Chapter Five— The Weight of Two Childhoods

When the school year finally ended, she returned home to her family, her little suitcase heavy with books and clothes, but heavier still with unspoken burdens. To her surprise, her parents welcomed her back with joy, as though her return alone was reason enough for celebration.

That evening, they organized a special family dinner. The whole family sat together in a circle, something that rarely happened anymore. Her father served her rice with his own hands, while her mother carefully ladled curry onto her plate. Both of them smiled, encouraging her with gentle words.

“You must have worked so hard,” her father said proudly.

“Our little girl has grown so much,” her mother added, her eyes warm with hope.

They had no idea about the exploitation she had faced in boarding school. To them, her struggles were only the struggles of study — long nights of reading, hours of homework, endless lessons. They believed she had endured for the sake of a brighter future, and they were sure she would bring back good marks.

That night, as she sat surrounded by laughter, food, and family, her heart warmed for a moment. She felt the rare happiness of belonging, of being seen and cherished.

But happiness, in her house, never lasted long. After a few weeks, the laughter faded, replaced once more by quarrels, arguments, and cold silences. The brief glow of family unity dissolved into the usual chaos, leaving her clinging to the memory of that dinner like a fading dream.

Above all that Acacia's results came out. And the results was not what her parents expect. It was only later, when her school results arrived, that her parents realized something was truly wrong. She had failed the sixth standard, not only in one or two subject but her entire scores, it was painfully low — far below what they had hoped for. For a girl who once showed such sharpness, it was a glaring sign that something was broken.

They scolded her, questioned her, but the truth was buried under layers of silence. The endless errands, the teacher’s exploitation, the loss of her time — none of it could be fully explained in a report card. But later she narrated the whole thing that took place in that same boarding to her parents. Her parents regretting there decision and doesn't blame Acacia. Instead they ask her opinion whether she wants to repeat the year or she wants to continue next seventh standard. Also they talk with the same teacher and shut the institute down after a year.

That same year when she was repeatingher sixth grade, her mother gave birth to a baby boy, and the responsibility of raising him fell heavily upon her young shoulders. At twelve, she was no longer just a daughter or a student. She became his second mother.

Every day, after school, she would rush to the children’s center to pick him up . She would carry him home, bathe him, feed him, and soothe his cries. His little hands always reached for her first, clinging to her as if she were the safest place in the world. He loved her more than anyone else, and she, in return, loved him with the kind of fierce devotion that only sacrifice could create.

Her parents, however, worried that the weight was too much for her. They discussed leaving the baby at a caretaker’s house, where he could be looked after by adults instead of burdening his sister. But she refused. She argued fiercely, tears streaming down her face as she begged them not to hand him over to strangers.

“What if they don’t feed him on time?” she cried.

“What if he cries at night and no one comforts him? What if they hurt him? He is my brother — I’ll take care of him. I’ll do everything.”

Her parents, taken aback by her passion, reluctantly agreed. And so, the role of mother remained hers, even though she was still a child herself.

The neighbors pitied her deeply.

“She should be studying, not carrying such a heavy boy every day,” they whispered.

“If she keeps this up, her bones will weaken before she’s grown. She’ll regret it when she marries. Poor girl… she has no childhood of her own.”

But she only smiled at their words, clutching her brother close. To her, he was worth every sacrifice.

And yet, it wasn’t only babies who were drawn to her warmth. Animals, too, seemed to recognize her gentle heart. In the early mornings, she would rise before the sun and walk along the quiet lanes. The neighbor’s dogs would wag their tails when they saw her, and the stray dogs guarding empty shops or shivering outside homes in the cold winter would gather around her feet. With what little pocket money she had, she bought scraps of food, feeding them lovingly. Their trust and affection comforted her in ways words never could.

Whether it was a crying baby or a lonely animal, they all found solace in her presence. She carried their love as both a blessing and a burden, a secret proof of the kindness that grew inside her despite the harshness of her world.

At twelve years old, she was a sister, a mother, a caretaker, and a friend to every voiceless creature. Childhood was slipping through her fingers — but her heart only grew larger.

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