Morning light spills across the fields, painting everything in gold. But to Amina, the day feels heavy before it even begins. As she steps outside her home, she feels it again the weight of eyes. Neighbors glance at her, then quickly look away, as though her very presence carries a curse.
Her mother, Mariam, sits by the fire preparing tea. Lines of worry mark her face, though she tries to hide them.
"Amina," she says softly, without looking up, "you must stay inside more. People talk too much."
Amina lowers her eyes. "Mama, if I hide, will the whispers stop?"
Her mother's hands pause. The silence is louder than words. Finally, Mariam sighs. "I do not know. But it is easier for me if they do not see you."
The words sting like a slap, though Amina knows her mother speaks from fear, not hate. She wants to argue, but instead she swallows her pain.
Later, as she walks to fetch water, the whispers grow bolder.
"Shameless girl," one woman mutters.
Another chuckles, "She lies, and her mother covers for her."
Amina grips the handle of her pot tighter. Each step feels heavier, but she keeps walking.
At the well, Yusuf appears again. His face is troubled, his eyes filled with questions he cannot silence.
"Amina," he begins, his voice low, "I have known you all my life. But I cannot understand this. Tell me… is there something you are hiding?"
Her lips tremble. "If I had an answer, Yusuf, do you think I would suffer like this?"
He looks at her, torn between belief and doubt. His shoulders sink. "I want to stand by you… but the village…" His words trail off.
Amina straightens her back, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. "Then let them talk. I will not bow my head to lies."
She lifts her pot and walks past him, her shadow stretching long in the bright sun. Behind her, Yusuf stands in silence, his heart battling between loyalty and fear.
The eyes of the village follow her every step, heavy as stones. But inside, a small flame begins to burn anger mixed with courage, fragile but alive.