The Return of Aisha's First Love

eir constant struggle. Medicine was a rarity, and food was even scarcer. What little they had, Aisha reserved for the children, often going to bed with an empty stomach herself. But she couldn't afford self-pity. Not in a place like this. At just seventeen, she bore responsibilities that felt like heavy chains tethered to her every step. She wasn't merely a daughter or an older sister, she was the caretaker, the provider, and the glue that held her family together. She was born in Bogu, a village encircled by rolling hills and endless farmland. Life in Bogu revolved around planting and harvesting, dictated by the rhythm of the seasons. The air carried the earthy scent of damp soil and wood smoke, while birdsong filled the quiet moments. But beneath its idyllic veneer lay a harsh existence, something she knew too well. The rains had been late, leaving the land dry and barren. The millet fields promised little, and each morning she walked the winding path to the village stream, balanci

walk from the stream had left her drained, and all she wanted now was to prepare breakfast for her mother and siblings. But as she mo

item she had discovered in just two weeks. The first was a small calabash filled with charred chick

mixture of fear and anger. She straightened, her eyes darting

eir frightened eyes meeting hers. Forcing a reass

isfaction as she observed her reaction. Her hatred for the young woman burned brighter than

t strength and delicate beauty had bewitched him, stealing the future she believed should have been hers. Even thou

clutching the shawl around her shoulders wi

the bushes, unease crept into her chest. She hadn't screamed or cried as

these malicious acts, but she refused to let fear rule her. Her family depend on

he had expected. "She's stronger than I thought," she m

rd, each step kicking up small clouds of red dust. The market buzzed with activity, traders loudly advertising their goods and customers bargaining intently. "Aisha! Over here!" She turned to see Mariam, her closest friend, waving from a small stall piled high with shea butter. Mariam understood her struggles better than anyone. She, too, bore the weight of a family that depends on her. "How's your mother?" She asked as Aisha approached. "She's no better," Aisha admitted, her voice heavy with exhaustion. "But I'll find a way to get her medicine. I have to." Mariam's eyes softened. "You know I'm here if you need help." Aisha forced a small smile. "Thank you, Mariam. But you've got enough on your plate already." Mariam reached out, gripping her hand tightly. "That doesn't mean I can't help." A lump formed in Aisha's throat, but she swallowed hard, refusing to cry. There was no time for tears, not now. By the time she returned home, the sky had begun its transformation into a canvas of oranges and pinks. Her basket was empty, save for a few precious coins tucked