The little orphen boy

Chapter Two : After the Silence

After his mother’s death, the house no longer felt like a home. Silence filled every corner where her voice once lived. The fire pit stayed cold longer, and the evenings felt heavier. The boy woke each morning hoping it had all been a dream, but the empty space beside his father told the truth again and again.

His father changed after that day. The strong man who once worked the fields with quiet determination now moved like a shadow. Grief bent his back more than years of labor ever had. He spoke less, ate less, and stared often at the door, as if expecting his wife to return. The boy watched him closely, afraid that sorrow might take his father too.

With his mother gone, hunger grew harsher. There was no gentle hand to divide the food, no soft voice to comfort them at night. The rice jar stayed empty, and even maize became rare. The boy felt hunger carve deeper into his body, but he said nothing. He knew his father was suffering more than he showed.

So the boy became older before his time.

Each day, he worked harder than before. He woke before sunrise, fetched water, cleaned the house, and followed his father to the fields. Though his hands were small, they grew rough and cracked like his father’s. When his body trembled with weakness, he remembered his mother’s face and pushed forward.

At night, he lay awake under the dark roof, listening to the sounds of the village. Other children laughed somewhere far away, but he no longer felt like one of them. Childhood had slipped away quietly, just as his mother had. In its place grew responsibility and fear—and a small, burning promise.

Sometimes, memories came like storms. He remembered his mother humming softly while cooking, her tired smile, the way she brushed dirt from his hair. Those memories hurt, but they also gave him strength. He told himself he must live for her, that her sacrifice could not be meaningless.

The villagers noticed the change in the boy. Some looked at him with pity, others with indifference. A few offered scraps of food when they could, but everyone in the village was poor. Kindness was limited by hunger.

One evening, as the sun sank behind the broken fields, the boy stood alone and looked at the land that had taken so much from them. He realized then that the village held only suffering for him. If he stayed, hunger and loss would follow forever.

That night, while his father slept, the boy made a quiet decision. He did not know where he would go or what awaited him beyond the village. But he knew one thing with certainty—he would not let poverty define his life.

With grief in his heart and hope in his eyes, the boy prepared to step into a world that had already been cruel to him. Yet somewhere deep inside, a fragile strength was growing.

And though he was still small, his journey had truly begun.