The News

The scent of fresh morning dew clung to the air as Eda raced through the narrow cobblestone paths of her small village. The golden sunlight, filtering through the swaying acacia trees, painted dappled shadows on the uneven road beneath her feet. She barely noticed the villagers greeting her as she flew past them, clutching the delicate parchment against her chest—the results of her 12th-grade exit exam.

Her heart thundered inside her ribcage. She had done it. She had passed. The future she had dreamed of, the education she had fought for, was finally within her grasp.

"Eda!" called a familiar voice.

She slowed slightly, turning to see her step-uncle standing at the edge of the road, his sharp eyes scanning her face with a knowing look.

"Where are you running off to?"

“I can’t talk now,” she said breathlessly, but he stepped in her path, forcing her to pause.

“You got your results, didn’t you?” His tone was unreadable.

Eda tightened her grip on the parchment. “Yes, but my father sees them first.”

A slow, confident smirk curled on his lips. “There was no doubt. You were always going to pass.”

Something about the way he said it made her skin prickle. She nodded quickly, ready to continue her path, when his voice dropped into something smoother, more deliberate.

“You look beautiful today.”

Her fingers clenched at her sides. She forced a polite smile, murmured a curt “thank you,” and darted past him. As she ran, she felt his lingering gaze tracing the movement of her body, a quiet presence she wished she could ignore.

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The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the dimly lit sitting area. Small embroidered cushions lay scattered across the worn floor mats, their faded colors a testament to years of use. The wooden shutters filtered the afternoon light, casting slanted golden streaks against the walls, illuminating the air thick with incense.

Eda’s half-sister, slumped in the corner, avoided her mother’s piercing glare as she toyed with the rim of an untouched coffee cup.

Stepmother: _(voice sharp, filled with disdain)_ "You failed."

Half-Sister: _(quietly, eyes downcast)_ "It was hard. It was so hard."

Stepmother: _(mocking laugh)_ "Hard? Was it exceptionally hard for you and no one else?"

*The woman leaned forward, her bangles clinking together as her fingers curled around her cup. Her tone was laced with venomous frustration.*

Stepmother: "Why did Eda probably get the highest grade? She scrubs the floors, hauls water, prepares food, and still finds time to study. And you? You eat, sleep, laze about, and do nothing!"

*The half-sister winced, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, but she said nothing.*

Stepmother: _(with finality)_ "You are an embarrassment."

A tense silence filled the room. Outside, the village bustled with life, but in this moment, inside these walls, shame and resentment hung thick in the air.

And then—suddenly—the door swung open.

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By the time she reached home, she burst through the door, excitement still shaking through her limbs. She hadn’t seen the coffee ceremony taking place, hadn’t realized that her entrance had disrupted the ritual. The steaming tray clattered to the ground, the sharp aroma of spilled coffee filling the room.

A chilling silence stretched across the space.

Her stepmother froze, her head jerking from side to side in erratic movements. The beads on her wrists trembled violently, rattling against each other as her body convulsed. Then suddenly—a guttural groan escaped her lips.

“You… you disturbed the ceremony…”

Eda took a step back, unease creeping into her chest. Around her, the stepmother’s friends dropped to their knees, pressing their foreheads to the ground in reverence.

“Forgive us, Shaman,” they whispered in unison. “She didn’t know.”

Something ancient and unspoken weighed heavy in the air. Eda could only watch, frozen, as her stepmother trembled and wailed before suddenly slumping back into herself. The episode lasted only seconds, but the terror lingered.

Then, as if nothing had happened, her stepmother stood.

"Come with me," she ordered.

Eda followed her to a dimly lit back room, the scent of dried herbs lacing the walls.

"What were you thinking barging in here?"

"I—I wanted to tell Father—"

"About your grades?" The woman held out her hand. “Let me see them.”

Eda hesitated, then slowly handed over the parchment. Her stepmother’s eyes flickered over the results before her lips curled into something cold, unreadable.

She turned, her movements swift, hiding the paper inside the folds of a fabric chest.

"You can tell your father later," she said casually, as though sealing Eda’s fate was nothing more than a daily chore. "Right now, I need you to help me. The villagers will be coming for the holiday, and we need fresh bread."

The warmth of her triumph faded.

Eda swallowed her protest.

And slowly, wordlessly, she turned back to her work.

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