Chapter Six: The Eighth Birthday
230 Words
Chapter Six: The Eighth Birthday
The morning sun rose with promise, but Obba felt the weight of the day before she even left her bed. Today was her eighth birthday—a milestone in Bigalo. At eight, children were expected to show signs of their family’s power. To shape, to command, to belong.
Her siblings had all done so in grand displays, praised and celebrated. Her parents had even hosted village-wide feasts for them. Obba’s celebration was smaller. More cautious. Her parents whispered about keeping it quiet, hoping for a miracle.
Children came with gifts—flowers, stones, hand-carved flutes. But many came with whispers too.
"She still can't do anything."
"Imagine being a Watershaper with no gift."
"Her name says it all."
Obba smiled through it. She played host. She served juice, offered slices of cassava cake, accepted awkward hugs.
Only Abasha stayed close.
He had brought her a small wooden pendant shaped like a water droplet. "You don’t need to show power to have it," he said. "Sometimes it takes time."
Obba hugged him tightly, tears threatening to spill.
When night fell and the guests had gone, she sat alone on the porch.
She sang.
A song soft and slow, filled with longing and questions. The stars above twinkled in tune. Somewhere in the garden, the water in the clay pots shimmered.
But no one saw.
Not yet.
- Writer
