Eminia

THE WEIGHT OF THE LAND

Rowan began visiting every morning, always bringing something—fresh bread from the village, spare tools, or old notebooks with her father’s handwriting inside.

Together, they repaired the broken fence.

They organized the barn.

They restored the vegetable patch her mother once adored.

For the first time since the accident, the farm felt alive again.

But healing wasn’t simple.

Some nights, Eminia woke up crying, her breath shaking, her chest tight.

Some mornings, she barely had the strength to rise from bed.

And yet, Rowan never pushed her.

He gave her space when she needed it, conversation when she could handle it, and silence when the grief was too loud.

Slowly, other villagers began checking on her more often too. Mrs. Thabisa brought homemade jam. Old man Jofrey fixed her bicycle for free. Children from the village helped weed the garden.

Eminia began returning to school, though the long walk through dusty paths drained her. Teachers treated her gently at first, then with encouragement.

Everyone seemed to want to help her—but some whispered too.

“She’s too young to run a farm.”

“She should live with relatives.”

“That stranger—Rowan—who knows what he wants?”

Eminia heard every rumor. But she also saw Rowan’s tired boots, his worn hands, the kindness he never asked to be thanked for.

Rumors meant nothing.

Actions meant everything.

One evening, while sorting through her father’s notebooks, Eminia found another letter tucked inside the back cover. It was addressed to both of them—Eminia and Rowan.

To the two people I trust most,

If life is kind, you will read this together. If life is cruel, you will need each other. Rowan, guide her. Eminia, trust him. The land will be heavy, but it will not break you—not if you carry it side by side.

A chill ran down her spine.

“How did he know?” she whispered.

Rowan looked at the letter silently for a long time.

“Because your father was wiser than most people realize,” he finally said. “He saw strength in you long before the world tested it.”

Eminia swallowed hard.

Maybe she could do this.

Maybe she was strong enough.

Maybe the land wouldn’t crush her—not if she didn’t face it alone.

But she didn’t know that something darker was waiting in the next season.

Something her father hadn’t written about.

Something that would test her in ways she couldn’t yet imagine

PART 2

Summer arrived early, bringing heatwaves that cracked the soil and dried the riverbeds. Eminia and Rowan worked tirelessly to keep the crops alive, but the land was thirsty, stubborn, unforgiving.

Then came the letters.

The first one arrived folded under the farmhouse door.

No name.

No signature.

The land isn’t yours. Sell it before trouble finds you.

Eminia froze.

She showed Rowan immediately. He frowned, jaw tightening.

“This isn’t from any villager,” he said. “Someone from outside… someone who knows the value of this land.”

Two days later, another letter came.

The girl can’t hold the farm.

Make way for those who can.

Fear sank its claws into her.

She barely slept.

Every sound in the night felt like footsteps.

Every shadow looked like danger.

Rowan stayed longer each day, assuring her she wasn’t alone, reinforcing the locks, checking the property line. But he couldn’t be there every minute.

And whoever wanted the farm didn’t stop.

The third letter wasn’t paper at all.

It was a burnt mark on the side of the barn—

a warning.

A threat.

Eminia’s heart pounded as she leaned against Rowan, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“Why is this happening?” she whispered.

Rowan looked at the hills beyond the valley, his expression darkening.

“There’s something you don’t know,” he said slowly. “Something your father chose not to tell you until you were older. Something about this land.”

She looked up at him, breath trembling.

“What about the land?”

Rowan hesitated, torn between fear and responsibility.

Then he spoke four words that would change her world again—

“Your father wasn’t wrong.”