Nakala walked across a plain shrouded in twilight. A fine mist hovered close to the ground. She didn’t know how she had gotten there.

  No breeze blew, no birds sang. Could only hear her own heartbeat and the rhythm of her breath. She narrowed her eyes, trying to see through the haze.

  Far in the distance, a massive shape appeared on the horizon. At first, she thought it was a mountain, but soon she saw that the enormous lines formed the silhouette of a standing figure — humanoid, but impossibly large. It was so tall it seemed to touch the clouds.

  Then the colossus moved. An arm rose slowly, palm open to the sky. In the next moment, a brilliant light flared from the horizon. Nakala shielded her eyes, blinded by the sudden brightness.

  And then she woke up... with the sun in her face. Another strange dream.

  She pushed off the blanket and stood slowly. Her legs gave out for a second, and she caught herself on the wall as the room spun. She waited for the dizziness to pass, then walked to the clay basin in the corner and splashed cold water on her face. The chill woke her fully.

  From the kitchen came the clatter of pots and the warm scent of sorghum porridge. Her empty stomach growled. Nakala pushed aside the fabric curtain and found her mother standing by the fire, stirring the thick mush in an iron pot. When she noticed her daughter, Nhelete looked up.

  Nakala straightened and forced a smile, though a dull ache still throbbed behind her eyes.

  Nhelete set the spoon down, watching her closely. She noticed the careful steps, the tired face. "How are you feeling?"

  "Better... just a little dizzy."

  Nhelete knew that answer too well. She didn’t press. She just gestured toward the mat.

  "Sit down. I’ll serve you."

  She filled a coconut bowl with steaming porridge and handed it to her daughter. "Eat slowly," she said, drying her hands on her apron.

  As Nakala took slow spoonfuls, Nhelete busied herself with the table, but kept glancing at the girl with quiet concern. When the bowl was empty, Nakala stirred the spoon in the last drops, eyes downcast.

  "Sweetheart..." Nhelete said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You know it’s not your fault, right?"

  Nakala bit her lip and nodded slightly, though she wasn’t convinced.

  "I just... I just feel sad," she murmured. "I don’t want to be a burden."

  Her mother knelt in front of her. "Don’t ever say that. You are our daughter, our joy. The ancestors gave you to us as a gift. We’ll take care of you, always."

  The girl leaned into her mother’s arms and stayed there a few moments. Nhelete knew exactly what was running through her daughter’s mind. She needed something to distract her.

  "Go to the market and buy some flour," she said, taking the empty bowl. "We still have enough for today, but it’s good to be prepared."

  She dried her hands and pulled a small cloth pouch from her skirt. She counted a few shells into her palm and handed them over.

  "Here. Try to get a good price. And double-check your change."

  Nakala nodded, tucking the coins into her tunic. "Yes, Mama."

  She ran her fingers along the doorframe as she stepped outside, feeling the morning’s cool air on her skin. The village was already alive with its morning routines, the scent of baked bread and ripe fruit drifting in the breeze.

  In the central square, the market sounds filled the air: the clink of coins, the chop of knives, the lively voices of sellers calling out to customers.

  A group of women sat in the shade of a tree, chatting about the harvest.

  "If it doesn’t rain by the end of the week, the roots will dry out," one said, wiping dirt off her hands.

  "I have to marry off my daughter, and the boy’s father wants a feast! Like food grows on trees!"

  "Men only think with their stomachs," grumbled another. "And don’t get me started on clothes. I went to look at fabric for my niece’s dress — nearly fainted at the price!"

  "Was it at least good quality?"

  "Good enough to make me want to buy the whole roll!"

  Nakala walked on, stopping at the baker’s stall. The smell of fresh bread lingered in the air. The baker, a broad man with a flour-stained apron, waved a cloth over the golden loaves.

  "Morning, Nakala! The usual?"

  "Not today. I came for some flour."

  "Your mother has perfect timing! It’s fresh!"

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  He began filling a cloth sack. Nakala handed over the coins and took the sack. It was heavier than she expected. The baker tossed some coins on the counter and turned to the next customer.

  Nakala frowned. Something felt off. She looked at the coins, then at the sack, then at the baker.

