The morning sun filtered through the curtains of Lila's room, painting light stripes across her bedsheet. She had barely slept. Her mind replayed the way Jamal had stood up for her, his voice—usually quiet—bolder than she had ever heard. She felt a strange warmth in her chest, not exactly happiness, but something close, something that made her heartbeat run faster. She sat up slowly, her fingers brushing her cheek where yesterday's tears had dried. Today, she promised herself, she would move forward. No pity for herself. No shame. She would keep studying, keep living, no matter who mocked her.
Downstairs, her mother was sweeping the floor. The sound of the broom scraping gently on the tiles filled the house. "Lila, are you awake?" she asked without looking up. Lila walked into the room, wearing a shy tired smile. "Yes, Mama." Her mother paused, watching her daughter closely, as if she knew something was wrong but didn't want to push yet. "Eat your breakfast. It's exam week. You need strength." She gave a soft pat on Lila's shoulder, careful not to hurt her bruise. Lila sat at the table, forcing herself to eat, even though each bite felt heavy.
As she finished her meal, a knock came at the door. Her mother frowned, eyebrows lifting in surprise. They rarely got morning visitors. She wiped her hands on her dress and walked to open the door. When it swung open, there stood Jamal. His school uniform was neat, his hair combed, and his backpack slung over his shoulder. But what stood out most was the nervous smile pulling at the corner of his lips.
"Good morning, auntie," he greeted politely.
Her mother blinked at him. "Good morning… Jamal, right? You study with Lila?"
"Yes, ma'am." He cleared his throat and then asked, "May I walk with her to school today?"
Lila nearly choked on her juice. She stared, wide-eyed, as though he had asked something unbelievable. Her heart hammered in her chest again, louder this time. Her mother turned toward her, smiling knowingly. "Of course. Let me get her things." She walked quickly into the house, and Lila sank lower in her chair, wishing she could disappear through the floor tiles. Jamal stepped inside a little, looking at her with a confused expression, as if wondering why she looked so stunned.
When her mother returned, she handed Lila her books and whispered softly, "Be careful, and don't come home sad again." Lila looked at her mother, feeling a wave of love and guilt, but said nothing. She followed Jamal outside, and they began walking to school. For several minutes, neither spoke. Their steps crunched on small stones along the road. Finally, Jamal spoke: "Are you feeling better today?" His voice was quiet, but sincere. She nodded. "Yes. Thank you… for yesterday."
He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Don't thank me. I just did what anyone should do." She wanted to disagree. She had known many people who could have spoken up but did not. Instead, she just smiled a little. "You are kind, Jamal. Not everyone is." He looked away, embarrassed, but clearly pleased. The silence returned, but this time it felt natural, calmer.
As they approached the school gate, whispers began spreading immediately. Students stared. Some elbowed each other, pointing. Others murmured, guessing what was going on. The insults didn't come today, but the eyes were heavy—full of gossip. Lila felt her shoulders tense, but Jamal kept walking beside her, his expression unchanged. And for some reason, that simple act made her feel as though she could keep walking too.
They stopped at the entrance. Jamal glanced at her, voice firm, "If anyone says anything, you ignore them. Focus on your exams. Their mouths can't change your future." She looked at him, surprised by how mature his words sounded. She nodded slowly, breathing in strength she didn't know she still had. As they stepped into the building together, even more eyes followed, but this time, Lila didn't look down. She held her head a little higher, her steps a little steadier.
Something in her life had shifted—quietly, but powerfully.
And none of the whispers could undo it.
— To Be Continued —