My name is Zara.
People in my street used to say I was born with bad luck. I did not understand it when I was small, but as I grew, I started believing them.
The day my mother left, rain was falling. Not heavy rain, just small drops that made the ground smell fresh. I was seven years old, sitting on the floor and playing with my doll when I heard my parents arguing in their room.
My father was shouting.
My mother was crying.
I could not hear everything, but I heard my father say, "You betrayed me."
And my mother replied, "You don't even want to listen to the truth."
Then the door opened.
My mother came out with a small bag in her hand. Her eyes were red and swollen. She knelt in front of me and held my face.
"Zara, my baby," she said, her voice shaking. "Be strong for me."
"Mummy, where are you going?" I asked.
She looked at my father who was standing behind her, cold and angry. Then she looked back at me.
"I will come back," she whispered. "No matter what anyone tells you, I did not leave because I stopped loving you."
Before I could say anything, my father turned away. My mother kissed my forehead, stood up, and walked out of the house.
That was the last time I saw her for many years.
After that day, everything became different.
My father became quiet. He no longer smiled. He worked more and talked less. When I asked about my mother, he would say, "She chose to leave us. Don't talk about her again."
People in the street started talking.
"Her mother ran away."
"That child is from a broken home."
"Poor girl, who will marry her in the future?"
I heard them. Children can hear more than adults think.
Two years later, my father brought another woman home.
Her name was Rita.
She came with her own bags and her own rules. From the first day, she made it clear that I was not her child.
"Your mother spoiled you too much," she would say. "In this house, you will work."
So I worked.
I washed plates.
I swept the compound.
I cooked when she was tired.
If I made a mistake, she shouted.
If I cried, she shouted more.
My father saw some of it, but not all. And even when he saw, he kept quiet. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he was weak. I don't know.
I just knew I was alone.
But there was one person who treated me like I mattered.
His name was Daniel.
He lived next door with his uncle. His parents were never around. People said they were rich and busy, but Daniel never talked about them. He was always quiet, always reading books, always watching people like he was trying to understand the world.
We became friends because one day he saw me crying behind our house.
"What happened?" he asked.
I did not want to talk, but he sat beside me and shared his biscuit. We ate in silence.
From that day, he always waited for me after school.
When children laughed at my torn shoes, he walked with me.
When Rita insulted me and I ran outside, he followed me.
He never asked too many questions. He just stayed.
Sometimes I felt like he was the only safe place I had.
But good things never last in my life.
One evening, I came back from school and saw a big car in front of Daniel's house. Men were carrying boxes inside. His uncle told me, "Daniel is going to the city. His parents sent for him."
I ran inside and found him packing.
"You're leaving?" I asked, my heart beating fast.
He nodded. "I don't want to go, but I have no choice."
Tears filled my eyes.
"Will you forget me?" I asked.
He looked at me seriously and said, "Never."
Then he did something that shocked me. He held my hand.
"When I grow up, I will come back for you," he said. "No matter how far I go."
I wanted to believe him.
But that night, after he left, I cried until sleep took me.
And again, someone I loved was gone.
Years passed.
I grew into a young woman who believed she was not meant for good things. I worked in a small hotel as a cleaner. I accepted insults because I was used to them. I helped my father even when he did not protect me.
Love was not something I believed in anymore.
Then one afternoon, a rich guest checked into the hotel. Everyone was running up and down, fixing things, shaking with fear.
I was sent to clean his room.
When I opened the door and looked up…
My heart almost stopped.
It was Daniel.
But he was no longer the quiet boy next door.
He was tall, confident, wearing expensive clothes, and people were calling him sir.
He stared at me like he had seen a ghost.
"Zara…" he whispered.
All the pain I buried came rushing back.
I dropped my cleaning cloth and ran out of the room.
Because I was not ready to face the boy who promised to come back…
and actually did.
And I did not know that meeting him again would change my life forever.
The journey had begun.
And there was no turning back.