Chapter Two
Zara sat on a wooden bench outside their small compound, staring at the evening sky. The clouds glowed orange, but she didn't feel any warmth. The weight of unpaid fees pressed down on her chest like a stone. She could almost hear her classmates whispering, almost see their smirks as she walked out of school again. She rubbed her palms together, wishing her life would change.
That was when Amira showed up.
Her best friend breezed into the compound with her hair styled in perfect curls, her nails freshly done, and the scent of expensive perfume trailing behind her. Zara looked up in surprise. "Amira, you look… different."
Amira grinned and twirled, letting her beaded bracelet jingle. "Different? Girl, this is what it means to live." She flopped down next to Zara, her phone in hand. "Look at this."
She shoved the screen toward Zara. Pictures flashed—Amira at a rooftop lounge with glowing city lights behind her, Amira in a new dress sipping from a glittering glass, Amira surrounded by people who looked like they belonged on TV.
Zara swallowed hard. "When… when did you take these?"
"Last night." Amira's voice was dripping with excitement. "You wouldn't believe the party, Z. Champagne, music so loud you feel it in your bones, and people who actually know how to spend money. I felt like a queen."
Zara forced a smile. "Looks fun."
"It's more than fun," Amira said, lowering her voice. "It's survival."
Zara blinked. "Survival?"
Amira leaned closer, eyes gleaming. "Do you think all those shoes, these nails, this lifestyle comes from my parents? Please. My father barely gives me transport money. This is the only way."
Zara's chest tightened. She had guessed, but hearing it confirmed left her dizzy. "You mean… older men?"
Amira smirked, unfazed. "Don't make it sound dirty. These men have money to spend. They want pretty girls on their arms. We give them attention, they give us cash, gifts, whatever we need. That's how the world works, Zara. You can keep killing yourself with school fees and poverty, or you can wake up and enjoy life."
Zara shook her head, her throat dry. "I don't know… it sounds dangerous."
"What's dangerous is being broke." Amira's voice sharpened. "What's dangerous is watching life pass you by while you sell tomatoes with your mother. Do you think your education will save you? Jobs don't exist, and even if they do, you'll earn peanuts. Meanwhile, I wore a dress last night worth more than three months of your school fees."
The words stung. Zara wanted to argue, but she couldn't. She thought of the humiliation in class, her mother's tired hands at the market, her brother's questions. Her mind flashed back to the Instagram posts she scrolled through late at night. Maybe Amira was right.
But her stomach twisted with fear. "Amira, I don't think I can do what you do."
"You don't have to. Just come with me once. See for yourself. These men… they'll worship you. You'll taste freedom for the first time. After that, you can decide. But I promise you, Zara, once you see it, you'll never look back."
The silence stretched between them. The sun had set, and the compound was sinking into shadow. Zara's heartbeat thudded in her ears.
Part of her wanted to stand firm, to reject it outright. But another part—the tired, hungry, desperate part—couldn't stop thinking about what Amira promised. Shoes without holes. A phone without cracks. Dignity. Maybe even respect.
Amira nudged her shoulder playfully. "Say yes, Z. Just once. You'll thank me later."
Zara forced a laugh, but it came out hollow. "I'll… think about it."
Inside, her mind was spinning. She hated herself for even considering it. But for the first time, the temptation was real.
As the night wrapped its cold fingers around her, Zara lay in bed wide awake. She had no answer yet. Only a dangerous question echoing in her head:
What if Amira is right?