Chapter 1: The Girl Who Couldn't Dream (Part 4)
698 Words
My heart stopped.
For a second, I couldn't breathe.
The football rolled away from my feet, but I didn't even notice.
All I could see was my father.
His eyes were locked on me.
Not the kind, gentle eyes a child hopes to see.
These were hard.
Cold.
Filled with disappointment and rage.
"Raina."
He said my name again, louder this time.
Every person nearby turned to look at me.
I slowly removed the cap from my head.
My braided hair fell over my shoulders.
A murmur spread through the crowd.
"That's a girl..."
"A girl?"
"What is she doing here?"
The coach looked from me to my father, confused.
"You know this child?"
Father walked toward us without answering him.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
I wanted to run.
But my legs refused to move.
When he reached me, he grabbed my arm so tightly that I cried out.
"I told you," he said through clenched teeth, "to stay at home."
"I'm sorry, Baba..."
"Sorry?"
His voice rose.
"You dressed like a boy?"
"I'm sorry..."
"You came to watch football?"
I lowered my head.
"I didn't just watch..."
His grip tightened.
"I know exactly what you did."
The coach stepped forward.
"Sir, please. She's only a child."
Father turned sharply.
"This is a family matter."
The coach hesitated.
Then he looked at me with concern.
I wished he could help.
But in that moment, no one did.
The walk home was silent.
Father didn't say another word.
He didn't need to.
The silence frightened me more than shouting ever could.
When we reached our compound, Mother rushed outside.
"You're back early."
Then she saw my face.
She saw Father's expression.
She looked at the football shirt I was wearing.
Her smile disappeared.
"What happened?"
Father threw the cap onto the ground.
"Ask your daughter."
Mother stared at me.
"Raina..."
I couldn't answer.
The words were trapped somewhere inside my chest.
Father pointed toward the house.
"Go inside."
I obeyed.
A few moments later, I heard their voices outside.
Mother's was quiet.
Father's was loud.
"...She has brought shame to this family!"
"...She's just a child..."
"...Girls don't run around playing games!"
"...Please lower your voice..."
"...Enough!"
The argument echoed through the compound.
I sat on my mat with tears running down my face.
For the first time, I wondered if my dream had been a mistake.
That evening, Grandmother came into my room carrying a tray of food.
"You haven't eaten."
"I'm not hungry."
She sat beside me anyway.
"You know," she said softly, "when I was your age, I wanted to learn to read."
I looked at her.
"My father said books were for boys."
"What happened?"
"I learned anyway."
"You can read?"
She smiled proudly.
"A little."
I laughed through my tears.
"You never told me."
"Some victories are quiet."
She gently wiped my face.
"And yours doesn't have to end today."
Before I could answer, Father entered the room.
Grandmother stood immediately.
He looked at both of us.
Then at the football lying in the corner.
Without a word, he picked it up.
"No!"
I cried, jumping to my feet.
"Please, Baba!"
He ignored me.
He walked outside.
I ran after him.
"So did Mother.
So did Grandmother.
Father placed the ball on the ground.
Then he picked up a knife.
"No..."
My voice shook.
"Please don't..."
With one swift movement...
He drove the knife straight into the football.
PSSSSSHHHH...
The air escaped with a long, painful hiss.
It sounded almost like the ball itself was crying.
I felt something inside me break.
Father tossed the ruined football into the fire.
The flames quickly swallowed it.
I stood there, unable to move.
Watching my dream burn.
Father turned to face me.
"You will never touch a football again."
Then he walked away.
The fire crackled in the darkness.
Tears blurred my vision.
Beside me, Grandmother quietly slipped something into my hand.
I looked down.
It was a small piece of paper.
On it, she had written just four words.
"Dreams don't burn, child."
I closed my hand around the note.
The football was gone.
But my dream...
My dream was still alive.
- Writer
