The hunger, the cold, the humiliation that followed her like a shadow, but she walked as she always did because there was no other choice. The road felt rougher than usual. Loose stones jabbed at the soles of her feet, sending sharp little stings with every step. The cold wind passed through the thin cloth she wore as a dress, lifting dust that clung to her sweat.
The girl tried to keep a steady pace, breathing hard, leaning forward to balance the weight, but the sack felt heavier than ever. It was as if it had absorbed all the sadness Sadi carried in her chest. As she moved forward, the burden became unbearable. She tried to keep her arms steady, but they trembled without mercy.
Her spine bent like a branch on the verge of snapping, and her knees began to shake. She clenched her teeth, forcing her already tired muscles, murmuring the quiet prayer that had stayed with her since her mother died. Maybe it was that which kept her upright. Or maybe it was just the habit of enduring.
But that day, her body gave in. Zavad’s foot caught on a stone hidden under the dust. There was a dry crack, not of bone, but of strength giving out. She stumbled. First the sack pulled her back. Then the weight threw her forward. The world spun in a blur of dust, air, and panic. She landed on her knees, then on her side as if life itself had pushed her down.
The cold ground welcomed her thin body, and a cloud of dust rose, covering everything around her. For a moment, she lay still, tasting the dry earth in her mouth. She tried to get up, but her arms failed. Every part of her body achd, her shoulder throbbed, her knees burned, and her chest felt too small for the air she was trying to breathe.
The sack of cassava had toppled beside her. Split open, a few roots scattered like silent witnesses of her fall. Zoedi closed her eyes, trying to shield her face from the dust, but couldn’t stop a single tear from slipping out. And then she heard it, a voice rough, aged by time, yet firm like the trunk of an ancient tree.
girl, why do you carry the weight of the world alone? The words came slowly like they were spoken by someone who had been watching for a long time. Sawi opened her eyes, still gasping, and saw only a shadow approaching through the dustfilled mist. The road had been empty just minutes before, but now that figure walked toward her.
Her heart began to race, not out of fear, but from a strange feeling that this wasn’t just any encounter. The voice came again, closer now, bringing with it a wisdom far too old to be a coincidence. It’s hard to stand when the weight isn’t yours to carry. Zedi tried to sit up, but her arm wouldn’t respond. The dust slowly began to settle, revealing the outline of the person drawing near.
An old woman leaning on a crooked staff, dressed in faded cloth, walked with the steadiness of someone who doesn’t need to rush to arrive. Her steps were slow, but her presence filled the entire road. The girl turned her eyes away, ashamed of her own weakness. She didn’t want anyone to see her like that, fallen like discarded trash on the roadside.
But that old woman didn’t seem to be there by chance. There was something in the way she looked at Zawadi. Something quiet, something that didn’t judge. And in that moment, among the swirling dust in her pounding heart, Zawadi realized that this fall wasn’t just a simple stumble. It was the beginning of something she didn’t yet understand, but that would change the course of everything she’d been silently enduring.
The road, once empty and indifferent, now seemed to see her, and the old woman standing there appeared to carry answers. Zawadi didn’t even know she was seeking. Zawadi was still on the ground when she heard the slow shuffling of footsteps approaching. The dust was settling little by little, revealing the full figure of the old woman.
She was small, thin like a dry branch, but her posture carried the weight of someone who had truly lived a long life. The cloth draped over her shoulders was worn, faded by the sun. But there was a quiet care in the way it was tied, as if every fold held a story. Her face, carved by deep wrinkles, held a gaze that neither judged nor questioned too much. It simply saw.
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