But as the SUV crawled through the dusty market corner, his gaze fell on a frail figure crouched behind the wall near the dump site.
An old woman.
Alone.
Dirty.
Her clothes torn.
Her body shaking.
Her face covered in what looked like shame.
She had been eating from the trash.
Agu’s throat tightened.
“Stop the car,” he said sharply.
“Sir—”
“I said stop.”
The driver obeyed, confused but silent.
Agu rolled down the tinted window and stared harder.
The woman had stood now, her back slightly bent, her hands trembling as she dusted off her wrapper. A child pointed at her. A woman laughed in disgust.
But she ignored them all.
There was something painfully dignified about her.
She did not beg.
She did not ask.
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