The sun dipped low over the jagged skyline of their neighborhood, painting the dusty streets in shades of gold and orange. Amelia wiped her brow as she rearranged the last few peanuts and bread rolls on her small tray, preparing to head home. School had been long, full of lessons and whispers, but now it was time for her second shift: helping her mother earn enough for their evening meal.
"Amelia! Ameliiiiiiia!"
Her mother's voice rang out from the narrow alley behind their modest home, sharp and hurried. Amelia glanced up from her tray and saw her mother waving a wooden spoon dramatically, a tray of freshly baked cakes balanced precariously in her other hand.
"Mom!" Amelia called back, quickening her pace.
As soon as she stepped through the low doorway, the warm smell of baked goods mixed with the faint aroma of the day-old rice left on the counter hit her. Her mother, a woman whose hands bore the faint scars of years in the kitchen, sighed as she put the tray down.
"There's nothing to eat, Amel. The rice is finished, and your father hasn't sent money," she said, running her hands over her apron. "These cakes must sell tonight. The money we make will buy our supper, or we sleep hungry again."
Amelia nodded, not letting any trace of frustration show. She had learned long ago that complaining wouldn't fill their stomachs. Instead, she grabbed a few coins from her pocket and helped her mother set up a small stand outside their house, the tray of cakes gleaming under the dim evening light.
"Some for a pound! Freshly baked! Only a pound!" Amelia called, her voice loud enough to reach the first few people walking home from work.
Children tugged at their parents' hands, neighbors paused to smile, and a few familiar regulars stopped to pick up their favorite treats. Amelia moved with practiced ease, balancing the trays, counting coins, and greeting everyone with a polite smile.
Through it all, she thought of school, of Elle and their endless chatter during breaks, of assignments that still waited for her at home. She imagined a life where evenings weren't spent hustling for bread and cake, where money wasn't always tight, and where her intelligence could take her far beyond these dusty streets.
For now, though, Amelia reminded herself, it was cake sales and peanut trays. Survival first, dreams second.
By the time the sun disappeared completely, leaving the streetlights flickering on, Amelia and her mother had sold most of the cakes. Counting the coins, her mother's tired smile shone brighter than the fading sunlight.
"Thank you, Amel. With this, we'll eat tonight," her mother said softly.
Amelia tucked the remaining coins into her pocket and looked at the small tray. One day, she promised herself, there would be no evenings like this. One day, she would step out of these streets and into a life where hunger and struggle were nothing more than memories.
But for tonight, there was work to finish, cake to
sell, and survival to claim.