Should I remind you that Miaro reads a lot when something is wrong? Yes, she loves it. But with all the confusion overwhelming her right now, even The Little Prince's adventures wouldn't be enough to comfort her. Maybe this chapter of her life could be titled: The Adventures of the Little Princess.
Today is a special day, both for her and for me. To hell with that huge black American 4x4 that draws too much attention. Cynthia's sprinter will do just fine. After all, sharing a passion with others is always more fun. And to hell with extravagant, overpriced clothes that, in the end, stay hidden under the school apron. What's the point? Her father always told her, "People don't admire the food on a plate; they admire the presentation." But in her mind, Miaro would always reply, "People are idiots. They can go to hell."
So today, to hell with everything she is. These moments of volunteering allow her to find herself, to reconnect with something greater than her own existence. Every time she hands a worn book to a child, every time their laughter rings out around her, she feels whole.
There are many reasons why these books end up here:
• They no longer interest anyone, and the publisher donates them.
• Their owners choose to give them away.
• The association buys them to redistribute.
In short, Miaro is part of a volunteer program that provides books to children, public schools, and libraries—a quiet mission, yet one that carries so much meaning.
She tightens the laces of her stylish sneakers, adjusts her "Reading Is Life" (RIL) cap, and slightly puffs out her chest to show off her matching t-shirt. With her well-fitted jeans, she looks effortlessly simple yet radiant. And personally, I like her just like that. She steps out through the grand doors, brimming with excitement—like a prisoner breaking free…
This warm and lively person is still our Miaro—just another side of her, yet again. What can I say? I have to respect the title of the novel. I'm a pro, a genius even… Alright, alright, I'll keep quiet.
Now, where were we?
Ah, yes. Today, the RIL continues its mission at a library in a center located in Ampefiloha Ambodirano. This center is affiliated with the Saint Paul Catholic Church—the one you can find on Google Maps. The team is used to working in youth shelters, centers for people with disabilities, hospitals, public schools… In short, with those who cannot afford books but desperately need them.
Ampefiloha Ambodirano. A neighborhood where the social situation has become an expression in itself. Here, after attending Saint Paul's private primary school, many drop out due to a lack of admission to the public middle school (CEG). Only a lucky few make it to high school. As for higher education, it remains a distant dream for most. The average level of schooling stops at sixth grade.
But today, Miaro and her friends aren't here to dwell on these realities. They hop into Cynthia's sprinter, eager to have a good time. Their world is miles away from that of these people. They don't know hunger, murder, rising rice prices, or the fear of not having a roof over their heads. Yet, they are the ones who complain the most. They are the ones who criticize the government the most. And paradoxically, they are also the pillars, the levers, the true actors of it all.
Officially, they are here for charity. Their outfits and polite smiles make it seem that way. But in truth, many come to build a name on social media, to polish their political image, to expand their network. For Miaro, it's just a way to escape. And maybe that's why she always feels a pang in her heart when Cynthia asks the young people at the center to carry the boxes from the parking lot to the warehouse.
But she simply watches these boys, their faces marked with a quiet sadness, their thoughts seeming to whisper, "At least I'm still useful for something." They must be between fifteen and nineteen years old, not much younger or older than her, yet an entire world separates them. This invisible distance keeps her from speaking to them, from encouraging them, from offering more than just a glance.
But as her gaze sweeps over the weary faces gathered in front of Saint Paul Church, a silhouette catches her attention.
Haintso.
Among them, he stands there. Even here, he remains a ghost: "He is present, yet no one notices him." Nothing ever really changes—always that heavy gaze, revealing nothing on the surface.
And in an instant, the rest of the world fades away.
Miaro freezes. Her heart skips a beat, but this time, it's not because she's caught off guard. It's because she knows he has seen her.
Haintso lifts his head, his wandering eyes landing on her. He blinks, as if snapping back to reality. He sets his box aside and calmly approaches. Haintso is so composed that when he walks, it almost looks like he's floating. His gaze remains locked on Miaro, making sure he's not mistaking her for someone else. Miaro's heartbeat quickens with every step that closes the distance between them.
