A Risky Escape by Horse Cart

I walked out of the cool drink shop, aimless and undecided. My mind raced, unsure of where to go or what to do. In stark contrast, Ma Aye Phyu was calm, composed, and steady. Once she had made up her mind, she exuded a tranquility I could only envy.

Her silent assurance seemed to say, Wherever you go, I'll follow. Whatever you decide, I'll trust.

Inside my head, however, it was chaos. Ideas and plans collided like programs running haywire on an overloaded computer. There had been no planning, no foresight—just impulsive decisions leading to impulsive actions. I had spent my last coins on two glasses of lime juice at the shop, leaving only a single note in my pocket.

What now? Where could I possibly go?

Suddenly, a memory surfaced, clear and sharp as a flash of lightning.

"Ah, of course… Ko Thaung Myint!"

Ko Thaung Myint—a horse cart driver from Sakaa-In Village, living atop the hills of Tant Chaung town. He'd studied until the ninth grade, just like me—a bookworm and a poetry lover. Despite being five years my senior, we had bonded over late-night debates about literature and endless discussions on poetry. More than a mentor, he had become a true friend.

"Alright, Ma Aye Phyu. Let's head to Ko Thaung Myint's house. He's probably at home around this time—too sunny for him to be out with the cart."

Without a word, Ma Aye Phyu fell into step behind me, her quiet trust filling the silence between us.

The Meeting

When we arrived at Ko Thaung Myint's house, my mood lifted at the sight of his horse and cart parked outside. Relief surged through me.

"Hey, Ko Thaung Myint!" I called out as I approached the front of the house.

Moments later, he emerged from the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered, his weathered face splitting into a grin. His sharp eyes scanned me before settling on Ma Aye Phyu, who had paused a few paces behind, her presence almost ethereal.

His eyes widened in exaggerated surprise. "Well, well, Maung Soe! Who's this fine lady? Is she your girlfriend or what?" he whispered conspiratorially, leaning close with a mischievous smirk.

"Cool it, old man," I muttered, glaring at him. "If you keep talking like that, you'll find yourself skewered with a knife."

We all laughed, the tension breaking. As we sat down, I explained our situation to him—every twist and turn of the last few days. He listened attentively, nodding as his face broke into a wide smile every now and then.

Ko Thaung Myint might tease, but beneath the humor, I knew he was someone I could trust. As he leaned back, his sharp eyes darted between me and Ma Aye Phyu, his smile lingering as though he knew something I didn't.

"Alright then," he said at last, his voice warm with familiarity. "Let's figure this out together."

"Alright… don't worry. I'll get the cart ready," Ko Thaung Myint said, his voice calm yet brisk. "You two wait inside the house for now."

"I don't think we should go inside," I replied, glancing nervously at Ma Aye Phyu. "She might get the wrong idea."

Ko Thaung Myint laughed heartily, slapping his knee. "You? Worrying about what someone thinks? That's a first! Alright, if you're so worried, sit outside on the bench and wait."

Without another word, he got to work, bustling around the cart with impressive speed. His energy was infectious, as if he found joy in the simple act of helping us. Within moments, he had the horse cart ready to go.

"Hop on," he said, gesturing to the cart.

Ma Aye Phyu and I climbed aboard, taking seats opposite each other on the modest wooden bench. The creaking of the cart felt deafening in the tense silence that followed. Ko Thaung Myint cracked the reins, and the cart jolted forward.

He had agreed to take us to my uncle's place in Pyukan Village, far from the prying eyes of the town. As the cart rolled through the town streets, both Ma Aye Phyu and I instinctively lowered our heads, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Anxiety clawed at my chest. What if someone recognized us? What if they stopped us?

Sensing our unease, Ko Thaung Myint skillfully maneuvered the cart away from the main roads, opting for narrower, quieter paths. The cart rattled and shook over the uneven terrain, the wooden wheels clattering loudly. He pushed the horse to a faster pace, urging it on with sharp commands, though the bumpy roads slowed our progress.

The rhythmic clop of hooves echoed alongside my pounding heartbeat. Every sound, every shadow on the road seemed like a potential threat. I desperately wanted to be out of the town, far away from watchful eyes and wagging tongues.

Finally, we reached the main road leading out of town. But just as I began to relax, another cart approached, its driver a familiar face to Ko Thaung Myint.

"Hey there, Thaung Myint! Where're you headed?" the other driver called out cheerfully, his voice cutting through the tense air like a blade.

"Just over there," Ko Thaung Myint replied curtly, his tone unusually clipped. He flicked the reins sharply, urging the horse forward.

"Ha! Ha! Don't forget to haggle for a good price!" the man joked, clearly oblivious to our situation. With a sly grin, he drove off, chuckling to himself.

"Damn big-mouth," Ko Thaung Myint muttered under his breath, glaring after the other driver. "That fool always has something to say."

As the town began to thin out, so did the people. The roads grew quieter, and finally, the oppressive weight in my chest began to lift. The horse seemed to sense the shift, its steps growing livelier and more confident.

And then, we were free.

The town disappeared behind us, replaced by open fields and the distant horizon. Ko Thaung Myint turned to glance at us, his usual grin back on his face.

"See? Smooth as silk," he said, cracking the reins again.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, grateful for his steady presence.