Chapter 2: The Water That Won't Listen.
222 Words
Chapter Two: The Water That Won’t Listen
The village children played by the riverbank, dancing and giggling as water obeyed their every wish. Mon made spirals that wrapped around him like snakes. Tue froze droplets mid-air. Even little Sun, only two years older than Obba, could summon ripples that tickled his toes.
Obba crouched by the edge of the stream, eyes narrowed, palms stretched out. She whispered words her siblings had taught her. Nothing. She hummed a note, thinking maybe water liked music. Still nothing.
Behind her, someone snorted. "She’s trying again," said Thur, arms crossed, smirking. "Maybe the river knows she’s not one of us."
Obba turned away, cheeks burning.
She wandered off into the quiet spaces—her spaces. The old mango grove. The hollow under the singing rocks. Places where no one expected her to be magical. There, she hummed to herself, creating melodies no one taught her. Her voice was soft but pure, each note floating like a leaf on the breeze.
Sometimes she imagined the trees leaned closer to listen.
Abasha sometimes followed her to these quiet places. He didn't speak much, just sat beside her, drawing pictures in the dirt or building small towers of stone. Once, he said, "I think your magic is just hiding. Maybe it's shy like you."
His words gave her hope.
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