The next few weeks blurred into a pattern of study sessions, whispered dreams with Ayera, and small acts of defiance against the weight of expectations. But beneath the routine, a slow shift was happening at home.
Anim first noticed it in her father's eyes the way they lingered a little too long on the bills spread across the dining table, the way his shoulders sagged as if carrying an invisible load. Her mother had grown quieter, her hands restless, folding and unfolding the edge of her dupatta. And her brother, Arif, barely came home from his part-time job, returning only to collapse into sleep before rushing out again.
One evening, Anim overheard her parents' voices through the kitchen door.
"I told you, we'll find a way," her father said, but his voice cracked. "Just give me time."
Her mother's reply was softer, almost breaking. "Time won't pay off the loan."
Anim froze in the hallway, her pulse in her ears. Loan? Debt? She pressed her back against the wall, staring at the muted glow of her phone screen. She had known things were tight, but not this.
The next morning, Ayera bounced up to her at school with a flyer. "Guess what! Our school's sending a small group on a three-day field trip to the old fort outside the city. Hiking, history, writing exercises… This is so you."
Anim stared at the flyer. Her name had been on the list of students invited. It was exactly the kind of thing she'd dreamed of: exploring, observing, writing. An adventure. But the image of her father at the dining table wouldn't leave her.
"I don't know," Anim said quietly. "Maybe I shouldn't go."
Ayera frowned. "Why? It's free. Sponsored. You just need your parents' permission."
Anim hesitated. "Things at home are… complicated."
Ayera reached out and squeezed her hand. "Maybe that's exactly why you should go. Sometimes you need to breathe outside the walls."
That evening, Anim sat at the kitchen table with the permission slip in front of her. Her mother was stirring a pot on the stove, her movements distracted. Anim cleared her throat.
"Umma," she began, "there's a school trip next week. Just three days."
Her mother glanced at the paper but didn't pick it up. "Trip? Now? Anim, your exams...."
"It's for study," Anim said quickly. "We'll be writing reports. History."
Her mother sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. For a moment Anim thought she'd refuse outright. But then her mother looked at herreally looked at her and something softened in her eyes.
"You've been working so hard," she murmured. "Maybe… maybe it will be good for you. But you must be careful. And call every evening."
Anim's heart lifted and sank at the same time. "Thank you, Umma."
Later, she heard her mother's low voice on the phone with her father. "She's going. I couldn't say no. She deserves this."
Guilt pricked at Anim's chest. Was she being selfish, leaving when her family was under so much strain?
The day of the trip arrived with a pale dawn sky. Anim's backpack felt heavier than it should have, packed with clothes, notebooks, and a small tin box of snacks her mother insisted she carry. Her brother Arif was at the table gulping tea before work.
"You're off on your big adventure," he said without looking up from his phone. His tone was flat, but Anim heard the edge of weariness in it.
"It's just a school trip," she said softly.
Arif finally met her eyes. "Have fun. Don't worry about us." He gave a tired half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
At the doorway, her mother hugged her tightly, longer than usual. "Enjoy, Anim. And write everything down. You always write. It will help you remember."
Anim swallowed past the lump in her throat. "I will."
As the school bus pulled away from the curb, she pressed her forehead to the cool glass. Her classmates were laughing, music spilling from someone's speaker, but her mind was still at home with her father's debts, her mother's folded hands, her brother's tired smile. The road stretched out ahead like a ribbon, and for the first time in her life she felt the pull of two worlds: the one she was leaving behind and the one she was moving toward.
The bus rattled over potholes as the city thinned into open fields. Ayera slid into the seat beside her. "You're awfully quiet."
Anim managed a small smile. "Just thinking."
"About home?"
Anim nodded. "I feel guilty. They're… they're struggling, and I'm here."
Ayera bumped her shoulder gently. "You're allowed to live, Anim. This isn't running away. This is breathing."
Anim looked out at the passing landscape the mustard fields glowing under the sun, the horizon widening with each kilometer. She felt both lighter and heavier at once, excitement braided tightly with worry.
By the time they reached the fort, the sun was high and the air smelled of dust and wildflowers. The structure rose out of the earth like something out of a storybook, its stone walls weathered but still strong. Anim stepped off the bus and felt the wind tug at her scarf, as if urging her forward.
She opened her notebook and wrote: First step into something new. Heart full of family. Feet on a path of my own.
For a moment she stood there, caught between the past and the present, and then she walked on.