  She sighed.

  "Uncle Amir?"

  He looked up. "Yes, little one?"

  "I think you gave me the wrong change. It’s three shells short."

  The baker blinked, pretending surprise.

  "WHAT?! Girl, I have so many customers I can’t count anymore! Flour prices up, the sun blazing, my apron filthy... my brain’s gone soft!"

  He sighed dramatically, fanning himself with a rag.

  "Coins confuse me! Sometimes I see three, and it’s five! Sometimes five, but it’s three! What if I’m seeing double? Or half?"

  He leaned toward her, squinting. "Wait... are you really here, or am I seeing things too?"

  Nakala blinked. "I’m here."

  "Ah! Thank the stars! At least I’m not hallucinating customers!"

  With a grand, theatrical sigh, he placed the three missing denars into her hand.

  "Here you go. Now run before I forget what I just did!"

  She nodded and walked away. A sharp smack echoed behind her.

  "OW! What the—?!"

  Another slap.

  "Trying to cheat a girl, Amir?" Nadira crossed her arms.

  The baker clutched his chest in mock offense.

  "CHEAT? ME? Never! Just an honest mistake! The heat, the wheat, the yeast... it scrambles my brain!"

  The women exchanged knowing glances.

  "Imagine if folks thought your math was as bad as your apron," Nadira said.

  "What a shame if no one bought bread from you again," added Rahima.

  Amir straightened. "No need to get extreme!"

  "Oh, no injustice here," said Fadima sweetly. "We’ll just tell everyone how you ‘forget’ the right change with girls and grandmas."

  "Fine, fine!" he grumbled, grabbing some bread.

  "That’s it?" Nadira raised an eyebrow.

  "You’re merciless!" he muttered, handing over two sacks of bread and a handful of pastries.

  "This is robbery disguised as justice!" he huffed, narrowing his eyes. "Can’t even fool one customer without being attacked!"

  He kicked a sack of flour and went back to work.

  As Nakala walked through the market, the bustle of voices and the rhythm of footsteps surrounded her.

  "Nakala, come here!"

  She turned at the call. Under a tree, three older women watched her. One waved.

  She hesitated, then walked over with a polite smile.

  "Good morning, aunties."

  "Always so polite," said Rahima. "Does your mother still send you to the market so often?"

  "Yes."

  "Of course she does! You always get good deals, don’t you? I hear certain vendors make sure you get the best prices."

  Nakala blinked. "Hm?"

  "Didn’t the potter’s apprentice drop a jar right in front of you the other day?"

  "Yes, he was distracted and tripped. It was a shame."

  The women exchanged looks, barely holding back laughter.

  "And Rahima’s nephew from the farm? He was very generous with herbs last week..."

  "He gave me a bunch of mint. Said they were fresh, so I took them."

  "Just for you?" Fadima raised an eyebrow.

  Nakala looked confused. "I think so... doesn’t he do that for everyone?"

  The three women shared another amused glance.

  "And Amir’s son?" Rahima added.

  "What about him?"

  "Didn’t he bring a sack of bread to your house the other day?"

  "Oh, yes. He said it was leftover... he was being kind."

  Fadima blinked slowly. "Leftovers just for you?"

  "Well... maybe no one else wanted them?"

  This time they couldn’t hold back their laughter.

  "Oh, this girl..." Rahima shook her head.

  "We won’t keep you. Your mother must be waiting," said Fadima.

  "Yes, of course," Nakala said, still a bit puzzled by the conversation.

  The three women watched her go. Only when she was out of earshot did Nadira let out a dramatic sigh.

  They shook their heads almost in unison.

  "She’s hopeless."

  "Sweet girl, but not the sharpest," Fadima whispered with a sly grin.

  "With that face, she should be married already," Nadira fanned herself.

  "Her parents will keep her protected until her hair turns white."

  Rahima sighed.

  "And honestly... with her health, I’m surprised she made it to thirteen."

  The others nodded, silently acknowledging what they all knew but rarely said aloud.

  "What a waste," Fadima muttered under her breath.

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  Big hug of this guy,

  AngocheeMan