In a busy corner of Abuja, there was a small wooden stall between a tailor’s shop and a barber’s saloon. It had no signboard, no poster  only an old clock that never seemed to tick. Yet, every morning before sunrise, a young woman named Kamsi opened that stall and arranged strange little bottles on her table.

Some were filled with golden dust, others with silvery mist, and a few looked completely empty. When people asked what she sold, she’d smile and say,

> “I sell time.”

At first, everyone laughed. “How can someone sell time?” they teased. “Time is free!”

But slowly, rumors began to spread.

One tired mother claimed she bought a minute of peace from Kamsi  and that night, her baby slept quietly for the first time in months.

A student said he bought an hour of focus and finished his project in one sitting.

Even an old man whispered that after buying a day of youth, he danced again like he was twenty.

People started lining up every morning. Kamsi became known as “The Girl Who Sold Time.”

But she had one rule:

> “You can’t buy more than you’ve given.”

When someone asked what that meant, she simply said, “If you’ve wasted ten years, you can’t buy them back. You can only borrow a little moment. if you promise to use it wisely.”

Then one rainy evening, a young man appeared at her stall,drenched, desperate, and shaking.

“I need time,” he said, voice breaking. “My mother’s in the hospital. I wasted so much of it chasing money. Now I just need one more day to be with her.”

Kamsi looked at him softly, then at the bottles.

“I can’t give you time that’s gone,” she said. “But I can give you clarity.so that the time you have left feels longer.”

She handed him an empty bottle.

He looked confused.

“It’s just air,” he said.

She smiled. “No, it’s a reminder that the moments you still have are already full. if you breathe them.”

The next day, his mother passed away peacefully, with him by her side,holding her hand, whispering everything he never had time to say.

Weeks later, he returned to the stall… but it was gone.

Only the broken clock remained, ticking again for the first time.

Moral:

Time can’t be bought but when we truly value it, every second becomes precious.