The first rays of sunlight pierced through the holes in the rusty roof, landing on Ethan's face. He blinked awake, his back sore from sleeping on the rough floor. For a moment, he didn't remember where he was then the stench of smoke, sweat, and garbage returned everything to him. Riko was already outside, boiling water in a blackened kettle. The man hummed a broken tune, offbeat but oddly comforting.
Ethan sat up, rubbing his neck. His stomach growled, a cruel reminder that dreams didn't fill bellies. Riko noticed and chuckled softly.
"Morning, young man. You hungry?"
Ethan nodded faintly. "Always."
The old man poured him a cup of thin porridge, steam rising from the cracked enamel mug. "It's not much, but it'll keep you breathing."
Ethan accepted it with both hands. "Thank you."
As the warm liquid slid down his throat, he felt a spark of strength return. Outside, the slum was waking up , women sweeping, men shouting, radios playing gospel songs. Kids ran barefoot through puddles. It was noisy, chaotic, alive.
Riko sat beside him, staring into the smoky horizon. "You going to school today?"
Ethan hesitated. "If I show up, they'll laugh again. I have no shoes, no books."
"Then let them laugh," Riko said. "If your mind's still sharp, that's all that matters. Laughter won't feed them tomorrow."
Ethan smiled faintly. "You sound like a teacher."
The old man laughed. "Nah. Life teaches better than any classroom."
Ethan finished the porridge, stood, and dusted off his worn trousers. "Thanks. I'll go. Maybe I'll just… sit through the morning."
Riko nodded approvingly. "That's the spirit. Remember,when you've got nothing to lose, you've got everything to gain."
With that, Ethan slung his old bag over his shoulder and began the long walk to school. His shoes had holes, his uniform was wrinkled, and his heart was heavy. But his steps didn't falter.
The main road to Eastbridge High buzzed with matatus honking, students chatting, vendors shouting prices for mandazi. Ethan walked silently among them, invisible as always. When he reached the school gate, the guard gave him a skeptical look.
"You again? Thought you dropped out," the man grunted.
"Not yet," Ethan replied.
Inside the compound, laughter erupted the moment he stepped onto the assembly grounds. His uniform's torn pocket flapped in the wind; the sole of his left shoe was barely holding on.
"Look who came back , the charity boy!" one student sneered.
"Maybe he's here to clean the classrooms!" another shouted, earning laughter from the group around Melissa. She stood near the gate, hair neatly tied, holding Kyle's hand. She tried not to look at Ethan, but when their eyes met, she turned away quickly.
Ethan felt the sting but said nothing. He simply walked past them, heading toward the classroom. Inside, he took his seat in the back corner the same seat no one wanted because it was closest to the broken window.
The morning bell rang. Mr. Kimani, the mathematics teacher, entered with his usual scowl. "Open your books to page forty-eight," he commanded.
As the lesson began, Ethan tried to focus. Numbers danced on the page, but hunger blurred his vision. His stomach rumbled again, drawing giggles from the back row.
"Mr. Cole," the teacher said sharply, "perhaps you'd like to share your joke with the class?"
Ethan looked up. "No, sir."
"Then concentrate. If you spent less time daydreaming, maybe your grades would match your mouth."
Laughter erupted. Ethan clenched his fists under the desk. He wanted to shout, to explain he hadn't eaten since last night. But he didn't. He just stared at the chalkboard, forcing himself to stay calm.
Halfway through the lesson, Kyle raised his hand. "Sir, may I ask something?"
"Yes, Kyle?"
"If someone can't afford food, maybe we should start a charity for him. We can call it 'Feed the Genius.'"
The class burst into laughter again. Mr. Kimani frowned but said nothing.
Ethan lowered his head, his jaw tightening. The laughter grew louder, crueler. Even Melissa let out a nervous chuckle, hiding behind her hand.
"Enough!" Mr. Kimani barked finally, but the damage was done. Ethan's pride had been stripped in front of everyone.
When the bell rang for break, he stayed seated, pretending to organize his bag. One by one, students left, still snickering. When the room emptied, he let out a slow breath and whispered, "One day… I'll make you all regret this."
He stood, looked out the cracked window, and saw them outside , Melissa feeding Kyle cake from a lunchbox, their laughter carried by the wind. He turned away before bitterness could drown him.
