At 13, I was so poor, I never had lunch. My stomach would growl so loud it embarrassed me during math class. My clothes always smelled like the tiny one-room shack I shared with my mom. Back then, I never imagined life could get better. I sat alone during lunch, pretending to read library books so no one would see I had nothing to eat.
That’s when I met her—Anara. She was new in class, always quiet but observant. One day, she sat next to me and offered half of her sandwich without saying a word. I refused at first, but she gently placed it on my desk. From that day on, she brought me food every day. She’d slip it into my backpack before lunch or distract others so they wouldn’t see me eating her mom’s homemade rolls.