— "Oh, Miaro?"
His voice cuts through the heavy atmosphere around them. Miaro is surprised that he remembers her. Even more so, that he's able to speak to her. I mean, there's an obvious contrast between them. And yet, Haintso presents himself with absolute ease.
He wears clothes that, though clean, are slightly worn. His dark skin is further deepened by the cruelty of the sun. His hair is slightly messy, lacking a clip to keep it in place. He's not unattractive—far from it—but he clearly doesn't have the luxury of talking to a girl … like Miaro. Especially when this is only their second interaction.
But none of these mental barriers seem to affect Haintso. Cynthia, watching him, is particularly surprised. It's clear that, to Haintso, everyone stands on equal ground.
Miaro takes a moment to respond, processing what just happened. Finally, she smiles, as gently as a sunrise, before answering.
— "I saw you too, but I was afraid you had forgotten me. After all, we only talked once. And that was two weeks ago."
— "Forget you? I admit I don't really keep up with school news, but still, everyone talks about you all the time."
Miaro laughs. Only now does she realize this small detail, and suddenly, she feels ridiculous.
— "Haha… I forgot about that. So, you come to this library often?"
She lets herself relax. She's no longer guarded. She allows herself to talk to Haintso as if they were old friends. Haintso remains courteous, answering with sincerity and enthusiasm:
— "I'm a regular here. I come to read often, and I also help out during events like this."
— "That explains why you immediately understood the moral of that book…"
Haintso hears her words differently, but right now, he's more fascinated that Miaro remembers such a detail.
— "I have to catch my ride. I just wanted to say hi. We can talk later, right?"
— "Of course."
Then, Haintso lifts a box weighing over thirty kilos onto his shoulder—despite looking like he barely weighs fifty himself. Yet, he carries those books tirelessly, over and over again. And Miaro watches him, mesmerized by the herculean strength packed into such a small frame.
Seeing Miaro's mesmerized expression from afar, Cynthia walks up to her, observing with a sharp, objective gaze. She knows Miaro well—after all, she has been part of the association since childhood. And never, not once, has she seen Miaro look at someone this way.
— "Who is that boy?"
Miaro hesitates. The truth is, she doesn't know what Haintso represents to her. Officially, he's just a school acquaintance. But it's complicated.
— "Ahh… Just someone I know from school."
— "I see, Cynthia says calmly."
— "Anyway, we should introduce ourselves and present the books to the library."
Cynthia, a striking woman of thirty, is of mixed heritage—her mother French, her father Malagasy. Though she and her family live in France, and she has inherited her mother's features, she never forgets her Malagasy roots. She walks through the streets of Paris as if she were in Antsiranana, through Rome as if she were in Toliara, through Washington as if she were in Mahajanga—always carrying the pride of the Merina ancestors flowing in her veins. She stands tall whenever she hears the national anthem, Ry Tanindrazanay Malala.
She is always on the front lines of Malagasy associations abroad—groups that work in the shadows for the country's development:
— "Supporting talented young people in flourishing abroad."
— "Offering scholarships to local students."
— "Donating office supplies, books, and more to community centers."
And the list goes on.
Miaro never quite understood the source of Cynthia's unwavering patriotism, but it was through her that Miaro's own sense of duty was born. In truth, Cynthia is the big sister she never had—the one she looks up to, the one she leans on, the one who makes her feel loved and understood. No one knows Miaro better than she does.
Miaro admires Cynthia's assertiveness—the way she speaks without fear or shame, how she always knows exactly what she wants and stands by her beliefs. Right now, it is that same unwavering confidence that has captivated the entire library. Everyone listens intently as Cynthia passionately preaches the love of knowledge and reading. Even Haintso, who always seems lost in his own world, is listening.
