The Question About Life.

The loud screech of tires filled the air, making Samantha and her friends jump in fear. Before they could think, their bodies moved on instinct, rushing away from the danger.

Dust rose around them, kicked up by the near accident. Their feet scrambled for safety, pushing them toward the bushes.

Without hesitation, they dived into the bushes, their arms scraping against branches, knees hitting the rough ground.

Their hearts raced, breath short and shaky. The world around them blurred, filled with rustling leaves and the lingering shock of what had just happened. For a moment, everything was chaos—the sound of their ragged breathing, the sharp rustling of leaves, the faint echo of the speeding car disappearing down the road.

Their hearts pounded, each beat hard and fast, as if demanding to be heard.

Had they been just one second slower—just a single moment late in reacting—they wouldn’t be here, hiding in the bushes, gasping for breath. Samantha said.

The thought sent a shiver down her spine.

As she glanced at her friends, their wide, stunned eyes mirrored her own.

They had just come face-to-face with a terrifying reality, one where life could be taken in an instant, without warning, without reason.

Samantha and her friends stepped out from the bushes. The city around them continued as usual—cars honking, people moving, life carrying on as if nothing had just happened.

"This person didn't care," Naomi muttered, shaking her head.

"Not even a little," Miriam agreed.

Tasha let out a bitter laugh, crossing her arms tightly. "Just imagine if one of us had been hit. Would this person have stopped? Or would the person have just kept driving.’’

Not long after, the sudden arrival of a car makes Samantha and her friends uneasy. They hadn’t noticed the car was parked beside the road just twenty feet away from them.

The engine growled softly, its deep hum carrying an unsettling presence.

From the driver’s seat, a young lady stared at them, her face tense, twisted with irritation, no concern, no shock—just pure frustration mixed with anger.

She rolled down her window with an exasperated sigh, before her voice lashed through the air like a whip—sharp, unforgiving.

“Are you girls out of your minds?” she spat, her tone soaked in disbelief. “Is it because your parents couldn’t afford a car that you wanted to use your trekking to bring misfortune upon me and my family?"

Silence clamped down on Samantha's throat, thick and suffocating. The world blurred and sharpened all at once, the weight of humiliation pressing against her chest. The lady’s words burned, each syllable branding itself into her memory with cruel precision.

Not just anger—shame. Deep, searing shame.

Her friends shifted beside her, their stunned expressions mirroring her own. The unfairness of it gnawed at her, twisted in her stomach like a living thing. They had nearly died, yet the only concern in this girl's voice was herself. Not remorse. Not a concern. Just contempt.

Samantha's fingers curled into the earth beneath her, the rough texture grounding her as her heart slowed its frantic pace.

She wanted to scream, to fight back, to demand dignity in the face of such blatant cruelty.

Instead, she swallowed the bitterness, because this was the world she had always known—where wealth had power and poverty had silence.

Samantha’s pulse quickened. Her friends' uneasy glances, unsure whether to respond or walk away.

The lady wasn’t done. Her voice grew colder, her words cutting deep.

"You think I would have stopped if I knocked you down?" she scoffed. "I would have left your lifeless bodies right here on the road and kept driving!"

A heavy silence settled over them. Samantha and her friends froze. The girl's cruel words hung in the air like a heavy cloud.

Samantha clenched her fists, her mind racing. Was this really how the world saw them? As nothing more than obstacles in the way of those who had wealth and privilege?

As soon as she sped off, Naomi let out a short laugh, shaking her head.

"

"I think I know that brat," she said, still watching the car disappear down the road. "Her name is Jaliu, in the accounting department—a 300-level student, just like us."

"300 level?" Marrian and Tasha echoed in surprise.

"Yes, she is," Naomi confirmed.

Samantha frowned, watching where the car had gone. "But she looks like a working-class babe," she pointed out.

"No, she's not," Naomi replied firmly. She was just lucky enough to catch the attention of a politician—I heard he bought that car for her."

Miriam clapped her hands together in disbelief. "Wow! So she’s just someone that got picked up, brushed off, and polished—and now she thinks she’s better than everyone else?"

Tasha scoffed, folding her arms. "Can you imagine? Acting all high and mighty like she worked hard for it!"

“But girls, wait a minute,” Tasha said, leaning in as she caught everyone’s attention in the quiet hallway. “Wasn’t she the girl Dave mentioned—the one he said he got abused the other day by what you just said now?” she asked Naomi.

