Today, my heart felt unusually light.
After so long, my friend jack and I were finally going on a trip together—to the sea beach.
I woke up early, finished breakfast, got ready, and headed to the airport. Imran was already there, waiting for me with that familiar grin of his. Soon, we boarded the plane. As it lifted into the sky, excitement stirred inside me like a restless tide.
An hour later, we landed near the ocean.
From the airport, we went straight to the hotel, dropped our bags and hurried to the beach. The salty breeze kissed our faces as we stepped onto the sand. After splashing in the waves for a while, we settled onto a bench, laughing and chatting like old times.
That's when I noticed her.
A little girl was staring at me—intensely, strangely.
At first, I didn't understand. Then I realized her eyes weren't on me. They were fixed on the large packet of chips in my hand. She was selling seashells nearby.
She looked hungry.
Terribly hungry.
Her dress was worn and burnt at the edges, her hair tangled by neglect and wind. Something inside me tightened.
I called her closer.
As soon as she came near, she said softly, "Brother, will you buy these shells? You can decorate your house with them."
"I will," I replied gently. "But first tell me—what's your name?"
"My name is Aniya ."
"Where are your parents?"
She lowered her eyes.
"I don't have any."
The way she spoke—it felt like she once belonged to the city, like she had not always been this lost.
"What do you mean, you don't have any?"
"A long time ago, I came here with my parents. They used to fight about me… because I was a girl. They wanted a boy. One morning, he brought me here, sat me on a bench, and left. I waited all day, but no one came for me.
Later in the afternoon, while I was playing by the shore, the waves suddenly carried me into the deep sea. Some lifeguards rescued me at that moment.
After returning to the beach, an uncle took me with him, gave me some food and told me to sell sea shells. In return, he promised to feed me."
She hesitated, then added shyly, "can I have that chips packet? I'm very hungry."
I forced a smile. "Of course."
I tore it open for her. She began eating eagerly, lost in the moment. Jack and I sat silently, watching.
"How old are you?" I asked.
"I don't know exactly. Shell Uncle says I've been working for him for two years."
She looked no more than eight or nine.
"Where do you stay?"
"I don't have a place. After everyone leaves, I sleep in front of the police post."
"And food?"
"If I sell all the shells, the owner gives me lunch. Otherwise…" She pointed toward a public tap. "I drink water until I feel full and go to sleep."
Her words pierced deeper than any blade.
We throw away food when it doesn't taste right. And there are children like her who don't even get three meals a day.
When she finished eating, she asked shyly if I would buy the shells.
I bought all of them.
I gave her the money for the shells and said, "Give this to your owner. And this…" I handed her some extra money, "buy yourself something to eat."
A smile bloomed on her face—a smile that looked like it had been buried for years.
She left.
But she didn't leave my thoughts.
Back at the hotel, even after lunch, I couldn't stop thinking about her.
If only I could keep her with me.
I have no sister. Only a younger brother and he's grown up now. My parents live in the village. I run a business . I have my own apartment . A house in the village my father built with years of sacrifice.
Even at night, sleep refused to come. I kept hearing her sweet voice calling me "Brother."