Around ten o'clock, the senior team of RIL shares their knowledge with the students present in the library. The students simply have to approach and ask whatever they want to learn, and the RIL members answer to the best of their ability. Of course, Miaro is still young. She doesn't take part in this. Her role is with the elementary school children. But Cynthia had other plans for her. Miaro's mission is to gather information about the neighborhood and report back. Yeah, Cynthia is a sharp one if you understand what I mean.
So, Miaro timidly approaches Haintso. He delicately flips through one of the new books. He seems curious. Miaro speaks to him.
— "The theory of colors?"
Haintso is caught off guard. He is stunned.
— "Yes, I was curious. I didn't know colors had theories."
— "Color is expressive. But with color theory, the message becomes clearer. It brings out the art in a painting. Designers also need the theory."
—"Designers?"
Miaro smiles slightly:
— "Yes. It's a job that involves enhancing color themes… The images and colors we see on biscuits, chocolates, they're not random. It's all part of marketing."
— "Marketing? Haintso repeats, surprised by all these things he doesn't know."
Miaro looks at him carefully. She smiles again. She is surprised herself by the image she had of Haintso until now. Then she continues as if to prevent her attitude from unsettling Haintso:
— "Listen. Let's make a deal. You give me a tour of this neighborhood, and I'll answer all your curiosities."
Haintso doesn't fully understand this request. But he accepts because he feels like he's helping.
— "Alright, why not?"
I haven't told you yet, but between Saint Paul Church and the center where the library is located, there are about thirty meters. Unlike the church, this center has only one entrance, the one on the paved road right in the middle of the neighborhood. And on this paved road, snack vendors of all kinds are lined up at every single step you take. And sorry, but I'm not exaggerating when I say every step. Miaro can't even turn her head to look at them. She feels ashamed of this aspect of the city. So, Haintso leads her toward the other exit of Saint Paul Church to reach the embankment.
From the imposing height of the embankment, the view is different. To the West is the hill of Itaosy Bemasoandro. To the East, Ampefiloha Ambodirano, with the Rova Manjakamiadana in the distance. To the South, the hill of Ilanivato and the Anosizato bridge that crosses the river far off. To the North, the lively Ampasika bridge. Below, by the river, women are washing clothes. More women carry bags filled with sand or transport bricks, neatly stacked on their heads, climbing the steps up to sell them by the side of National Road Number Seven. In the middle of the river, verdant dunes rise, where the traditional brick-making workshop stands, exposed to the open air. On these dunes, young boys rest as they swim. Small traditional wooden boats, like little rafts, cross the river to transport the same products: sand and bricks. Above Miaro's head, the sky is blue, and her whole being feels the gentle breeze that flows along the embankment.
She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and slowly opens them, as if coming back to life. She radiates so much that once again, she attracts gazes. But she's not yet aware of it. She feels, in some way, happy. As if her entire being is made to harmonize with the beauty of nature. Finally, she speaks:
It's really beautiful here. Yes, I love coming here to reflect. The people working, the landscape, … It's fascinating. How is it that we can feel both the joy of living and the pain of living at the same time here? You saw what's happening down in the neighborhood. If you focus too much on the misery, you'll quickly want to give up. So, these people make do with the simplicity they have. Now it's more clear. I feel like a foreigner visiting Madagascar.
—"Would you like to get on one of those traditional wooden boats?"
—"Can we?"
—"Don't worry. Here, everyone knows everyone."
Miaro and Haintso slowly descend to the riverbank. The air is more humid here, filled with the scent of damp earth and stagnant water. She feels the freshness of the river on her skin, but also the gazes that rest on her. Children approach, curious. Some whisper, others smile shyly.
At first, she tries to ignore the attention she's receiving. But the further they go, the more the gazes multiply. Children crowd around her, as if they want to touch her, observe her up close. Her stomach tightens. She lowers her head slightly, avoids the gazes, and quickens her pace down the slope.
