"No, I'm not pressing charges," Rachel says for what seems like the fifth time during the last 30 minutes, "I hope you understand."

At this point, she's been repeating the sentence enough to bore herself. Or perhaps, she's calmed down considerably ever since our talk that night.

Though she's still tensed about the whole thing, she doesn't raise her voice like she used to any time someone has a different opinion than hers. Instead, she repeats the sentence calmly as if she's rehearsed this numerous times before.

"Alright," Aunt Poppy nods, but she's visibly unhappy, "You've heard her."

"You don't want to sleep on it for one more night, Rachel?" Uncle Terry desperately asks, "You know all you have to do is say so and they'll do it."

"Nope, I've thought it through."

The room falls silent for a few moments before Mom turns to look at me, "Sasha, what do you think?"

"Well, you've heard her. If she doesn't want to do it, then we shouldn't."

Silence falls again among us.

Rachel casts a grateful gaze my way and I smile in return. She probably didn't expect that to come from me. But I've learned my lesson.

"Alright then." Uncle Terry slaps his knee, "We're finished here, we won't do it."

I share a satisfied smile with Rachel while I think the adults do the exact opposite. I know they want the best for her as I did, but we can't exactly do anything if Rachel doesn't want it. I really hope karma does her part though. I also hope for Rachel's recovery from the trauma.

I just realized it's already 9.45 after I checked my phone.

"I have to go." I excuse myself, before bidding everyone goodbye then rush to work.

Maybe it's because time has made the matter feels a bit easier to face. Or maybe I've grown wiser to face it calmly. Whatever it is, it's made me left the matter behind me completely - at home.

The day at work goes by with nothing extraordinary. Nonetheless, I enjoy it as I usually do.

"Miss," a pair of blue eyes meet mine as I look down, ", sodas?"

The little girl wears her usual ripped black jacket and it's already faded so much that I wonder how long she's been outside. The box she's holding is full of colorful drinks.

"How much?"

Her eyes lit up considerably at the mere question and instead something tugs my heart. How old is she? Shouldn't she be playing or studying with her friends?

"6 dollars, Miss."

I fish out a 20 dollars bill from my jeans' pocket, "Here you go."

She seems startled, "Wait here, please. I'll ask Mamma for the change."

"No, no. Keep it, it's for you."

"But Mamma says-"

"It's fine," I offer a smile, ", consider it a gift from me."

She grins, "Thank you!"

I bid her goodbye as the bus gets nearer. But even after I'm halfway to my destination, the image hasn't left my mind. She should be having fun, instead of selling sodas. But clearly, her family can't afford education for her.

"You can't help everyone." my gran told me once when we came across a similar occurrence a few years earlier. I still remember her answer to this day. It still echoes in my head every time I see the matter.

I know it's impossible to help every single child. But each of them deserves a happy childhood with proper education nonetheless.

I can do something to help, even if it can't change their whole life in an instant.

My head which has been rested on the bus window beside me emits a loud thud when the bus comes to a sudden halt. A car just cut its way before the huge vehicle.

I silently groan, holding the sore spot. At the same time, I catch a glimpse of a man on his bicycle. Then Jo's image involuntarily enters. Then Harry's.

Just like that, those links create an idea.

I don't know if Jo will appreciate the help or rather be offended because of it. But from how he insisted to pay for the books I brought Harry (even if I won the argument) to how he always insists to pay every time we eat outside, I doubt he'd take it.

I can go to his house and give it to his Mother.

But we barely know each other. I don't want to offend her at all.

The bus stops and I hop off to the bus stop near my house.

I can't really ask Mom about this even if I want to. Rachel has a much bigger matter in her hands. Gran...

I shake my head at the thought and huff. Who can I just come up to about the problem with ease?

"Sasha?"

I immediately turn. I know who it is just by hearing her voice.

Megan grins as she realizes I recognize her, "I thought you'd forget!"

"How can I forget the girl who'd buy me ice cream daily?" I approach her car, "What are you doing here?"

"Visiting your sister, of course," her smile fades into a frown, "I heard about what happened."

Megan is my sister's best friend. They've been close since junior high and they've always studied together at our house after-schools. She always has time to buy me some ice cream and since then, we've grown quite close. It's always been the three of us since then (minus when they studied).

She moved to a city nearby for university. Yet she still came to visit after hearing what had happened. 

"Get in!" she excitedly invites me and so I oblige, "I can't believe it's been years! You still look all the same."

"All the same?"

"Well, you've gotten taller I guess," she leads the way to my house without a single question, "I envy your baby skin. No pimples whatsoever!"

I laugh, "I still look like thirteen years old?"

She eyes me for a while before returning her attention to the road before us, "A bit more mature."

A pause emits for a few moments after my chuckles, then she asks about Rachel.

"She's been recovering well."

"Glad to hear that," Megan nods, then she asks the million-dollar question I've grown bored to answer.

Then I explain the whole situation.

When I'm finally free to go after we arrive and announce her arrival, I trudge upstairs for a bit of peace and quiet. Mom and Rachel are busy greeting Megan while gran turns out is the one cooking for the evening.

I ponder around the same dilemma I've had since I was at the bus and the answer pops out of nowhere so suddenly when I'm in the shower that I'm absolutely stunned.

Why didn't I think of it earlier?