Poor Amina: the village dreamer Chapter 2

Poor Amina: the village dreamer Chapter 2

This entry is part 6 of 8 in the series Amina the village dreamer

Later that nightThat evening, Amina sat by the river, waiting for Musa. The cool breeze did little to calm her nerves. When he finally arrived, his smile was easy, but Amina could see the hesitation in his eyes.“Musa,” she began, her voice steady despite the storm within her, “I’ve heard things—about you and Zuri. Is it true?”His expression shifted, a flicker of guilt crossing his face before he masked it with annoyance. “You’re listening to gossip now?” he said sharply. “You should know better, Amina.”Her heart sank. “I want to hear it from you,” she said, her voice trembling.

“Do you love her?”For a moment, Musa was silent, his gaze fixed on the ground. Then, he shrugged. “Zuri understands me in ways you don’t,” he muttered. “She’s… exciting. Maybe we’re just different, Amina.”Amina felt the weight of his words like a blow. Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Without another word, she stood and walked away, leaving Musa by the river.The first night aloneAmina returned home that night feeling as if her world had crumbled. She sat in her small room, staring at the unfinished basket on the floor. For hours, she couldn’t move, her mind replaying Musa’s betrayal over and over.

Her mother knocked softly and entered, sitting beside her. “I see your heart is heavy,” she said gently.Amina broke down, the tears she had held back now flowing freely. “Why wasn’t I enough, Mama?” she sobbed. “I gave him everything.”Her mother held her close, stroking her hair. “Sometimes, my child, people fail us not because we lack but because they cannot see our worth. Musa’s choices are his, not a reflection of your value.”Those words stayed with Amina as she cried herself to sleep. For the first time, she began to wonder if there could be a life beyond Musa.Few days laterIn the days that followed, Amina threw herself into her work.

She spent hours weaving baskets, her hands moving with a purpose that felt almost defiant. Each basket became a symbol of her resilience, and the villagers began to notice her craftsmanship.One day, a trader from the nearby town visited the market and admired her work. “Your baskets are beautiful,” he said, examining the intricate patterns. “Have you considered selling them in the city?”Amina hesitated. The idea of stepping outside her small village felt daunting, but the prospect of growth excited her. “I’d like that,” she replied, her voice steady.The trader smiled. “I’ll return in a week. Bring as many as you can.”For the first time in weeks, Amina felt a spark of hope. Perhaps her future didn’t have to be defined by Musa’s betrayal.

Perhaps she could build something of her own.**When the trader returned, he wasn’t alone. Accompanying him was Kwame, a merchant from the city. He was a tall man with a warm smile and an air of quiet confidence. As he examined Amina’s baskets, he asked questions about her techniques and inspirations.“There’s something special about your work,” Kwame said, his voice sincere. “You have a gift.”Amina blushed at his praise. She wasn’t used to being noticed for her talents. For the first time in years, she felt seen—not as Musa’s girlfriend or the village beauty but as a person with something valuable to offer.Kwame purchased all her baskets and promised to return for more. As he left, he turned back and said, “Keep creating, Amina. The world needs more of you.

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