The evening started like any other in the little house with the leaking roof—quiet, cold, and heavy with an uneasiness Amina had learned to live with. Rain tapped at the patched iron sheets overhead, dripping into the pots and bowls she and her grandmother had arranged to catch the water. It sounded like tiny footsteps pacing restlessly in the dark. Her grandmother, Mama Hauwa, sat close to the small kerosene lamp, rubbing her knees the way she always did when the cold tried to bully her bones.
Amina wiped her schoolbook dry where a drop of water had landed, then shifted closer to the lamp. She had a mathematics test the next day, one she desperately needed to ace if she hoped to qualify for the scholarship her teacher mentioned. It felt like the only path left for her. Home was a battlefield, money was always missing, and her stepmother never stopped reminding her that she was "lucky they even allowed her to stay."
Still, whenever she studied, she felt a little safer—as if numbers made more sense than people.
But that night, for the first time in weeks, she struggled to concentrate. Her heart felt unsettled. Every time the wind moaned or a branch scraped against the wall, she jumped a little.
Her grandmother noticed.
"You're quiet tonight," she said softly. "Too quiet. What's bothering you?"
Amina didn't know how to explain it. It was like the air itself was warning her.
"I don't know, Mama. I just feel… strange."
Her grandmother sighed and pulled her close. "When your spirit talks, listen. But don't fear, my child. God does not sleep."
Amina nodded, though fear still pressed against her ribs.
She returned to her notes, but the sound came again—a faint scrape, then a soft metallic click. It wasn't like the wind this time. It was sharper, deliberate.
Her grandmother sat upright.
"That is not rain."
Another click.
Then footsteps.
Slow. Heavy. On gravel.
The lamp flickered as if it, too, felt the dread.
"Get behind me," her grandmother whispered.
Before Amina could move, the wooden door shuddered. Once. Twice.
Then—CRACK.
The door burst open, slamming into the wall. Three men stormed in, faces hidden behind scarves, eyes cold and hungry like wolves that had smelled weakness from afar. One held a long rusted gun, another gripped a machete, and the third carried a sack like he already knew what he wanted to steal.
Amina froze. Her grandmother instinctively shielded her.
"Please," she begged, raising her hands. "We have nothing here. Nothing."
The man with the gun stepped forward.
"We know. But the girl—" His eyes shifted to Amina. "We hear she's the smart one. You think someone like that should live in this kind of house? You think your stepmother will miss you if something happens?"
Amina's heart stopped.
They knew her.
They weren't just robbers.
Someone sent them.
Her stepmother.
It had to be.
The machete man walked toward her grandmother. "Old woman, don't waste our time."
But even at her age, her grandmother stood with a courage Amina had never seen before. "If you want the girl, you go through me first."
The man laughed. "Move."
"I said no."
He raised the machete—
Amina screamed—
And in that chaotic second, the lamp toppled, plunging the room into darkness.
Shadows moved. Feet shuffled. Someone cursed, another stumbled over a pot of rainwater. A shot fired into the roof, tearing a hole that let cold rain pour directly inside. Amina grabbed her grandmother's hand and pulled her toward the back exit—the tiny wooden door they barely used.
"Run!" her grandmother whispered.
Amina kicked open the back door and dashed into the rain-soaked night. Her grandmother tried to follow, but one of the men grabbed her wrapper. She cried out as he pulled her back.
"No!" Amina screamed, turning around.
The gunman lifted the barrel toward her—
"Go!" her grandmother shouted. "GO!"
But Amina hesitated. She couldn't leave her.
The man fired.
The bullet hit the mud wall beside her, spraying dirt.
Her grandmother used the moment to shove the attacker away and slammed the door shut. She turned the latch from inside.
"Amina—run to the neighbors! Don't look back!"
The men started banging on the back door.
It wouldn't hold for long.
Tears blurred Amina's vision as she sprinted through the rain. The ground was slippery, the air cold and sharp, but she ran until her legs felt like fire. She reached the nearest compound and banged on the gate until someone woke and let her inside.
Within minutes, the whole neighborhood gathered outside her house—shouting, chasing, throwing stones, banging pots to scare the robbers. The men eventually fled through the bush path once they realized the community was awake.
But the damage was done.
Amina found her grandmother sitting on the floor, trembling, holding her side where she had been hit with the machete's handle. Blood stained her wrapper. The leaking roof dripped onto her gray hair.
Amina knelt beside her, shaking uncontrollably.
"I'm so sorry, Mama… I shouldn't have left you…"
Her grandmother cupped her cheek.
"My child, you lived. That is all that matters."
But Amina saw the truth in her eyes—her grandmother was in pain, real pain. And the house around them looked even more broken than before. The door hung loosely, their few possessions scattered and wet, clothes trampled, schoolbooks soaked.
Neighbors helped, but Amina felt something crack inside her.
Something deep.
Something that would never fully heal.
Later that night, when everyone left and silence settled once more, Amina sat beside her grandmother's mat and held her hand.
"Why do they want to hurt me so much?" she whispered.
Her grandmother looked at her with tired but steady eyes.
"Because your light scares people who live in darkness. They know you will rise one day. They know you will become who God has destined you to be. People like that will do anything to break you before you grow."
Amina bowed her head as tears rolled silently.
It didn't feel fair.
Nothing in her life felt fair.
But as she watched her grandmother slowly fall asleep despite the pain, something hardened in her chest—not anger, but resolve.
She would endure.
She would survive.
She would prove that no amount of cruelty could erase the future she was meant to have
That night changed her.
That night carved strength into her bones.
That night taught her that she couldn't wait for anyone to save her—not her father, not the world, not fate.
She would fight for herself.
She didn't know it yet, but the road to the CEO she would one day become started right there—in a leaking house, in the middle of a storm, with fear at her back and determination rising quietly inside her like dawn.
And though she lay awake until morning, trembling, she didn't break.
Not that night.
Not ever again.
Because the people trying to destroy her had just done the opposite.
They had awakened her.