She feels the heat rise to her cheeks. Her whole body is overwhelmed by an awkwardness she doesn't know how to handle. She's not in her place. She knows it, and they know it too. Her heart beats faster, not out of excitement this time, but from a feeling she hates: embarrassment. So much so that her trembling body almost made her fall.
It is at that moment that Haintso takes her hand.
His gesture is natural, without hesitation. A simple pressure, but it changes everything. Like an anchor, a silent assurance. Miaro lifts her eyes slightly. Her heart slows down, her breathing returns to a normal rhythm. The shame doesn't disappear completely, but it softens, like a background noise that fades away.
She doesn't dare look at Haintso, but she tightens her grip on his hand in return.
The river now widens before them, bordered by pirogues and large wooden boats, loaded with red bricks or sand. One of them, half-submerged under its own weight, is held close to the shore by a rope wrapped around a stake.
Haintso approaches and exchanges a few words with a man unloading bricks from the boat. It's Kemba. Tall, barefoot, his body covered in dust, he's half-naked. Without asking any questions, he nods and grabs a long wooden pole once the unloading is done.
—"Get on, Haintso says, turning to her."
Miaro hesitates. The boat sways gently under the current's weight, and the murky water laps against the worn wood.
—"Won't it sink? she asks, nervously scanning the surface."
Kemba bursts out laughing.
—"If it were going to sink, we wouldn't be using it every day!"
Haintso, already aboard, reaches his hand out to her. This time, she takes it without hesitation, carefully climbing onto the boat. The damp wood creaks under her weight, and she immediately feels the slight instability beneath her feet.
Kemba plants his long pole into the water and gives the first push. Slowly, the boat drifts away from the shore, gliding across the river's surface.
Silence settles, broken only by the soft rustling of water brushing against the hull and the breath of wind gently touching the river's surface. Miaro grips the edge of the small boat tightly, shivering from the damp air. It's the first time she finds herself on a barge like this.
The boat sways gently. Beneath her feet, the wood vibrates with each push of the pole into the mud. All around, the water stretches endlessly, reflecting a pale sky where the clouds slowly dissolve. She watches the shoreline pass by, the silhouettes of workers busy in the distance, the flocks of birds scattering above the construction sites.
Here, everything seems to float. Even her.
She takes a deep breath, filling her lungs with the raw scent of the river. The imbalance beneath her feet no longer feels threatening. It's almost mesmerizing. Like a slow dance between her and the water.
Without her knowing, Haintso watches her. His gaze follows the way she scans the horizon, fascinated, absorbed by a world that isn't hers. For a moment, he forgets everything else.
Then, like a reflex, he looks up at the sky.
The river, the wind, the clouds… Everything seems suspended in this fragile moment where two souls discover a beauty they had never taken the time to appreciate.
When finally they turn toward each other, their eyes meet and lock.
Miaro, eyes wide, is amazed by this improbable day. Haintso, on the other hand, is amazed by her.
A discreet smile stretches across her lips, but Haintso can be clueless sometimes:
—"And this marketing... Can you explain what it is now?"
His seriousness is too much. Miaro bursts out laughing.
—"If I fall, I'll kill you! she says between fits of laughter, gripping the edge of the barge tightly."
—"But you promised me."
She smiles slyly.
—"What?! Is the ride already over?"
The barge slowly glides toward the shore, bringing with it a moment they would have liked to last a little longer. Haintso thanks Kemba, then they head back up the dike.
They find themselves a little further south of the center, facing the hill of Ilanivato. At this time of year, the river water rises, clear, as it first drains the rice fields in the north before reaching here, the plains at the bottom of the hill. That's why the plains below the hill are still dry. Youngsters are playing ball, taking advantage of the firm ground. Further away, a fair livens up the landscape.
They find themselves a little further south of the center, facing the hill of Ilanivato. At this time of year, the river water rises, clear, as it first drains the rice fields in the north before reaching the plains at the bottom of the hill. That's why the plains below the hill are still dry. Youngsters are playing ball, taking advantage of the firm ground. Further away, a fair livens up the landscape.
