and the air carried the restless hum of a city that never truly slept.

Nia sat on the rooftop of her home, legs folded beneath her, staring at the vastness of the sky. It was one of the few places that gave her space to breathe.

Tonight, though, even the sky felt heavy.

She gripped her journal, fingers tracing the edges of the worn cover. This notebook had been her constant companion, filled with scribbled thoughts, frustrations, and half-formed dreams. A lifeline when the world felt too loud, when expectations threatened to crush her.

She flipped to the last page, where she had written a question weeks ago:

"What do you want, Nia?"

She exhaled sharply.

She still didn’t know the answer.


Life in her family had always been about survival.

Work hard. Make ends meet. Don’t ask for more than what you’ve been given.

Her father had spent years hammering those lessons into her, his voice as unyielding as the calluses on his hands. "The world is not kind to people who dream too much," he had told her once. "Keep your head down and do what you must."

Her mother, Ada, had been a quiet force—a woman who carried the weight of the household on her back but never complained. She had always seemed tired, as if life had demanded too much from her too soon.

And then there was Nia.

The girl who had always wanted more but never knew how to ask for it.

Until now.

Because something inside her was shifting.

She wasn’t sure when it had started—maybe the day she overheard her parents arguing about money again, or the moment she realized she was terrified of waking up ten years from now in the same place, with the same problems.

Maybe it had been building for years.

But tonight, as she sat on that rooftop, she knew one thing for certain.

She couldn’t keep living like this.

She was done waiting for life to change.

She would have to change herself.


The next morning, she made her first move.

It was a small thing—insignificant to anyone else—but monumental to her.

She walked into the local bookstore, a small, cluttered shop tucked between a tailor’s stall and a street vendor selling roasted corn. She had passed it a hundred times before but had never gone inside.

This time, she did.

The owner, Madam Kofo, raised an eyebrow as Nia hesitated by the entrance. She was an older woman, her presence commanding without needing to say much.

“You lost?” Madam Kofo asked.

Nia shook her head. “I… I need a book.”

The woman smirked. “You’re in the right place, then.”

Nia hesitated. “Something about… money. Business, maybe.”

Madam Kofo’s gaze sharpened slightly.

“Ah. You’re one of those children,” she said, but there was no mockery in her tone. Only curiosity.

Nia frowned. “What does that mean?”

Madam Kofo turned, pulling a book from the shelf and handing it to her. “It means you’re tired of the way things are.”

Nia stared at the book in her hands.

The Psychology of Money.

She wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for, but this felt like a start.

She nodded. “How much?”

Madam Kofo studied her, then waved a hand. “First one is free. But if you waste it, I’ll make you pay double next time.”

Nia blinked. “Why?”

“Because knowledge should cost you something,” the woman said simply. “Even if it’s just the effort of taking it seriously.”

Nia nodded slowly. “I won’t waste it.”

Madam Kofo smiled. “Good.”

And just like that, a door cracked open.

One that Nia had no intention of closing.


That night, she opened the book, flipping through its pages long after her parents had gone to bed.

She read about how people stayed trapped in financial cycles because they were never taught anything different. How wealth wasn’t just about making money—it was about understanding it.

She thought about her parents. About their endless struggle. About the life she didn’t want to inherit.

And she made a decision.

She wasn’t just going to wish for change.

She was going to build it.

Even if no one else believed in her.

Even if it meant walking alone.

For the first time in her life, she felt something settle inside her.

A quiet kind of certainty.

It wouldn’t be easy.

But she was ready.



Chapter 1: Cracks in the Foundation

The first thing Nia learned about change was that it didn’t happen overnight.

The second thing she learned?

People hated when you tried to change before they were ready to.


It started small.

She stopped spending money the way she used to. No more impulsive snacks from the corner shop, no more small luxuries that added up over time. She started tracking everything—every naira that came in, every naira that went out.

Her friends noticed first.

“You’re acting weird,” Ife said one afternoon as they sat outside their favorite roadside spot. The scent of puff-puff and suya filled the air, but Nia didn’t order anything.

“I’m just being careful,” Nia replied, flipping through her journal. She had started carrying it everywhere, filling it with notes from the book Madam Kofo gave her, along with her own thoughts.

Ife raised an eyebrow. “Careful with what? You think not buying suya today will make you rich?”

Nia sighed. She had known this was coming.

“It’s not about that,” she said, closing her journal. “I just… I want to be smarter about money. I don’t want to end up struggling my whole life.”

Ife snorted. “Who doesn’t? But abeg, enjoy life small. What’s the point of money if you don’t spend it?”

Nia opened her mouth to argue but stopped herself.

She had realized something in the past few weeks—not everyone wanted to hear the truth.

