The rain followed me all the way to school.
By the time I reached the classroom, my uniform was damp and my feet were numb from the cold. I slipped into my seat quietly, hoping the teacher wouldn't notice how late I was. Hunger sat heavily in my stomach, twisting slowly, reminding me that warm water was not a real meal.
When the bell rang for break time, laughter filled the air. Students rushed outside, opening lunch boxes filled with rice, bread, and things I only smelled from a distance. I stayed behind, pretending to organize my books. Pretending had become my strongest skill.
"Amina, aren't you coming?" my friend Lila asked, her eyes kind but curious.
"I'm not hungry," I lied.
The lie came easily. Hunger had taught me how to lie without shaking.
watched from the classroom window as others ate. The smell of food drifted in, making my head spin. I lowered my gaze to my notebook, but the words blurred together. Education was supposed to be my escape, yet even learning felt heavy when your body was weak.
In the afternoon, the teacher announced a school trip. Excitement filled the room, but my heart sank. Trips cost money. Money we didn't have.
As I walked home later that day, my thoughts were louder than my footsteps. I wondered how long I could keep pretending. How long before life demanded something from me that I couldn't give.
When I reached home, Mama was sitting on the floor, counting coins in her palm. Her shoulders were slumped, her eyes tired.
She looked up at me and smiled.
That smile again.
In that moment, I made a silent promise to myself. No matter how hard life became, I would find a way to change it. I didn't know how. I didn't know when. But I knew I had to try.
Because if I didn't, hunger would not be the only thing I would lose.