At lunch, Ethan sat behind the canteen, away from the crowd. He pulled out a paper bag with a single mandazi and half a banana Riko had slipped in that morning. As he ate, a shadow fell over him.
It was Mr. Kamau, the principal. His expression was cold. "Ethan, I've received complaints. Fighting, lateness, lack of fees. I can't keep defending you."
Ethan stood respectfully. "Sir, I'll pay what I owe. Just give me time."
"You've been saying that for months," Kamau said. "Education isn't charity. This school needs discipline."
"I'm not asking for charity," Ethan replied softly. "Just a chance."
The man studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "One week. If you don't clear your balance, you're out."
Ethan nodded. "Thank you, sir."
As the principal walked away, Ethan sank back down. His throat felt tight. One week. He barely made enough to buy food. He couldn't even imagine clearing tuition. But giving up wasn't an option.
He finished the mandazi and stood. There was work to do after school bottles to pick, scraps to sell.
Afternoon classes blurred by. His mind wasn't in the room; it was out there, in the alleys, in the world waiting beyond humiliation. When the final bell rang, he was the first to leave.
Outside the gate, Kyle and his gang were leaning against a car. "Hey, bottle boy!" Kyle shouted. "Need a ride to the dumpsite?" The others laughed.
Ethan ignored him, walking faster.
Kyle stepped in front of him. "Don't walk away when I'm talking to you."
Ethan looked up, eyes steady. "I've got nothing to say."
Kyle smirked. "Maybe you need another lesson." He shoved him. Ethan stumbled but didn't fall.
"Come on, hit me," Kyle taunted. "Show us that street strength."
Students began gathering, phones recording. Ethan's heart pounded. Every instinct screamed to fight back. But he remembered Riko's words — "You've got nothing to lose, everything to gain." Fighting here would only get him expelled.
So he stepped aside, quietly. "You win, Kyle."
Kyle looked confused. "What?"
"You win," Ethan repeated, his voice calm, hollow. "Enjoy it while it lasts."
He turned and walked away. Behind him, Kyle shouted something vulgar, but Ethan didn't respond. The cameras captured it all — the poor boy walking away with quiet dignity. Later, that video would spread through the school like wildfire, titled "Coward or King?" But for now, he just wanted to disappear.
The sky was orange when he reached the dumpsite again. He found Riko sorting bottles, humming the same off-key tune. The old man smiled when he saw him. "Rough day?"
Ethan dropped his bag, sighing. "You could say that."
Riko handed him a sack. "Then let's turn that anger into money."
They worked until the sun dipped behind the city skyline. Each clink of glass, each scrape of metal became a rhythm that steadied Ethan's heart. Sweat rolled down his back, his hands blistered, but the pain felt honest unlike the humiliation at school. This pain, at least, meant progress.
When they finished, Riko poured their day's collection into crates. "Not bad. You'll eat tonight."
Ethan smiled faintly. "That's already better than yesterday."
As they walked home, the streetlights flickered on. The world above the cars, the skyscrapers, the laughter felt like another universe. But deep inside, Ethan's resolve began to harden like steel.
At the corner of a shop, he paused. A poster fluttered against a wall — a university scholarship advertisement. He read the bold letters: "Eastbridge University , We Believe in Second Chances."
He tore it down carefully, folded it, and slipped it into his pocket.
Back in the slum, Riko divided their earnings and handed Ethan a few crumpled notes. "For food," he said.
Ethan hesitated. "Keep it. You need it more."
Riko shook his head. "You're young. You got a future to fight for. Don't let pity bury you."
Ethan accepted it finally. "Thank you. For everything."
That night, after washing his face with cold water, Ethan sat outside under the stars. The sky was clear, the city lights blinking far away like unreachable dreams. He pulled out the scholarship poster, smoothing the wrinkles. His lips moved silently: "Second chances…"
He looked up, eyes fierce with quiet determination. "They'll laugh today. But one day, they'll remember my name."
A soft wind blew through the slum, carrying the faint scent of rain. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed, a baby cried, and life went on messy, brutal, beautiful.
Ethan lay down, clutching the paper to his chest. For the first time in days, he didn't cry. He just breathed slow, steady, alive.
And in that breath, hope began again.