Patience had never been one to cry openly. Life had taught her to swallow her pain like bitter medicine, silently and without grimacing. But that day, the weight on her chest couldn't be hidden. It had reached the point where the silence became heavier than shame. Standing barefoot on the dusty path outside the town square, her voice pierced the evening air.
"Help me!" she cried. "Please, help me!"
The few passersby turned, but instead of running to her, they exchanged glances that spoke louder than words. Murmurs arose, not of sympathy, but of condemnation. Luka, sitting lazily leaning against the trunk of a mango tree, shook his head and smirked. "Ah, Patience again," he said to Mirabel, who was balancing a basket of oranges on her hip. "Trouble always follows her. Maybe she's just reaping what she sows."
Mirabel laughed softly, as high-pitched as the crunch of dry leaves underfoot. "She loves drama. Let her act. I'm sure next time she'll start whining like she's in a Nollywood movie." Patience heard her. Every word tore at her, but she kept pleading. "I'm not pretending. I'm in trouble. I need help now, before it's too late!"
From around the corner, John approached, his eyes narrowed, his stride purposeful. Nathan followed, younger and quicker, with the restless energy of a man who couldn't stay still. "What's wrong, Patience?" John asked, his voice calm but reserved. She turned to him, tears streaming down her cheeks. "It's my brother," she stammered. "He's... he's in danger. Please, you have to come quickly."
Nathan frowned. "What kind of danger is he in? Who's chasing him?"
Patience's lips trembled. "Some men... came to the house. I think they're going to hurt him. I ran to get help." John exchanged a glance with Nathan. The young man shrugged, uncertain. Luka, who had been listening with an amused smile, climbed down the mango tree and approached.
"You ran all the way here, past all the strong men at the market, and then ended up screaming in the middle of the street?" Luka scoffed. "Why don't you call your uncles? Or the people at your church? Or is it because you know no one wants anything to do with your family, wahala?" Mirabel giggled and put the basket down. "Exactly. Everyone knows your brother has been secretly borrowing money, boasting, and making enemies. Why should we put ourselves in danger for him?"
Patience slumped at the cruelty of his words. She had expected disbelief, not ridicule. "I thought... I thought they were my friends," she said, her voice shaky. Nathan's gaze softened for a moment, but John's expression remained unreadable. "Patience, listen," he said slowly. "It's not that people don't care. But these days, helping someone can be a problem for the helper." You know how it is.
"But what if it were you?" Patience replied. "If you were in danger, wouldn't you want someone to run for you? Even if people were whispering behind your back?" The words hung in the air like a challenge. Luka crossed his arms. "You talk as if the world were fair. But the truth is: people remember your past before they see your present." Tears blurred her vision. Memories of defending Mirabel when the market women accused her of stealing, of defending Luka when he was caught trespassing, resurfaced. She had given in when they had nothing, fought when they had no one else, and now... they had turned away.
Patience fell to her knees. "Please," she whispered, her voice no longer wild, but ragged and desperate. "I'm begging you." Mirabel shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing. Luka looked away and pretended to adjust his shirt. As the sun set, the street quieted, but the space around him resembled a stage where the audience had decided to boo instead of cheer.
Finally, Nathan stepped forward. "I'll go with you," he said. "John, are you coming with me?" John hesitated, seeing the fear in Patience's eyes. Then he shook his head. "I can't. I have my own family to think about." Patience's heart broke even more. Only Nathan was willing to help her, but she knew the courage of two men was stronger than one. She wanted to plead again, but the lump in her throat prevented her from speaking. Without waiting, Nathan took her arm. "Come on. Show me where."
They ran, raising small clouds of dust with their bare feet. Behind them, Luka's voice floated lazily in the air. "Don't say we didn't warn you, Nathan. Some troubles aren't worth inheriting." When they reached his house, the front door was ajar. Inside, overturned chairs and a broken clay jug lay on the floor. Her brother, Daniel, was gone. Patience's breath was labored. "Daniel!" she cried, her voice echoing in the empty room. Nathan looked around the backyard, but except for the distant croaking of frogs, it was quiet.
"They must have taken him," Patience whispered, clutching the doorframe. Nathan placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Do you know where they might have gone?" She shook her head and sobbed. "No... no... all I know is they were angry. They said something about debts." Nathan exhaled sharply. "Then we need more help. We can't go after men like that." The bitter irony hit her. More help. Exactly what she had asked for in the square. Exactly what she was denied.
That night, Patience sat alone on the wooden bench in front of her house. The moon cast a faint glow over the yard, and the air smelled of wet earth. Nathan had gone to notify the town guard and had promised to return. In his mind, he replayed the day: Luka's look, Mirabel's mocking smile, John's cautious refusal. Each moment hurt more than the last. He thought of all the times he'd responded to someone's cry for help without considering the risk. Maybe it had been foolish. Maybe kindness was too precious a currency for most people.
When Nathan returned with two guards, they searched the surrounding paths until dawn. There was no sign of Daniel. Only the trampled grass and broken branches told the silent story of a struggle. The next afternoon, news arrived that Daniel had been released after a neighbor, the elderly Madam Ebun, had paid off part of his debt. It was too much for her small business, but she had given it without hesitation.
Patience went to thank her, her eyes full of gratitude. "Mama Ebun, you didn't have to do this." The old woman interrupted her with a wave of her hand. "My child, when someone asks for help, you don't ask if they deserve it. You help first. You take care of the rest later. That's how a community survives." Patience swallowed hard; the words sank deep into her. She wished Luka, Mirabel, and John could hear them. When Daniel finally returned home, thinner and quieter, Patience hugged him tightly. That night, she didn't ask any questions. Her shame would reveal itself in time. The days passed, and life in the village resumed its slow course. But something in Patience had changed. She moved with calmer strength, spoke less, and observed more. When Mirabel came to her one morning with tears in her eyes about a dispute with the market administrators, Patience listened but offered no defense. When Luka got into trouble with the landowner for grazing his goats in the wrong pasture, she simply nodded as he spoke. It wasn't revenge; she bore no grudges, but she had learned the price of giving to those who gave nothing back.
One evening, as they sat alone by the well, Nathan joined her. "You're different," he said sweetly. "I see things more clearly now," she replied. "When you ask for help, you see who's listening and who's pretending not to. That's a painful but necessary wisdom." Nathan looked into the darkening horizon. "Do you regret helping people in the past? Even those who didn't help you?" He thought for a long moment.
I'm still trying to bring the script to life. If you're good at writing scripts, please contact me. Thanks, guys馃檹