Haintso and Miaro walk along the dike, where the calm is almost unreal. No vendors, no sand carriers, no workers stacking bricks. Just a few rare passersby who watch them silently, convinced they are seeing a couple. Yet, they are just two friends talking.
—"You know, before, the plains were reserved for rice cultivation. People only built their houses on the hills. Neighborhoods like Ampefiloha Ambodirano and Andohatapenaka only appeared after the waves of rural exodus in the seventies. And the elders, those so-called masters of these places, made the foolish mistake of selling their land, just to follow the social trends of their time."
Haintso's tone is serious. Miaro listens, intrigued.
—"Yes, and what does that imply?"
Oh, poor Miaro, who doesn't yet grasp the full extent of these mistakes...
—"These low neighborhoods flood every year in February. The haphazard constructions sterilize the soil. No one grows rice here anymore. And then, look at these inhabitants... Here, people always prioritize pleasure over development. And guess what?"
Miaro is fascinated by his analysis.
—"What?"
—"For generations, the population exploded. Today, we're starting to limit births, but not long ago, a family could have at least five children. Ampefiloha Ambodirano is not even thirty hectares, and yet, this neighborhood is home to nearly three hundred thousand people. Now imagine that there are ten to sixteen other neighborhoods like that in Antananarivo, on lands that were once dedicated to agriculture..."
He points to the other bank.
—"Andohatapenaka, for example. If you do the math, these people, who are woefully uneducated, make up almost five million people in the urban commune of Antananarivo. And in total, four hundred and eighty hectares are no longer suitable for rice cultivation."
—"Which explains the skyrocketing price of rice since 2013... and these five million, that's already twenty-five percent of the population of the Antananarivo province. In other words, eighteen percent of the Malagasy live in these neighborhoods, where moral and ethical values are weak."
She shakes her head, as if struggling to believe it.
—"It's crazy... but this population is the biggest dead weight of our country."
—"I don't even know what that means, but yeah, it must be that."
Miaro doesn't let go of her train of thought.
—"I finally understand why my father looks for investments all over the world and always complains about the lower neighborhoods... I thought he was just snobbish about these people."
Haintso furrows his brow.
—"Wait... your father? what does he have to do with this?"
Miaro turns her head to look at him, looks at him for a moment... then bursts out laughing.
She laughs so hard that tears come to her eyes. A pure, sincere, almost liberating laugh.
Haintso, on the other hand, is completely lost. He doesn't understand what just happened. What did he say? Why this reaction? Has Miaro always been like this?
He doesn't know.
But when he's confused, he smiles. So, he smiles.
But the reason is simple: at school, everyone pretends to know who Miaro is better than she knows herself. They talk about her, define her, decide things for her. But at this very moment, with Haintso, this dynamic shatters.
He doesn't idealize her, he doesn't pamper her. He listens to her and lets her be. If he needs to support her, he'll do it without hesitation. If he needs to put her back on track, he won't beat around the bush. He'd even insult her if necessary. Not out of malice, but because that's what real friends do. They don't flatter, they shake things up when needed.
In just two meetings, Haintso becomes the first to truly see her.
So, once her laughter subsides, she finally looks up at him and explains herself.
—"Sorry, it's just... it's stupid, but..."
She stops. She's not used to talking about herself like this. She looks down, fiddling with her fingers. Then, in a calmer tone:
—"All my life, everyone has always known who I was, what I should think, what I should do. But you... you don't care. You let me just... be me."
She looks up, meeting his gaze.
—"And then... My father is the Minister of Foreign Affairs. Everyone knows that except you. Haha... He spends his time negotiating with heads of state, traveling, talking strategy... I thought he was just obsessed with his work, that his contempt for certain neighborhoods was a form of snobbery. But listening to you, I understood that he just sees things differently. And that..."
She hesitates, searching for the right words.
—"It feels weird."
