The morning sun stretched across the cracked compound like a fragile promise. Zaria stood by the gate, a small knapsack clutched in her hand. It held nothing more than a pencil, a few sheets of paper, and her last ounce of courage. The dust beneath her feet swirled in circles, kicked up by the hesitant steps she took toward the school. It was her sanctuary—at least, it had been. And today, she needed that sanctuary more than ever.
Her mind was weighed down, not just with the pain of betrayal and neglect, but with a sense of urgency. Something was shifting in the air at home. Sarah had grown quiet—not with peace, but with a plotting stillness. There were whispers, subtle commands, and the unsettling smile Sarah gave her when Zaria served her tea the previous night. It was the same smile she wore before each storm.
Zaria had tried to ignore it. She'd forced herself to believe she was safe now—that her stellar PLE results had bought her peace. But peace, she was learning, was not permanent in a house built on hate.
She picked up her pace, her heart pounding with the faint hope she clung to. Teacher Lilian. If anyone could help her make sense of this chaos, it was her. Lilian had been more than a teacher—she had been a light in Zaria's darkest moments, someone who had believed in her when everyone else dismissed her.
Zaria reached the school gate and found it locked, the compound unusually quiet for a weekday morning. She pushed her fingers through the chain links and called out, "Hello! Is anyone there?"
Moments later, the school cleaner, Mr. Ouma, emerged from the building, wiping his hands on a towel. "Zaria? What are you doing here?"
"I came to see Teacher Lilian," she said, forcing a smile. "I need her help... urgently."
Mr. Ouma's face shifted, his smile dimming with sympathy. "You haven't heard?"
Zaria's chest tightened. "Heard what?"
"Teacher Lilian was transferred last week. She's been posted to the North, some remote district. Something about filling a shortage there."
Zaria's knees buckled slightly. "No... But she promised she would stay through the school break. She—she said she'd help me apply for scholarship boarding school..."
Mr. Ouma looked at her with softened eyes. "That's not all. She left the country the day before yesterday. Her mother is undergoing heart surgery in Kenya. It was sudden. She had to travel to support her."
The knapsack dropped from Zaria's hand as her lips trembled. "She's gone?" Her voice broke like shattered glass. "But… she was my only hope."
"I'm sorry, Zaria," Mr. Ouma said quietly. "She left some files in the office, maybe she left something for you—"
But Zaria didn't hear the rest. Her legs gave way, and she crumpled to the ground, the dust rising to meet her tears. She sobbed into her palms, her cries rising like a prayer—raw, broken, and unanswered.
"Why me, God?" she screamed into the open air. "Why me! I thought I had conquered all my miseries! Why would You let her leave me now?"
She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling uncontrollably. It wasn't just Lilian's absence that broke her—it was the weight of everything. The years of enduring cruelty, the struggle to remain hopeful, the nights of reading under moonlight just to chase a dream that now felt like a cruel illusion.
She remembered Sarah's voice from the night before, so sweet it stung. "Enjoy your fame while it lasts, my dear. People forget fast."
Zaria had sensed it. The plot, the resentment behind Sarah's sudden politeness. Lilian had been her safety net. Her ally. And now, with her gone, Zaria felt like she was tumbling into a bottomless pit.
Mr. Ouma knelt beside her, placing a gentle hand on her back. "You're stronger than you know, child. Teacher Lilian believed in you for a reason."
But belief felt like dust in her hands now.
She sat there for what felt like hours, her sobs slowly dying into silence, her eyes puffy and red. The pain wasn't just emotional—it was physical, like her chest was caving in.
Eventually, she stood up slowly, her knees wobbling. "Thank you," she whispered to Mr. Ouma. "Please… if she ever writes, or calls, tell her Zaria came."
"I will. And if you ever need anything… come find me, alright?"
Zaria nodded, though her heart had already closed. She walked away from the school, her steps slow, her world dim. The sun no longer felt warm. The birds no longer sang.
At home, Sarah sat on the veranda shelling groundnuts with Mary and Claire. They all looked up when Zaria entered the compound, her eyes swollen, her steps heavy.
"Well, well," Sarah sneered, "You look like you've seen a ghost. Or did your fairy godmother abandon you?"
Zaria didn't respond. She walked past them, her silence more piercing than any insult. But Sarah wasn't done.
"You see, this is why girls like you need to learn your place," she called out. "All this dreaming and hoping—it's foolishness."
Mary snickered. Claire just shook her head.
Zaria stopped at the doorway, gripping the doorframe tightly. Her nails dug into the wood, and her throat burned with words she couldn't say. She wanted to scream, to curse, to cry again—but she didn't. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
Instead, she walked into her tiny room, sat on her bed, and stared at the wall. The silence there was her only comfort.
Evening fell. The world outside glowed orange and purple, but inside her heart, it was all grey. The void that Lilian's departure left behind was vast. And now, she was forced to reckon with the fact that her greatest battle was still ahead—and she would have to fight it alone.
But as darkness settled in, she lit a small candle and pulled out a notebook. Her hands trembled as she wrote:
"They may try to silence me, to block every path I take. But I am still here. And I will rise. Even if I have to rise in silence."