The sun had barely climbed above the horizon when the compound began to stir with life.
Amina had not slept.
She remained seated on the mat long after her mother left the room, her thoughts racing in circles that never seemed to end. Zainab had eventually drifted back into an uneasy sleep, her face still damp with tears. But Amina could not close her eyes, not now, not when every second felt like it was slipping away from her.
Three weeks.
The number echoed like a drumbeat in her mind.
Three weeks to disappear. Or be taken.
Outside, the clatter of metal against clay broke the morning stillness as women began their chores. Voices rose and fell in casual conversation, laughter floating through the air as if nothing had changed. As if the world had not shifted beneath her feet.
Amina stood slowly, her legs stiff from sitting too long.
She stepped outside.
The early light painted the village in soft gold, casting long shadows across the dusty ground. Smoke curled lazily from cooking fires, and children ran barefoot between compounds, their laughter sharp and carefree.
It was the same village, the same people. But Amina felt like a stranger in it now.
Her gaze drifted to the far end of the compound where her father usually sat in the mornings, and there he was, seated on a low wooden stool beneath the neem tree, his back straight, his presence commanding even in silence. A calabash of water rested beside him, and a long staff leaned against the wall within reach.
He looked exactly as he always did.
Unshaken, Unaffected.
As though he had not just traded his daughter's life for money.
Amina's chest tightened.
For a brief moment, she considered turning back, pretending she knew nothing, saying nothing, doing nothing.
But that moment passed, because silence would not save her.
She walked toward him. Each step felt heavier than the last, her heartbeat loud in her ears.
He did not look up as she approached. Not until she stopped directly in front of him, only then did his eyes lift.
Dark, steady, unyielding.
"You are awake early," he said. His voice was calm, almost casual. As if this were any other morning.
Amina swallowed. "I could not sleep."
He nodded once, as though that was expected. "Good," he said. "A woman who wakes early learns discipline. It will serve you well in your husband's house."
The words hit like a slap. Amina felt heat rise to her face. "I am not going," she said.
The silence that followed was immediate, heavy.
Her father's expression did not change, but something in his eyes sharpened. "You will lower your voice when you speak to me," he said quietly.
Amina held her ground. "I am not going," she repeated, softer now but no less firm.
A faint breeze stirred the dust between them.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then her father reached for the calabash, took a slow drink, and set it back down with deliberate care.
"When I was your age," he began, "I did not question my father."
Amina's jaw tightened. "And were you happy?" She asked faintly.
His gaze snapped back to her. "Happiness is not a child's concern," he said sharply. "Survival is."
Amina felt her pulse quicken. "We are surviving," she said. "We have always survived."
"Barely," he countered. "You do not see what I see, you do not carry what I carry."
"Then let me help," she said, her voice rising despite herself. "I can work. I can…"
"You will marry," he interrupted. The finality in his tone was suffocating.
Amina took a step closer, her hands trembling now. "He is old," she said. "Old enough to be your father."
"And he is wealthy," her father replied without hesitation. "Wealth that will feed this family, wealth that will protect your sisters, wealth that will give us respect."
"At what cost?" Amina demanded.
"At the cost that must be paid." he firmly replied.
The words were cold. Unmoving.
Amina felt something inside her crack. "I am not a goat to be sold," she said, her voice breaking. "I am your daughter."
"And that is why you will obey me." The response came like iron. Unbending.
Amina stared at him, searching his face for something, anything… anything that resembled the man who had once carried her on his shoulders, who had laughed when she tried to mimic the older women, who had called her his pride.
But that man felt distant now. Buried beneath something harder, something she could not reach.
Behind her, she heard movement, her mother and Zainab watching and listening. The whole house holding its breath.
"Please," Amina said, the word slipping out before she could stop it. She hated how small it sounded. "I am begging you."
For a fraction of a second, just a second, her father hesitated, and in that hesitation, hope flickered. Then it was gone.
"The matter is settled," he said.
Amina's hands fell to her sides, something inside her went still. Not calm, not acceptance, something colder.
"If you force me," she said slowly, "you will lose me."
Her father's expression hardened further. "You speak like a foolish child."
"Maybe," she responded. "But I mean it."
Silence stretched between them again. Long, uncomfortable.
Then her father stood, slowly, deliberately.
He was taller than she remembered. Or maybe she just felt smaller.
"You will not leave this house without permission," he said. "Do you understand?" Amina did not respond.
His voice dropped, quieter now but more dangerous. "Do you understand?"
"…Yes," she said. But the word tasted like a lie.
He held her gaze for a moment longer, as if searching for defiance.
He found it, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned and walked away. The conversation was over, but the war had only just begun.
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
Amina moved through her chores like a shadow, her body present but her mind elsewhere. She fetched water, swept the compound, helped prepare food, but she did not remember doing any of it.
Every thought led to the same place… Run. The idea had taken root, and now it refused to leave.
By midday, the sun burned high in the sky, pressing down on the village with relentless heat. Most people retreated indoors, seeking shade and rest.
Amina used that moment, she slipped into the small storage hut behind the main house. It was dark inside, the air thick with the scent of dried grains and earth. She crouched near an old basket and began to think, truly think, for the first time.
Where would she go? She had never left the village alone. The nearest town was miles away.
Beyond that… the world was unknown, dangerous. But staying was worse.
Her hands moved instinctively, gathering what little she could. A small wrapper, a calabash, a piece of dried bread. It wasn't much, but it was something.
Footsteps approached, Amina froze.
The door creaked open, Zainab slipped inside. "I knew you would be here," she whispered.
Amina exhaled. "You should not be here," she said. "If Baba sees you…"
"I don't care," Zainab cut in. Her eyes fell to the items in Amina's hands. "You are really going."
Amina hesitated, then nodded.
Zainab's eyes filled with tears. "Take me with you."
The words hit hard. Amina shook her head immediately. "No."
"Why not?" Zainab pleaded. "I don't want to stay here. I don't want them to do the same thing to me."
"They won't," Amina said, though she wasn't sure she believed it.
"You don't know that!" Zainab stressed.
"I know," Amina said firmly, taking her sister's hands. "But if we both go, it will be harder. We will be slower and easier to find."
Zainab's lips trembled. "I'm scared."
Amina pulled her into an embrace. "So am I."
They held each other tightly. For a moment, the world outside didn't exist.
"I will come back for you," Amina whispered. "I promise."
Zainab didn't respond, because promises were fragile things, and they both knew it.
That night, the village was quiet, too quiet.
Amina lay on the mat, her eyes open, waiting, listening.
The hours stretched. One by one, the sounds of the compound faded, the murmured conversations, the rustle of movement, the occasional cough.
Until there was nothing, only silence, and her heartbeat.
She sat up slowly. This was it. No turning back.
She glanced at Zainab, who lay curled beside her, pretending to sleep. Their eyes met.
No words were needed. Amina reached for her small bundle, she stood.
Every movement felt loud, even though she made no sound, she stepped toward the door.
Paused, looked back one last time, at her sister, at the only life she had ever known. Then she turned and stepped into the night.
The air was cooler now, the harsh heat of the day replaced by a soft, lingering chill. The moon hung low in the sky, casting pale light over the land.
Amina moved quickly, her bare feet silent against the dusty ground.
Every shadow felt like a threat, every sound made her heart race.
She did not look back, she could not, because if she did… she might stop, and stopping was not an option.
Beyond the compound, the open land stretched wide and uncertain. The road lay ahead, dark, endless, terrifying, free.
Amina took a deep breath, and walked into it.