She had tried explaining what she was learning to her friends, tried telling them that most people stayed broke not because they were lazy, but because they had never been taught how to do anything else.

But most of them just laughed it off.

It was frustrating, but she understood.

Change was uncomfortable. And not everyone was ready for it.


Her mother was next.

At first, Ada had been amused by Nia’s sudden obsession with finance books and budgeting apps.

But when Nia started asking questions about their household expenses, the amusement quickly faded.

“Nia, why are you suddenly acting like an accountant?” Ada asked one evening as they sat at the small dining table.

“Because I need to understand,” Nia said, her voice steady. “We always struggle to make ends meet. I just want to know why.”

Ada exhaled, rubbing her temples. “It’s not that simple.”

“But what if it is?” Nia pushed. “What if we’ve just been doing things the way we were taught, even if there’s a better way?”

Her mother frowned. “And you think reading a few books makes you an expert?”

Nia hesitated. She knew this was a sensitive topic.

“I don’t think I’m an expert,” she said carefully. “I just… I don’t want to live like this forever.”

A tense silence filled the room.

Her mother looked away, her expression unreadable.

“Neither do I,” she admitted.

Nia’s heart pounded. This was the first time her mother had ever acknowledged that she wanted change too.

It was a small crack in the foundation.

And that was all Nia needed.


Her father was a different story.

Unlike her mother, he didn’t entertain her questions at all.

One evening, she tried.

“Papa, do you ever think about retirement?” she asked as he sat on the veranda, drinking his evening tea.

He shot her a look. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Because I read that most people don’t actually retire. They just… work until they can’t anymore. I don’t want that for you.”

Her father scoffed. “Retirement is for rich people.”

Nia clenched her fists. “No, it’s for people who plan.”

Her father shook his head. “You think you know more than me now?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

He sighed, setting his cup down. “Listen, Nia. I’ve been working since I was your age. I’ve done everything—farming, trading, construction. You think if there was some magic way to escape struggle, I wouldn’t have found it by now?”

She swallowed hard. “Maybe you were never taught.”

His jaw tightened. “I was taught to survive.”

Nia wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him that surviving wasn’t enough. That there was more to life than just making it to the next month.

But she knew he wouldn’t listen.

Not yet.

So she nodded slowly, backing down—for now.


That night, she wrote in her journal:

Some people will never change because struggle is all they’ve ever known.

She refused to be one of them.


The First Step

Despite the resistance, Nia didn’t stop learning.

She kept reading, kept studying, kept applying everything she learned.

She started testing small ideas—finding ways to make extra money, cutting costs in creative ways, setting tiny goals for herself.

Then, she had an idea.

A small one at first.

She had always been obsessed with journaling, with writing things down, with making sense of the chaos in her mind.

What if she could sell that?

What if other people needed what she had been creating for herself all these years?

The thought wouldn’t leave her alone.

So she decided to try.

She spent weeks designing a simple guided journal—something that combined self-reflection with financial planning, a tool to help people become aware of their habits and their mindset.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was a start.

And for the first time, Nia felt like she was building something.

Not just for herself.

But for her future.

Chapter 2: The Cost of Change

Nia quickly learned that growth came with a price.

She had thought the hardest part would be convincing herself to take action—to break away from everything she had been taught and carve a different path.

She was wrong.

The hardest part was realizing that not everyone wanted her to change.


At first, her journal project felt like a secret, something fragile and precious that she was scared to speak about out loud.

She worked on it late at night, using her mother’s old laptop, its keys worn from years of use. She researched designs, looked up ways to self-publish, and sketched out journal prompts that combined financial planning with self-reflection.

She wanted people to see what she was seeing—to wake up to the reality that so much of life’s struggles weren’t just fate, but the result of generations of unchallenged habits.

But when she finally told Ife about it, her best friend laughed.

“You want people to pay for a book where they just write their own thoughts?” Ife asked, shaking her head. “Abeg, who has time for that?”

Nia’s stomach twisted, but she forced a smile. “It’s more than that. It helps people track their spending too. It’s a mix of self-awareness and financial planning.”

Ife raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re a money guru now?”

“That’s not what I—”

“I’m just saying, Nia. We’re young. We should be enjoying life, not acting like old people worried about retirement.”

The words stung more than they should have.

Not because they were true, but because they revealed how differently she and Ife now saw the world.

For years, they had been inseparable, navigating adolescence together, sharing dreams about their future.

But now?

Now, Nia felt like she was walking alone.


Her mother noticed the shift before Nia even said anything.

“You’ve been different lately,” Ada said one evening as they cooked dinner. “Always writing. Always thinking.”

Nia hesitated before responding. “I’m working on something.”

