AMARA.
1057 Words
The first thing Amara heard that night was her mother saying no.
Not loudly.
That was what frightened her.
Her mother was not shouting. She was standing in the sitting room with both hands pressed against the dining table, speaking in the controlled voice she used when she was trying very hard not to cry.
“No, Charles. I am not changing my mind.”
Amara sat on the floor of her bedroom, listening.
Her homework was open in front of her.
She hadn’t written anything for almost twenty minutes.
“I have changed my mind enough times already,” her mother continued. “This time, I mean it.”
Her father’s voice came from the sitting room.
“You cannot just decide that Amara won’t see me.”
“I didn’t say she wouldn’t see you.”
“You’re sending her away.”
“I’m sending her somewhere safe.”
There was silence.
Amara’s stomach tightened.
She looked toward the door.
“Amara!”
She quickly wiped her eyes.
“Yes, Mummy?”
“Stay in your room.”
Her voice was softer now.
Amara looked down at her hands.
She didn’t understand.
That was the worst part.
She understood that her parents were fighting.
She understood that her mother had been crying more often.
She understood that her father had stopped coming home as much.
But she didn’t understand why every adult conversation suddenly seemed to contain a decision about her.
“I’m not taking her away from you,” her father said.
“You already have.”
Another silence.
Amara hugged her knees.
Then she heard a chair scrape against the floor.
“You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
Her mother’s voice trembled.
“No. I’m finally making it simple.”
Amara couldn’t take it anymore.
She opened her bedroom door.
“Mummy?”
Both adults turned.
Her mother immediately wiped her face.
“Baby, go back inside.”
“Are you sending me away?”
Her father looked at her.
Her mother didn’t answer.
That was enough.
Amara’s eyes filled.
“Where?”
“It’s only for a while.”
“Where?”
Her mother walked toward her.
“Your father will explain.”
“No.”
Amara backed away.
“I don’t want Daddy to explain.”
Her mother stopped.
“I want you.”
The words broke something in the room.
Her mother crossed the distance between them and pulled her into her arms.
Amara cried against her.
“I’ll be good.”
“Oh, baby.”
“I’ll stop fighting with you.”
“This isn’t because of you.”
“I’ll listen.”
“I know.”
“I’ll do everything you say.”
Her mother’s arms tightened around her.
“This isn’t because you did something wrong.”
“Then why?”
Her mother closed her eyes.
Because sometimes adults had no answer that could make sense to a child.
And because sometimes the truth was too complicated to give a child all at once.
“We need some time apart,” she whispered.
Amara pulled away.
“Who?”
“Your father and I.”
“I don’t want you apart.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t.”
Her mother looked at her.
For a moment, Amara thought she might change her mind.
She didn’t.
That night, Amara knelt beside her bed.
She had never been particularly good at praying.
She usually asked God for small things.
Good marks.
A new school bag.
Rain on sports day.
Tonight, she asked for something bigger.
“Please make Mummy change her mind.”
She wiped her cheeks.
“Please.”
She waited.
Nothing.
“Please, God.”
Her voice became smaller.
“I don’t want to go.”
Outside, the house was silent.
Amara closed her eyes.
She didn’t know then that some prayers weren’t answered in the way children expected.
⸻
Years later, Ada would remember Amara as the girl who laughed at everything.
The girl who could turn a boring Mathematics lesson into a private comedy show.
The girl who stole pieces of chicken from Ada’s lunch and then acted offended when Ada complained.
The girl who once looked at a map of Europe and announced with complete confidence:
“One day, I’m going to Germany.”
Ada had laughed.
“Why Germany?”
Amara shrugged.
“It sounds cold.”
“That is the worst reason I’ve ever heard.”
“Then give me a better one.”
Ada had thought about it.
“Because it’s far.”
Amara smiled.
“Good enough.”
Neither of them knew what that promise would eventually mean.
Neither knew how quickly childhood dreams could become adult decisions.
And neither knew that one of them would disappear before they got the chance to make the trip together.
⸻
The following Monday, Amara sat beside Ada beneath the mango tree during lunch.
“You didn’t do the assignment.”
Ada didn’t look up from her book.
“I did.”
“Then why are you looking at mine?”
“Because yours is wrong.”
Amara gasped.
“You’re checking my work and insulting me at the same time?”
“It’s called efficiency.”
Amara laughed.
“You’re going to become very annoying when you grow up.”
“I already am.”
“Yes.”
Ada finally smiled.
“That’s why you like me.”
Amara leaned against her.
“Unfortunately.”
The bell rang.
They stood together.
Neither girl noticed the boy watching them from across the courtyard.
Daniel.
And neither noticed Bianca watching him.
Bianca’s eyes moved from Daniel to Amara.
Then back to Daniel.
She smiled.
But there was nothing friendly about it.
⸻
That evening, Amara’s mother stood over an open suitcase.
Amara stared at it from the doorway.
“Mummy?”
Her mother turned.
“What?”
“Are we really going?”
Her mother swallowed.
“Yes.”
Amara nodded slowly.
Then she looked toward the suitcase.
“Will Daddy come?”
Her mother said nothing.
Amara understood.
She went back to her room.
And for the second time that week, she knelt beside her bed.
This time, she didn’t pray for her mother to change her mind.
She only asked for her father to be okay.
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