THE CHILDREN OF THE RISING SEAS

Now, more than ever, the tide was coming in. On the edge of what had been Asha's front yard, her bare feet sank into the wet sand. Like the playground, the walk to the village market, and her garden, it had been seized by the water. Now there was nothing but a narrow strip of land, just big enough to accommodate their dilapidated houses.

Even though Asha was only twelve, there was a lot of age in her eyes. She recalled a time when the sea was her buddy. Her first recollections were smiling while making sandcastles on the beach with her younger brother, Rafi, and seeing her father's fishing boat return with shimmering nets. The sea was now an adversary, merciless and ruthless. Their island has become a battlefield as a result.

The sound of the waves was interrupted by her mother's voice. "Asha! I need the water, please!

Asha looked back to see her mom fumbling with a bulky pail. Months earlier, seawater seeping into the ground poisoned the old well, turning it brackish. Asha and her mother trekked further inland each day in search of fresh water. The water was becoming scarcer and the journeys lengthier.

"Coming, Ma," Asha said as she rushed towards her. Sweat and sea salt made their hands sticky as they raised the pail together. As they trudged back to their shanty, they remained silent, their quiet laced with unsaid dread.

Rafi sat on the floor inside, his slight frame hunched up in a ball. His wheezing, shallow breathing had been accompanied by coughing for weeks. Beside him, Asha knelt and touched his forehead. The temperature was extremely hot. The necessary medication was too costly, and the doctor had departed the island months prior.

"When will we depart?" With hardly more than a whisper, Rafi inquired.

It made Asha's heart turn. The query got no satisfactory response. Weeks ago, their father departed for the mainland in search of employment and a new place for the family to live. He had said he would send for them, but he had not communicated. Asha wanted to think that he would come back, but uncertainty was setting in like the rising tide.

Shortly," she responded, trying to grin. "Baba is coming back soon,

Asha wrapped Rafi in a flimsy blanket as his eyelids closed. The fear engraved on her mother's face caught her attention. Asha tried to offer something consoling, but it sounded insincere. Rather, she sat silently and listened to the waves crashing into their remaining world.

The sea took another home the following morning. As the building crumbled and the waves pulled it away, Asha and her neighbors watched in silence as the wooden beams splintered. Uncle Sameer owned it; he had spent his entire life on the island. He watched as decades' worth of memories vanished beneath the water's surface while he stood at its edge, his hands clenched.

whisper went up, "How much longer can we stay?"

"Not long," someone else said. "The state is indifferent. As if we don't belong here, they now refer to us as refugees.

Asha felt her chest stiffen. individuals who are refugees. The word made her feel helpless and insignificant, like she was a burden to the world. But she was from this island. She had learnt to walk there, and she had grown, laughed, and sobbed there. It was like losing a piece of herself when she considered leaving it behind.

Her memories, however, were of no concern to the sea. inch by unrelenting inch, it continued to rise.

There was a storm that night. Their shack's tin roof was battered by the rain and the wind, which howled like a wounded animal. Water accumulated on the dirt floor as it soaked through the crevices. Rafi was hugged close by Asha as the walls surrounding them shook. Her mother was sitting at the entrance with a rosary in her shaking hands and a pale face.

Following the storm, they went outdoors to inspect the damage. Asha's stomach dropped to see what they witnessed. There was now a river of mud on the route to the inland forest, and half of their neighbor's house had been washed away. They had lost what little hope they had, and the storm had claimed more than just the land.

We're going to do what, Ma? Shaking her voice, Asha asked.

The mother did not respond. Her eyes remained empty as she gazed out to sea.

A boat—a tiny, corroded craft transporting relief personnel from the mainland—arrived the following day. Along with news, they provided food and medicine. They said the island was deemed uninhabitable. There wasn't much room for the evacuations that the government was planning. In addition to possibly not being relocated together, families would have to leave behind the majority of their possessions.

"We'll go," Asha's mother responded firmly. Regarding Rafi. We must.

Even though Asha's heart was sad, she nodded. They had a few clothes, some family pictures, and an ancient jewelry that belonged to her grandmother, which she packed. We'd leave the rest to the water.

On the day of departure, the villagers assembled on the beach to await the boats that would transport them away. A mixture of resignation and despair pervaded the gloomy atmosphere. As they climbed into the boat, Asha gripped Rafi's hand and looked out over the horizon one final time. With its once-vibrant coastlines now reduced to a thin strip of land, the island appeared smaller from the water.

Asha's cheeks began to well up with tears as the boat began to draw away. She didn't remove them. They fell, and she wept for the house she would never see again.

The world on the mainland was very different. In sharp contrast to the island's serene simplicity, the city's skyline was a flurry of activity and commotion. Asha, however, didn't feel at home there. There were many families like hers who had lost everything to the rising tides in the packed and disorderly relocation camp.

The medication they were given helped Rafi's health, but his eyes' brightness didn't come back. Even though the water had stolen so much away from them, he told Asha one night that he missed it. "It remains a part of me," he remarked. "As good as the island."

Asha got it. Although it was a thief, the water was also a part of who they were. Their lives had been tragically and beautifully altered by it. Their future was now being shaped by it.

Asha developed into a champion for her people in the years that followed. She coordinated demonstrations and spoke at climate summits, calling on international leaders to take action. She described the island that had become a memory and the family that had been split apart by the rising waves. Once small and unsure, her voice became firm and resolute. She was determined not to let the world forget.

She declared at one gathering, "We are not just victims." "We have survived." In the future, we will strive to ensure that no kid must lose their home due to the water.

The gathering erupted in cheers, but Asha remained expressionless. She remembered the island they had lost, and her mother, Rafi. Though the battle was far from ended, she brought with her their hope, which was as eternal and huge as the ocean.