Unfelt Words, Unfelt Love

The morning sunlight filtered through the thin curtains of Nat's room, but she was already awake. Her alarm had rung at 5:00 a.m., signaling the start of her day. Unlike her previous life in the city, the village demanded more from her—not just in terms of adapting to a new school, but in taking on responsibilities at home.

Her mother's voice called out from the kitchen, "Nat, get ready for school and start boiling the milk. Your sister will leave with your father soon." I'll be late coming back from the fields today."

Nat sighed, pushing aside the comfort of her blanket.

She tied her hair quickly into a messy bun and hurried to the kitchen. The smell of the wood stove lingered, and she prepared to light it. She measured the milk carefully, placing the pot on the stove and stirring it occasionally to keep it from boiling over.

After finishing her kitchen chores, Nat prepared her school bag and ensured her mother's breakfast was ready. She had to juggle these tasks seamlessly; her sister's absence meant she had more responsibilities at home

By 7:15, Nat was at the bus stop, her school bag slung over her shoulder. The ride to school was her only real moment of respite, where she could sit quietly and gather her thoughts. She mentally reviewed her schedule: commerce assignments due by Thursday, a math test looming on Friday, and a history project requiring research on trade routes.

Her days didn't end when the school bus dropped her back home. Once she arrived, she changed into her house clothes and began helping her mother in the kitchen if her mother wasn't back from the fields yet. She also prepared for her sister's return, making sure everything was in order before they arrived. If her mother wasn't home yet, Nat took charge of the evening cooking, focusing entirely on managing her own studies.

Her father, a figure of authority and discipline, left with her younger sister at 8 a.m. for her school in the city and often returned home with her after 7 p.m. As a police officer, he held high expectations for his daughters. Every evening, he inquired about their academics, sometimes quizzing Nat on her commerce lessons. "If you want to succeed, you need to focus," he'd often say. Nat nodded dutifully, hiding her exhaustion.

Despite her strict routine, Nat found solace in brief moments of joy. Her grandmother's house—just a two-minute walk away—became her refuge. On particularly tough days, she'd visit to hear stories about her grandmother's youth or to simply bask in the warmth of her presence.

But balancing studies and home life wasn't without its challenges. There were nights when Nat stayed up late, struggling to complete assignments after finishing her household chores. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep, but she refused to give up. The weight of her family's expectations and her own aspirations pushed her forward.

In her quiet moments, Nat often wondered if she'd ever be able to find her own identity amid the responsibilities. But deep down, she knew this phase was shaping her into someone stronger, even if the journey was filled with sacrifices.