The forest path behind the village had once felt lonely to Zaria, but now, it had become her secret place of comfort. It was the only place where she could breathe without fear, where her burdens seemed to lift just a little. She came there every weekend under the pretense of collecting firewood—Sarah never suspected anything. To her stepmother, Zaria's hard labor was routine. But to Zaria, this errand had become a doorway to freedom.
It was here, among the rustling trees and chirping birds, that Zaria met with Linda every weekend. Under a wide acacia tree near the edge of the forest, they'd spread out books on a flat rock, brushing away dry leaves to make space. The study time was brief—just one hour—but every minute was precious.
Zaria had come up with a study routine that matched her demanding life. On one day, she and Linda would tackle Mathematics and English. On the next meeting, they would focus on Science and Social Studies. Then, on another weekend, they would study Religious Education (RE). The pattern continued in rotation, carefully structured, and it gave Zaria something she hadn't felt in a long time—purpose.
Linda brought all the materials: her class notes, extra pencils, and sometimes even biscuits wrapped in brown paper to share with Zaria. And when she couldn't explain something clearly, she would write it down neatly and promise to go over it again next time.
But they weren't alone in their mission for long.
One quiet Saturday evening, just as the golden light filtered through the trees, Zaria heard footsteps coming up the path. She stiffened, afraid Sarah had followed her. But as she peeked through the branches, her breath caught—Teacher Lilian was there, walking beside Linda with a warm smile and a small bag in her hand.
Zaria froze in disbelief. Teacher Lilian had always been her favorite. She was gentle and kind, the kind of teacher who believed in every child, even those who were forgotten. Now she stood before her, in the very place Zaria had turned into her haven.
"Zaria," Teacher Lilian said softly, stepping forward. "You didn't think I would forget you, did you?"
Tears welled in Zaria's eyes, but she quickly wiped them away. "I didn't think you'd come here."
"I had to," Teacher Lilian replied. "When Linda told me everything, I knew I couldn't just wait in class for you to return. So I brought you something." She opened her bag and pulled out a bundle—biscuits, fruit, and two exercise books. "This is for you. And there are practice questions for each subject. You can attempt them after studying."
Zaria took the books with trembling hands. "Thank you… thank you so much."
That evening, the forest turned into a hidden classroom. Teacher Lilian stayed for an hour, helping Zaria understand a tricky math topic and reviewing a social studies chapter. She spoke with love and patience, never once rushing through the content.
From then on, it became a quiet tradition. Sometimes Linda came alone with the week's lessons and new assignments from Teacher Lilian. Other times, the teacher herself would appear, careful not to draw attention. Each time she came, she brought food, learning materials, and words of encouragement.
When Zaria couldn't finish her practice questions in the forest, she would carry them back with her, tucked beneath the logs of firewood. She was always careful not to let anyone see. At night, when everyone else had gone to sleep, she would crawl into the small store room where she was forced to sleep, pull out her notes, and switch on her torch—the precious one Linda's mother had bought for her.
The torch was a miracle in itself.
It was small and sturdy, with a soft glow that lit up her papers without attracting attention. Linda brought her batteries whenever she could, wrapping them in cloth and hiding them in her bag until they met.
By day, Zaria worked like a mule—scrubbing floors, fetching water, washing clothes, cooking and cleaning without rest. Her stepmother still barked orders at her, and her stepsisters continued to mock and belittle her. No one in the house knew what she was truly fighting for. They thought they had stripped her of hope.
But every night, under the dim light of her torch, Zaria studied with fierce determination. She read, revised, solved problems, and practiced handwriting—all in silence, her fingers gripping her pencil tightly.
Sometimes, she would whisper aloud to herself, pretending she was in a real classroom.
"Photosynthesis is the process by which green plants make their food…"
"Two times two is four, four times two is eight…"
She tested herself, marking her own work using answer guides Teacher Lilian gave her. She wrote essays and copied notes carefully into her books. And once finished, she'd wrap them in old newspapers, tuck them into her basket, and deliver them secretly to Linda during their next meeting.
She never missed a week.
It was tiring. Exhausting even. But it was worth it. For the first time in months, she was no longer just a housemaid. She was a student again.
One night, after a long day of labor and a full hour of study, Zaria stared at the stars through the store room's broken window. Her heart felt full. Though her back ached and her hands were sore, her soul felt stronger than ever.
"I will not give up," she whispered. "Not now. Not ever."
That fire inside her burned brighter with each passing day.
Linda noticed it too.
"You look happier," she told her one weekend.
"I feel stronger," Zaria replied. "Because now I know this life isn't all there is. There's more waiting for me."
Teacher Lilian saw it as well.
"Zaria," she said during one visit, "I don't know how long this will continue, but I promise—I will walk with you for as far as I can."
Those words stayed with her. They were her armor.
So she kept pushing, studying in secret, growing in silence. No one in the house knew, but the girl they had tried to break was rising again. Quietly. Boldly. Beautifully.
And every weekend, beneath the tall trees and golden skies, the firewood collector became a student again.