'Exactly,' Naomi confirmed. It was through him that I got to know her,

Mariam recognized Julia immediately, nodded her head, and agreed, “Yes, you got it right.”

Tasha continued, her voice a mix of confusion and disbelief. “But I asked Dave later if what he said about Julia was true, but he told me it wasn’t. He said he only said that to her in public to embarrass Julia —so to humble her, because she’s so full of herself.”

Naomi frowned and shook his head in anger. “So who the hell does she think she is, a god?”

Tasha’s eyes narrowed as she replied, “She’s a millionaire’s daughter.”

Marrian’s disbelief turned into a scoff. “Oh, I see! It’s obvious that brat had the nerve to look down on us like she’s better than everyone else.”

The group fell silent for a moment, each lost in thought about how someone could use painful details for their pride. They couldn’t stand the idea that someone’s wealth could make them believe they were untouchable, able to use their money as a shield against respect and decency. The conversation lingered, simple yet charged with anger and disbelief.

Samantha had been listening quietly, her thoughts swirling. She let out a slow breath before finally speaking.

"It doesn’t matter if she’s rich on her own or just got lucky because of a politician or privileged to come from a rich home," she said calmly. "The truth is, rich people always have that arrogance—that self-centered way of thinking."

Her words settled over them, lingering in the warm air.

No one disagreed.

For a moment, they all felt the same silent understanding—the unfairness of a world where wealth made people look down on others, as if money erased kindness.

Samantha Carter got home that Friday evening, feeling exhausted but restless. She stepped into her small room and stopped in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection. Her deep brown eyes looked tired, searching for something—answers, clarity, maybe even comfort.

She reached out slowly, her fingers brushing against a long crack that ran across the mirror’s surface. The broken glass felt rough beneath her touch, a reminder of things in her life that felt just as shattered.

Her mind was heavy with thoughts—the near accident, and the cruel words of Julia. It all felt strange, overwhelming, like the world was shifting in ways she couldn’t understand.

She let out a deep sigh. No matter how hard she searched her reflection, no answers would come.

"I thought life gave everyone equal opportunity," she whispered to herself, the words heavy, exhausted. But that’s not true.

Her chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths, as if she were trying to anchor herself against the truth she had always known but rarely admitted aloud.

Life didn’t give her wealth—no silver spoon, no luxuries, not even a solid foundation to stand on. Just dreams. Fragile, uncertain, constantly tested by circumstances beyond her control.

Her gaze drifted toward the mirror’s edge, where a small, tattered photograph rested against the frame.

A picture of her parents, younger and full of hope, their smiles warm, untouched by the weight of life’s struggles. Time had changed them, carved hardship into their faces, but in that faded image, they still looked free, happy, whole.

Beside them, almost blending into the worn edges of the photograph, was a boy—her brother.

"What about him?" she murmured.

Once, his name had brought joy and love, but now it only exists as a memory, Lost. Gone. Forever.

 She had spent years trying to let go, trying to move forward, but the pain never truly left. It stayed hidden in quiet moments, appearing when she least expected it.

Outside, the city hummed with life. Cars rushed by, people walked with purpose, and voices rose and fell in the distance. The world never stopped for those who died or who had fallen, never waited for anyone.

She saw them every day—those who had escaped poverty, sitting in their sleek cars, their ease and confidence showing in their smiles. Such is life, she said, 

Some were lucky,

 Some had potential,

 And some have nothing to boast of, yet played roles so vital that their absence could make even wealth meaningless.

"And as for me?" she exhaled, shaking her head. "Maybe my purpose is to fight—navigate through struggle—and come out great on the other side."

It was something she had told herself over and over, hoping that repetition alone could make it true.

Her father worked as a gateman—an honest but exhausting job that barely paid enough to cover necessities. Her mother was sick, in need of medical attention, but money was a cruel thing—always scarce, always slipping through their fingers like grains of sand.

But yet, Samantha refused to accept that this was all her life would be.

Samantha stared at her reflection, the crack in the mirror splitting her image into uneven pieces, just like her life had felt for so long.

She whispered to herself, "If I weren’t born into a rich family, then I’ll fight to make sure a rich family comes from me."

This wasn’t just a dream anymore. It was a promise.

Life had never handed Samantha anything easily. She had seen struggle, felt loss, and tasted unfairness. 

But a question remained—was this ambition her greatest strength or a dangerous desperation?

Would it fuel her, pushing her forward no matter what, or would it blind her, making her chase success at any cost?