Based on a true story
Chapter 3
The sound of chalk scratching against the blackboard haunted Lila's memory. Equations, essays, and the smell of books—all of it felt like another lifetime.
Now, her reality was filled with diapers, crying, endless laundry, and whispers behind her back.
One evening, while rocking her daughter to sleep, her heart ached with a familiar longing. I should be in school. I should be studying.
When her brothers returned from university during the holidays, their books stacked high on the table, Lila couldn't stop staring at them.
Her eldest brother noticed. "You miss it, don't you?"
Lila swallowed hard. "Every day."
"Then go back," he said simply.
She shook her head, clutching her daughter closer. "With what money? Who will watch her? It's impossible."
Her brother leaned forward. "Nothing is impossible. You just have to want it enough."
But his words felt hollow. She wanted it—oh, how she wanted it desperately. But every coin she earned went straight to milk, soap, and cloth for her daughter. There was never enough left to save.
---
At church, whispers followed her like shadows.
"That's the girl. The one who dropped out."
"She ruined her life. Imagine—so young."
"Her poor mother. She must be so ashamed."
Lila forced her head high, but inside she was crumbling.
One Sunday, after service, her aunt cornered her.
"Lila, you need to be realistic. You have a child now. Forget school. Forget dreams. Your duty is to that baby. Nothing else."
Her throat tightened. She wanted to scream: I didn't choose this! I was forced! But the words refused to come.
Instead, she turned and walked away, her daughter heavy on her back, her aunt's voice echoing in her ears.
---
Late at night, her mother sometimes caught her staring at old notebooks.
"You want to study again, don't you?" she asked quietly.
"Yes," Lila whispered.
Her mother sighed, her hands rough from endless sewing. "If I could, I would send you back. But even with the little your brothers send home, it's not enough. Food, rent, the baby… it all costs."
Lila nodded, though her chest burned. She understood. But understanding didn't stop the ache.
---
One day, she tried to take a step toward her dream.
Carrying her daughter, she went to a nearby school to ask about re-enrollment. The headmaster looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on the baby strapped to her back.
"You?" he scoffed. "You've already failed once. Who will watch your child while you study? And how will you pay the fees?"
Lila's cheeks burned. "I… I'll find a way."
He shook his head. "No, girl. Go home. Be a mother. That's your place now."
Her legs trembled as she left the office. Outside, she sat on a bench, burying her face in her hands. Her daughter stirred on her back, and guilt twisted inside her.
She deserves better. I can't even give her hope.
---
Back home, her brothers tried to encourage her.
"We'll find a way," one insisted.
"You're still young," another reminded her.
But reality was harsh. Tuition fees loomed like a wall too high to climb.
Every small job Lila tried—washing clothes, selling vegetables—barely covered her daughter's needs. Savings? Impossible.
So her dream sat quietly in the corner of her heart, gathering dust.
---
The neighbors didn't make it any easier.
"She's cursed," one woman muttered.
"No man will ever want her," another added.
"She'll end up poor and alone."
Lila pretended not to hear, but each word dug deeper. At times, she almost believed them.
One night, she whispered to her daughter, "Maybe they're right. Maybe I'm not meant for more. But I'll try, for you. Even if I have to crawl."
Her daughter gurgled in her sleep, tiny fists curled. That small sound gave her strength.
---
A turning point came when her brothers sat her down.
"You can't give up," her eldest said firmly. "You'll go back to school, even if it takes time. We'll help."
"But—" Lila started.
"No buts," he interrupted. "You owe it to yourself. And to her." He nodded toward the baby.
For the first time in months, hope flickered. Maybe, just maybe, the dream wasn't dead.
But hope was fragile. Money was scarce. And time was slipping away.
---
One evening, as her daughter played on the mat, Lila stared at the candlelight flickering against the wall.
She whispered to herself, "I'll do it. Somehow, I'll do it. They'll call me names, they'll laugh, but one day… I'll make them eat their words."
The determination in her voice surprised even her.
For once, she didn't feel like a broken girl. She felt like a fighter.