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*Title: The Mother Who Sold Rain*
*Chapter 4: The Boy Who Offered His Hand*
That night, mother didn't sleep. She sat with her back against the cold hospital wall, staring at my hands in the dark.
I pretended to sleep. But I could feel her eyes on me. Not hungry eyes. Broken eyes.
In the morning, she was gone.
I woke up alone on the pavement, my bag still under my head. Panic grabbed my throat. "Ma!" I called, standing up, looking around.
She was at the tap, washing her face. Both her hands were wrapped now. White cloth, already turning red at the edges.
"You scared me," I said, my voice small.
She didn't look at me. "I went to ask again. About the money."
"And?"
"They said 50,000. Not one taka less. They said come back when you have it."
We sat in silence. People walked past us like we were part of the pavement.
Then I did it. I said the thing I had been thinking about all night.
"Ma. Cut my hand."
She flinched as if I had slapped her. "Don't say that. Never say that again."
"But Ma, your hands... you can't even hold the bottle now. Look."
I held out my hand. Small. Clean. Uncut.
"I can help. Ayan is my brother too."
Tears filled her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. She grabbed my hand, held it tight in both of hers, and pressed her forehead against it.
"You are eight years old," she whispered. "You should be playing. Not bleeding for your brother."
"But you're bleeding for him," I said. "Why can't I?"
She didn't answer. She just held my hand like it was something precious she was afraid to break.
We didn't go to the corner that day. We didn't sell anything. Mother said her hands needed rest. But I knew the truth. She was protecting me. Even if it meant Ayan would die.
Evening came. The hospital lights turned on, yellow and buzzing. A nurse came out for a smoke break. She saw us. Saw mother's wrapped hands. Saw me sitting close to her.
She came over. Not like the others. She crouched down to our level.
"You're the woman selling rain, aren't you?" she asked softly.
Mother tensed. Ready to run.
The nurse smiled. A sad smile. "My mother did something like that. For my sister. Many years ago."
She reached into her pocket and took out money. Not a lot. 2,000 taka.
"I can't do the surgery," she said. "I'm just a nurse. But I can talk to the doctor. Sometimes... sometimes they listen. If the story is true enough."
She looked at mother's hands. Then at my face.
"Come tomorrow morning. 8 o'clock. Don't be late. And..." she hesitated, "don't cut the boy's hand. Please."
She walked away, flicking her cigarette into the drain.
Mother looked at the money in her hand. Then at me. Then at the hospital doors.
13,400 taka. Still not enough.
But for the first time in days, there was something in her eyes that wasn't despair.
It was hope. Dangerous, fragile hope.
She pulled me close. "Tomorrow," she said. "We go in. Together."
And I nodded, not knowing that tomorrow would change everything. Not knowing that the doctor would ask for something we never expected.
Something worse than money.
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*End of Chapter 4*
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