Ada glanced at her. “What kind of ‘something’?”

Nia wiped her hands on a towel and turned to face her. “I’m creating a journal. One that helps people understand their money habits and their emotions at the same time.”

Her mother was silent for a long moment. Then she chuckled. “Eh? So, you’re a businesswoman now?”

“I want to be,” Nia said firmly.

Ada’s expression softened. “Nia, I love that you want to do something for yourself. But you do realize how hard business is, right? Especially in this country.”

“I know,” Nia said. “But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.”

Her mother sighed. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”

The words were meant to be caring, but they only made Nia more determined.

She had seen disappointment.

She had lived in it.

She refused to let fear stop her from moving forward.


The First Hurdle

Printing the first batch of journals was harder than Nia expected.

She had saved up a little money from tutoring younger students, but it wasn’t nearly enough to get the journals made the way she wanted.

So she had to compromise.

She found a local printer who could do a basic version—nothing fancy, just simple black-and-white pages stapled together. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real.

Holding the first copy in her hands, she felt something shift inside her.

This wasn’t just an idea anymore.

It was real.

Now, she had to sell it.


The Hardest Sale

Nia had assumed that once she had a physical product, people would be excited to buy it.

She was wrong.

She tried selling to her classmates first. Most of them weren’t interested.

She tried talking about it on social media, but her posts barely got any attention.

Days passed. Then a week. And she hadn’t sold a single copy.

Self-doubt crept in.

Maybe Ife was right.
Maybe her mother was right.
Maybe no one cared about these things the way she did.

She was sitting outside, staring at the stack of unsold journals, when Madam Kofo walked past.

“Why do you look like someone stole your last hope?” the older woman asked.

Nia sighed. “I thought people would want this. But no one does.”

Madam Kofo took one of the journals and flipped through it. “You believe in this?”

“Yes,” Nia said without hesitation.

“Then why do you sound like you’ve already failed?”

Nia looked away.

Madam Kofo smiled. “You’re trying to sell this the wrong way.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re expecting people to want it just because you believe in it. That’s not how business works. You have to show them why they need it.”

Nia frowned. “But how?”

Madam Kofo sat down next to her. “First, stop thinking of this as a book. Think of it as a solution. What problem does this journal solve?”

Nia hesitated. “It helps people see their money habits clearly. It helps them reflect and plan better.”

“Good. Now, who needs that the most?”

Nia thought for a moment.

Then it clicked.

Market women. Traders. Young people trying to manage their first real income.

She had been selling in the wrong place.


A New Approach

The next day, Nia changed her strategy.

Instead of trying to sell to her classmates, she went to the marketplace.

She stood outside a busy corner, where vendors sold everything from vegetables to fabric.

Then, she did something terrifying.

She started talking.

“At the end of the month, do you ever wonder where all your money went?” she called out.

A few people glanced her way.

She held up the journal. “This helps you track your spending. Helps you save without stress. Helps you plan so you don’t struggle every month.”

A woman selling tomatoes eyed her. “You’re saying this small book will stop me from being broke?”

“No,” Nia said honestly. “But it will help you see where your money goes. And when you see clearly, you can make better choices.”

The woman scoffed but didn’t look away.

Then, a young man stepped forward. “How much?”

Nia’s heart raced. “Two thousand naira.”

He nodded. “I’ll take one.”

Just like that, she made her first sale.

And as the journal left her hands, something settled in her chest.

She wasn’t just dreaming anymore.

She was doing.

And she had no plans of stopping.

Chapter 3: Breaking Cycles

Nia’s first sale was a turning point, but it didn’t mean everything suddenly became easy.

If anything, it only made things harder.

The more she sold, the more she realized how much she didn’t know.

She had to figure out pricing, marketing, how to convince skeptical buyers, and how to balance her growing side hustle with school and home responsibilities.

But the biggest challenge?

Realizing that success required more than just hard work—it required strategy, patience, and a willingness to step into the unknown.


The Fear of Growing Too Fast

Within a few weeks, Nia had sold out her first batch of journals.

It was exciting—until she realized she had no idea how to scale up.

She had used all her savings to print the first batch. The profits weren’t enough to print in larger quantities, and she didn’t want to rely on her parents for money.

She could either:

1. Print another small batch and keep selling slowly.


2. Find a way to scale up, even if it meant taking a risk.

The old Nia would have played it safe.

The new Nia?

She was learning that growth required discomfort.

So, she took a deep breath and made a decision.


An Unlikely Investor

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Ife asked as they walked to Madam Kofo’s shop.

“I don’t know,” Nia admitted. “But I have to try.”

Madam Kofo raised an eyebrow when Nia explained why she was there.

