Arrogant Student Slapped An Old Woman Unaware Who She Was Until This Happened…-hongtran

Fiona walked in front, swinging her arms freely. Her uniform was neat and freshly ironed. Her hair was braided with red ribbons, and her shoes were polished until they shone. She did not look back even once.
“Jenny, hurry up,” Fiona snapped. “You walk like an old woman.”
“Yes, Fiona,” Jenny answered quietly.
They passed mud houses and small farms where women bent over cassava fields. Chickens scattered as they walked by, and goats bleated from behind wooden fences. The smell of smoke from morning fires filled the air, mixed with the scent of damp earth from the night’s dew.
At the edge of the village, the road narrowed and curved toward the forest path. There, an old woman stood by the roadside, trembling under the weight of a large bundle of firewood tied with rope. Her back was bent like a bow, and her wrapper was faded and torn at the edges. Sweat ran down her face, and her breathing was heavy, as if each step took all her strength.
She tried to lift the firewood higher onto her head, but it slipped and nearly fell. She cried out softly.
“My daughters,” she called weakly, “please help me.”
Fiona stopped walking and turned sharply.
“Help you?” she scoffed. “Are you mad? Do you think we are your servants?”
The old woman’s eyes filled with tears.
“I only need help to my house,” she pleaded. “It is not far.”
Fiona stepped closer, her face twisted in anger.
“Get out of our way!” she shouted.
Before Jenny could stop her, Fiona raised her hand and slapped the old woman across the face. The sound echoed through the quiet morning. The old woman fell to the ground, dropping her firewood. Dust rose around her, and her wrapper slipped from her shoulder.
Jenny gasped.
“Fiona, why would you do that?” she cried.
Fiona hissed and adjusted her bag.
“You are always too soft,” she said. “If you want to waste time, do it alone.”
She turned and walked away, leaving the old woman on the dusty road.
Jenny rushed to the old woman’s side and knelt down.
“Grandmother, are you hurt?” she asked gently, helping her sit up.
The old woman touched her cheek and winced.
“No one has ever slapped me before,” she said weakly.
“I am sorry,” Jenny whispered. “Please forgive her.”
Jenny gathered the scattered firewood and tied it together again. She bent down and lifted it onto her own head. The bundle was heavy, and her neck strained under the weight, but she stood up straight.
“Show me the way to your house,” she said.
The old woman’s eyes widened.
“You will help me?”
“Yes, Grandmother.”
The walk was slow. The old woman leaned on a stick, and Jenny walked beside her, steadying the firewood with one hand. They left the main road and followed a narrow path into the bush. Birds chirped loudly in the trees, and insects buzzed around them. The air grew cooler as tall trees blocked the sun.
Soon, a small hut appeared between the trees. It was built of mud and covered with dry palm leaves. Smoke did not rise from it. The yard was overgrown with weeds.
“This is my home,” the old woman said softly.
Jenny placed the firewood down and looked around. The compound was dirty. Cobwebs clung to the walls. Dishes lay unwashed outside, and a cracked clay pot stood empty near the door.
“You live alone?” Jenny asked.
The old woman nodded.
“My children died long ago. My legs are weak now. Even fetching water is hard.”
Without waiting to be asked, Jenny rolled up her sleeves.