chapter 5 The weight of the day
988 Words
When Aria returned home with the second basket of ginger, her hands were trembling from both the rush and the fear of being accused again.
Selda didn’t even look at her at first.
She was sipping tea and fanning herself lazily, as if she hadn’t made Aria walk back and forth under the hot sun.
Aria placed the ginger on the table quietly.
Selda raised her head slowly.
“So you finally understood what I wanted,” she said. “Next time, listen the first time. I don’t have the strength to repeat myself.”
Mira and Rae sat nearby, peeling cassava. Mira rolled her eyes like she was exhausted from watching Aria exist.
Rhea leaned back.
“Mom, should she clean the rooms now? The floor is dusty and she’s been walking around doing nothing.”
Selda nodded.
“Yes. Clean everything. If I see a speck of dust, you’ll repeat it.”
Aria inhaled softly.
“Yes, Aunt.”
She walked to the small hallway, fetched a broom, and started sweeping.
The dust rose in soft clouds, making her eyes sting.
Her back already hurt from earlier chores, but she didn’t stop.
Halfway through sweeping the sitting room, Mira’s voice floated loudly behind her.
“Aria, you missed a spot.”
Aria turned.
“I haven’t gotten there yet.”
“Well, hurry. I can’t breathe with all this dust.”
“You’re the one sitting in it,” Rae muttered, earning a laugh from Mira.
Aria kept sweeping.
When she reached the corner near the door, the neighbors’ children passed by outside.
“That’s the girl who does all the housework,” one whispered.
“My mama says her aunt treats her like a servant.”
Aria’s cheeks warmed in embarrassment.
She swept faster.
When she finished the floor, Selda called from outside.
“Aria! Fetch water.”
Aria dropped the broom and rushed to grab the water container.
She carried it to the well, the heavy plastic digging into her palm.
At the well, she found two women already drawing water. When they saw her, they exchanged looks.
“That child again,” one said.
“She’s always fetching water alone.”
Aria stared at her feet until they finished their talk.
Then she drew the water quickly, filled her container, and began the slow walk home.
By the time she reached the compound, her arms were shaking from how heavy it was.
Selda spotted her.
“Finally,” she said. “Did you stop to socialize? Why are you slow?”
“I came straight back,” Aria answered quietly.
Mira sniggered.
“She always has an excuse.”
Selda waved her hand dismissively.
“Go to the backyard. Rinse the cassava. And after that, pound it.”
Aria blinked.
“A–Aunt… pound? But we already have—”
“Are you questioning me?” Selda snapped.
Aria’s heart jumped.
“No. I just— I’ll do it.”
She headed to the backyard.
Her hands were already raw, but she rinsed the cassava anyway.
Then she lifted the heavy pestle and began pounding.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Her arms trembled, her shoulders ached, sweat formed at her temples.
But she didn’t stop.
As she pounded, the neighbor, Mama Alison, peeked over the fence.
“Aria,” she called softly, “is everything okay?”
“Yes, ma,” Aria replied without stopping.
“You look tired.”
“I’m fine.”
Mama Alison sighed.
“You always say that.”
Aria kept pounding until her arms felt numb.
When she finally finished and brought the bowl inside, Selda took one glance and said—
“It’s too soft. Why can’t you do anything properly?”
Mira and Rae laughed.
Aria lowered her gaze, gripping the bowl tightly so her shaking wouldn’t show.
“I’ll redo it.”
“No,” Selda said, leaning back in her chair. “Leave it. Next time, don’t be useless.”
Aria swallowed hard.
She placed the bowl on the table quietly, her throat burning.
The sun was already lowering, shadows stretching across the room.
But her day wasn’t over.
“Aria,” Selda said again, “go wash the clothes outside. And scrub the stains. Don’t be lazy about it.”
“Yes, Aunt.”
Aria stepped outside, gathered the clothes, and knelt by the washing stone.
As she scrubbed, the cold water numbed her fingers.
A little girl from next door walked by and paused.
“Big sister Aria,” she said, “are you always washing?”
Aria managed a smile.
“Most times.”
The girl frowned.
“You should rest.”
Aria hesitated.
“I will… later.”
She knew that was a lie.
When she finished the washing, the sky was already turning orange.
She hung the clothes up and went inside.
Selda didn’t bother looking at her.
Mira and Rae were on the floor painting their nails, laughing.
Aria stood quietly, waiting for instructions.
Selda finally waved her hand.
“You can go to your room. Close the door. I don’t want to hear any noise.”
Aria nodded.
She walked to the small room at the end of the corridor—the room that wasn’t a room at all, just a storage space with a tiny mattress.
She sat on the bed slowly.
Her whole body hurt.
Her hands smelled of soap and cassava.
Her eyes were heavy.
She stared at the wall, hugging her knees.
Every day felt like this.
Every day she tried to be quiet, helpful, invisible.
But every day, she was reminded—
She didn’t belong.
She wasn’t loved.
She was just… there.
Aria lay down slowly, exhaustion swallowing her whole.
The house softened into silence.
And in the quiet, her breath trembled.
This was only the beginning of the suffering that would push her to the edge
but she didn’t know that yet.
- Writer
