chapter 14 The day she nearly broke
985 Words
The Day She Nearly Broke
Business had been slow for weeks
Selder blamed;
the weather, the neighbors, the season, and finally… Aria.
“You don’t arrange the herbs properly,” Selda snapped one morning as she scattered the dried leaves across the table. “Look at this! No wonder customers stopped coming.”
Aria kept her eyes down. “I’ll fix it.”
“You’ll do more than fix it.”
Selda shoved a small basket into her hands. “You’re going to the market today. Sell everything inside before you come back.”
Aria blinked. “Today? Alone?”
“Of course alone,” Selda snapped. “Do you see me following you around like a child? Mira has school. Rae has her lessons. You—” she paused, her eyes scanning Aria up and down with cold dismissal, “—have nothing important to do.”
Mira walked by, flipping her hair. “Make sure you don’t embarrass us,” she said, smirking. “Last time people thought you were begging.”
Rae didn’t say anything, but she looked away quickly, pretending she wasn’t listening.
Aria tied the basket with trembling fingers. “Should I wear something different?”
Selda snorted. “Wear that rag. If people pity you, they’ll buy more.”
A pit formed in Aria’s stomach. She had heard it before.
Selda liked it when she looked miserable. It made customers feel sorry enough to pay.
Aria stepped outside, the morning sun warm on her skin as she started the long walk to the market. She hugged the basket close—small packets of herbs wrapped neatly, each labeled in her careful handwriting.
She reached the marketplace and found a small corner near a fruit seller.
It wasn’t the best spot, but no one chased her away.
She spread a piece of cloth on the ground and arranged the herbs carefully.
Minutes turned into an hour.
People passed. Some glanced. Some ignored me.
A few asked for the price but walked away without buying.
Her stomach twisted.
If she went back home with full baskets, Selda would explode.
As she sat quietly, a woman stopped in front of her stall. She was middle-aged, tired-looking, carrying a sleeping baby on her back.
“What are these for?” the woman asked.
Aria straightened. “For cough, fever, and headaches… they work well if boiled.”
The woman touched a packet gently. “How much?”
Aria told her the price.
The woman hesitated, biting her lip. She counted her coins—too few.
Aria’s heart softened. “You can take it for less,” she whispered.
The woman looked up in surprise. “Truly?”
Aria nodded.
She sold it for half the price.
The woman smiled at her with pure gratitude—something Aria rarely saw directed at her. “Bless you, child.”
Aria smiled back timidly.
But when the woman left, a vendor nearby scoffed loudly.
“You’re spoiling the market!” he shouted at her. “If you sell so cheap, who will buy from the rest of us?”
“I just wanted to help—”
“Help yourself first!” he snapped. “Next time, don’t chase customers away with your pity discounts!”
Aria apologized quietly and shrank back, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
By noon, she had sold only three packets.
Her throat felt tight. Her eyes burned. The sun grew hotter.
She couldn’t return home like this.
She was still thinking when she heard a familiar voice.
“Aria?”
She looked up—
Aiden.
The boy from the bread stall months ago. His hair was tied back today, and he held a basket of apples. He smiled when she recognized him.
“You sell herbs?” he asked, crouching beside her.
“Yes,” she said softly. “Just for today.”
He picked up one packet and examined it. “Did you make these?”
“I prepared them,” she said. “My aunt taught me.”
“They look good,” he said simply. “I’ll buy some.”
She shook her head quietly. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” he said warmly.
He paid for two packets—and paid full price without question.
Aria almost whispered thank you too softly to hear.
But after he left, a few people who had seen him buy came closer. Curious. I'm interested. Slowly, they started asking questions.
By late afternoon, her basket was finally empty.
Aria exhaled shakily, relief washing over her like water.
But the day wasn’t done.
Just as she got up to leave, the vendor who had shouted earlier glared at her again.
“You got lucky today,” he muttered. “Don’t think every day will be like this.”
Aria lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry if—”
“I said go,” he interrupted sharply.
She walked away quietly, clutching the empty basket.
Halfway home, her legs nearly gave out.
Not from the weight.
But from the exhaustion of holding herself together.
When she finally stepped into the compound, Selda met her at the door.
“You took long enough,” she snapped. “Where’s the money?”
Aria handed it to her.
Selda counted it twice, her face unreadable.
“You sold everything?” she asked, surprised.
“Yes, Aunt.”
Selda scoffed. “Hmph. Even a broken clock is right twice a day.”
Mira laughed from the doorway.
Rae looked uncomfortable again but said nothing.
Aria walked to her room, her heart heavy.
She had sold everything.
Done everything right.
I worked without complaint.
And still, there was no praise. No kindness. No warmth.
Just silence.
And it was that silence—
heavy, cold, suffocating—
that made her realize something was changing inside her.
Something was wearing thin.
Something was close to snapping
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