Haintso watches her for a moment, silent. Then he lets out a sly smile.
—"So that's your big secret?"
Miaro raises an eyebrow.
—"Humm?"
—"That you're a minister's kid? Should I start calling you "Your Excellency" now?
She bursts into laughter."
—"You're an idiot."
He smiles.
—"I prefer that."
Miaro places a hand on her stomach. The feeling of emptiness begins to settle in. Just then, a street vendor passes by them, carrying a large, rigid woven plastic bag on his shoulder. The bag, rectangular with reinforced edges, is filled with stacked boxes containing various prepared dishes. He walks slowly, his gaze scanning the passersby, offering his meals to those who cross his path.
Miaro slows down, watching the vendor's movements. He stops a few steps ahead, opening his bag with a practiced gesture. Inside, an assortment of well-known dishes: Mi Sao, those lightly oily stir-fried Chinese noodles sprinkled with vegetables and small pieces of meat; "ordre œuvre," a thick, creamy mix of potatoes, eggs, and mayonnaise; and colorful pasta salads, accompanied by grated carrots.
She carefully takes a portion. The plastic tray feels warm against her fingers. Sitting on a makeshift bench, she brings the first bite to her mouth. The soft texture of the potatoes, the slight crunch of the vegetables, the sweet saltiness of the pasta blend together in a familiar sensation. She eats slowly, savoring each bite. Beside her, Haintso eats without hurry, his gaze lost in the movement of the street.
Once they finish, they head towards the distant fair, crossing the former rice field, because Miaro wants to try the vertical cycling ride.
At this hour, the sun dips just enough to stretch the shadows without weighing them down. It bathes the scene in a soft glow, muted like a melody playing in the background. A suspended moment, where the world seems to hesitate between wakefulness and dream.
Haintso walks in silence, absorbed by this strange harmony. Miaro, on the other hand, instinctively slows down. Her gaze follows the play of reflections, the way the sky breaks and reforms in the still waters. For a moment, she wishes she could freeze this image, capture its silent poetry.
It's a painting in motion, an ephemeral moment that can only be traversed.
And they move forward, leaving behind this landscape that, like a blurred memory, will continue to exist without them.
At the fair, Miaro immediately buys two tickets for herself and Haintso. Here she is, the one who always let herself be swept along by others' choices, now taking the reins of her own life. She laughs wildly at the top of the Ferris wheel. She doesn't care about the image people have of her, she plays rope and elastic with the local girls. And in this game, she's definitely not the best, far from it… and that's fine.
Very fine…
Everything is fine now…
On the way back to the Church of Saint Paule along the cobbled road, Haintso teases Miaro.
—"I had a hard time imagining you at ease here."
—"Why not? These girls are sweet, social, and cheerful. I just let myself get caught up in it."
Haintso continues with a different kind of mischief:
—"They look at you with admiration. It's like you're a vazaha."
"Vazaha" is the Malagasy term for Europeans. So, for someone as patriotic as Miaro, being called "vazaha" on her own land is quite frustrating.
—"Very funny... And you, Haintso? What brings you joy?"
But this innocent question, without any hidden meaning, does more damage than the whole "vazaha" story. I've told you before. When Haintso is confused, he smiles. And that's what he did. But his gaze doesn't lie. Melancholy floats through his smile.
—"...I don't know anymore. But today, at least, was a memorable day.
To avoid the question. And Miaro continues to excitedly talk about the day. Exactly as Haintso would have wanted."
—"Yes, I've never had so much fun in my life. Thank you for showing me this side of the city. I want us to do it again."
—"Me too..."
Miaro is in the car, pensive and amazed at her phone by the incredible day she just had. She doesn't hear the jokes and teasing between the RIL team. But the rays of the setting sun filtering through the window pull her away from the screen, creating a nostalgic and dreamy atmosphere. The first lights of the city start to turn on, from Ampefiloha to Anosy, adding to the magic of the moment. She closes her eyes. She feels content.