Chapter 7: Dreams on Hold.

The sky was deep navy by the time Zaria returned to the backyard with a basin full of dirty plates. The night was quiet except for the occasional chirping of crickets and the low hum of a neighbor's radio playing an old gospel song. The air smelled of wet soil and smoke, clinging to her dress and hair. She bent over the plastic basin, the cold water numbing her fingers as she scrubbed the grease from each plate.

She worked slowly, methodically. It wasn't just about cleaning the dishes—it was the only time she was alone. The kitchen fire had died out, and the dim lantern beside her flickered uncertainly, casting long shadows against the wall. She could still hear faint laughter from inside the house. Mary and Claire were likely lying on the sofa, full and careless, already asking for dessert that didn't exist.

Zaria let out a small sigh, scrubbing the last greasy plate with worn-out steel wool. Her mind drifted to school. She thought about her desk in the back row, the sound of chalk on the blackboard, her teacher's voice reading passages aloud. She thought about Monday. The start of the new term.

Her heart ached with anticipation.

She had planned everything—how she would improve her mathematics scores, how she would sit in the front row for once, how she would borrow a past paper book from the library to prepare for the promotion exam. This term was everything.

Just as she was rinsing the last plate, the back door creaked open behind her. She didn't turn around immediately—she already knew who it was.

Sarah's voice rang out, calm and sharp like a blade.

"The term is beginning on Monday."

Zaria looked up from the soapy water, her hands still dripping. "Yes, Ma."

Sarah folded her arms across her chest, stepping out onto the concrete step that overlooked the backyard. "You can see for yourself there is no money. Your father hasn't sent anything for school fees. Not for food. Not even a coin for charcoal."

Zaria's body tensed.

"I'm saying this term… you'll sit at home," Sarah said, her voice steady. "You'll wait for the next one."

Zaria froze, the plate slipping from her hands and landing with a soft splash in the water. She turned to face her stepmother fully, eyes wide.

"What?" Her voice cracked. "But… Mom, I want to go to school."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Wanting won't change anything. I'm telling you what it is."

Zaria stepped forward, her chest rising with urgency. "But this is the second term—if I miss it, I'll fall behind. This is when we do most of the classwork before third term exams. I need to work hard this term to be promoted to Primary Six!"

"I said no," Sarah snapped. "Don't make me repeat myself."

Zaria's eyes filled with tears, but she kept speaking. "Please, Ma. I promise I'll walk to school every day. I won't ask for anything. I'll carry porridge from home—I'll do my homework after cooking and cleaning. Just let me go."

Sarah took a step closer, her eyes cold. "You think I'm deaf? I said shut up."

Zaria's lips trembled, but she didn't move. Her heart was racing. Her dreams—all of them—were slipping away with each word.

"I'll talk to Teacher Lillian," Zaria begged. "Maybe she can give me a week to pay the fees. Or I can help clean the classroom to reduce the balance. Please—"

But Sarah didn't listen. She turned without another word, walked back to the door, and slammed it behind her. The sound echoed in the silence like thunder.

Zaria stood there, rooted to the ground.

Then she sank to her knees beside the basin, her hands still soaked. The tears came freely now—hot and bitter—falling into the soapy water like tiny raindrops. Her shoulders shook as she tried to muffle her sobs, wiping her face with the back of her wet arm.

It wasn't just about missing school.

It was about what school meant to her.

It was the only place where she didn't feel invisible. The only place where her name was called with kindness, where teachers asked her what she thought, where she could laugh with friends during break and forget—if only for a moment—that her house never loved her.

But now… even that was being taken.

She stayed there for a long time, curled up beside the basin. The lantern beside her flickered again, casting her shadow long and thin against the wall. Her fingers traced circles on the cement floor as her thoughts spiraled.

What would Baba say if he knew?

But her father hadn't called in weeks. The last time, his voice was tired. Distant. He said he'd try to send something soon, but "soon" never seemed to come.

She reached for the clean plates and stacked them silently on the bench. Her body moved on its own, trained by routine, while her mind drifted into the deep hole forming in her chest.

After tidying the basin, she walked slowly to the edge of the backyard and sat down on the wooden stool near the clothesline. The moon had risen fully now, casting a silver glow over the compound. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked and a rooster crowed too early. The night was restless, like her thoughts.

She wiped her eyes with the hem of her dress.

Then she whispered to herself, "There has to be a way."

She had always been strong. She had survived cold mornings, empty plates, and words that cut deeper than knives. She had found ways to borrow pens, stitch old uniforms, and study by candlelight. She had managed before.

She would manage again.

The ache in her chest was heavy, but beneath it burned something steady. A small flicker. Not quite hope—but not defeat either.

She stood up and went back inside the kitchen hut. She grabbed a charcoal pencil from the shelf and returned to her bedroom. Moving quietly, she opened her diary and scribbled:

> They say I won't go to school. They say there's no money. But I have to find a way. Even if I have to study on my own. Even if I have to work for it. I will not let this term disappear. I will not disappear.

She closed the book gently and placed it back under her pillow. Her eyes were swollen, her hands trembling, but her heart had made a decision.

Tomorrow, she would go to the school compound, even if it was just to talk to Teacher Lillian. She had to try.

She couldn't wait for someone to save her.

She would have to start saving herself.