“So, you’re asking me to invest in your journals?” the older woman said, amused.

“Yes,” Nia said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I don’t want a handout. I want a loan. I’ll pay you back with interest.”

Madam Kofo leaned back in her chair, studying her. “Why do you think I would take that risk?”

“Because you took a risk on yourself once,” Nia said. “You told me you started your shop with nothing but a few bars of soap and a stubborn mind.”

Madam Kofo chuckled. “You listen well.”

“I learn well,” Nia corrected.

A pause.

Then, to Nia’s shock, Madam Kofo nodded.

“I’ll give you the money. No interest.”

Nia blinked. “Wait, what?”

Madam Kofo smiled. “You remind me of myself. And sometimes, young people just need a chance.”

Nia swallowed the lump in her throat. “I—thank you.”

“But,” Madam Kofo continued, “if you waste this money, don’t ever ask me for anything again.”

Nia straightened. “I won’t waste it.”

She meant it.


The Power of Collaboration

With the loan, Nia was able to print a bigger batch of journals—this time, with better quality.

She also made another important change.

She stopped trying to do everything alone.

She reached out to an artist she followed on Instagram, asking if they could design a better cover.

She partnered with a local stationery shop, convincing them to stock her journals in exchange for a percentage of sales.

She even found a way to promote her work on social media by telling stories instead of just posting sales pitches.

And slowly, things started to shift.

More people started buying.

More people started talking.

And for the first time, Nia realized that this wasn’t just a small hustle anymore.

It was a business.


A Different Kind of Support

One evening, Nia found her mother sitting on the veranda, staring at the sky.

Nia hesitated before joining her.

“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” Ada asked.

Nia nodded. “I am.”

Ada sighed. “I was wrong to doubt you.”

Nia’s heart squeezed. “You weren’t wrong. You were just scared for me.”

Her mother looked at her. “And you’re not scared?”

“I am,” Nia admitted. “But I’m learning that fear and failure aren’t the same thing.”

Ada exhaled. “I wish I had thought like you when I was younger.”

“You still can.”

Her mother smiled, shaking her head. “You sound like someone who has lived before.”

Nia laughed. “Maybe I have.”

They sat in silence for a while.

Then, Ada reached into her pocket and handed Nia a folded piece of paper.

“What’s this?” Nia asked.

“My savings,” Ada said. “It’s not much, but if you ever need it for your business, it’s yours.”

Nia’s throat tightened. “Mama, I—”

“Just promise me one thing,” Ada interrupted.

“What?”

“Don’t let this world change you. Success is good, but peace is better.”

Nia swallowed hard.

“I promise,” she whispered.

Epilogue: The View from Here

Nia stood at the edge of the cliff, looking out at the horizon.

The wind was strong but steady, wrapping around her like an old friend. Below, the town stretched out in every direction—familiar roads, bustling markets, the place she had once felt trapped in.

Now, she saw it differently.

Not as a cage, but as a foundation.

A beginning.

She had changed.

And for the first time, she knew—really knew—that she would never go back to who she was before.


The Journey to Here

It had been two years since she had sold that first journal in the market.

Two years since she had made a choice to step into the unknown, despite her fear.

Now, she was running an actual business.

Not just selling journals, but expanding—offering workshops, digital versions, even partnerships with small businesses to help them understand their finances.

She had made mistakes. She had failed more times than she could count.

But she had also learned.

And that, more than anything, was what made the struggle worth it.


Friendships That Shift and Stay

Not all her relationships had survived the journey.

She and Ife had drifted.

Not out of anger or resentment, but out of growth.

They still spoke occasionally, but their lives had taken different paths, and Nia had come to accept that not everyone was meant to stay forever.

But other relationships had deepened.

Her mother was now her biggest supporter, often slipping small gifts into her bag before she left for meetings—snacks, handwritten notes, little reminders that she wasn’t alone.

Madam Kofo had become something of a mentor, guiding her through the ups and downs of business with sharp wisdom and dry humor.

And along the way, Nia had found new connections—people who understood her vision, who believed in the same things she did.

The more she opened herself to change, the more the right people found her.


Sustainability, But Not Just Financially

Money had been the starting point.

But somewhere along the way, Nia had realized that sustainability wasn’t just about finances.

It was about life.

It was about creating systems that didn’t just survive, but thrived.

About making choices that didn’t just lead to success, but to peace.

She still had big dreams—expanding her business, traveling, finding new ways to help others become financially and emotionally conscious.

But for now, standing on this cliff, she was allowing herself a moment to breathe.

A moment to be here.

To feel the wind.

To know that she had broken the cycle.

To know that she had chosen this life.

And to know—without a doubt—that she would keep choosing it, every day, for as long as she could.