The morning air carried the smell of damp earth and wood smoke. Maya opened the market door and swept the floor again. The cats followed the broom, tails straight. Sunlight touched the shelf where salt and soap waited. She wiped the counter and lined up three empty jars. She had written small notes for each item so people could read the name and the ribbon plan. The notes looked uneven but proud.

Ruth arrived with bread and a smile. She said word had spread that the new store had fair prices. A woman came first carrying eggs. She asked if she could trade for a handful of salt. Maya nodded. The woman left two eggs and took a scoop of salt wrapped in paper. She smiled as if she had touched a miracle. Maya wrote the exchange in the ledger and gave her one ribbon. The woman said she would bring more next week.

More villagers followed. One brought milk. One brought dried herbs. Maya stacked goods by type. Her hands remembered the rhythm of the register back home. Count. Note. Smile. Replace. She could almost hear the click of buttons that no longer existed.

By noon a group of children stood by the door, laughing at the cats. Maya gave each one a small twist of soap and said they must wash their hands before eating. The children obeyed and ran to the well. Ruth laughed. She said even the elders noticed how clean the place smelled.

When the soap trader returned, he saw the crowd and grinned. He asked if she wanted the rest of his bars. Maya said yes, but at a fairer price. She showed the ledger and how many customers had asked for more. The trader agreed. She paid half in coin from the early sales and half in trade notes. He shook her hand and promised to return next moon.

Maya’s market became a quiet rhythm. She measured, recorded, and listened. Every visitor told her what the town lacked. She wrote all of it down. Needles. Cloth. Oil lamps. Cups. She began to think like a supplier instead of a clerk. She realized she could ask travelers to bring rare goods in exchange for basics they needed.

In the evening, Jonas arrived to inspect. He checked the ledger, nodded, and counted the coins. He asked if anyone had broken the rules. Maya said none had tried. He told her the headman was pleased and that two more villages had sent word asking about her prices. She would need help soon.

Maya looked around the small room. The shelf was almost empty. The jars had fingerprints on them. Yet the space felt alive. She told Jonas she planned to paint a sign above the door. He said to use words simple enough for everyone. She chose one word. Market.

Ruth brought supper. Eli helped feed the cats. Maya sat by the door and watched the sunset paint the fields. For the first time she felt something like peace. Not the tired kind from her old job, but a deep, full one. She had built something from nothing.

She thought of the night she was shot. The flash, the noise, the fear. She did not know why she had survived or why she was here. But the work gave her reason. The faces of the villagers reminded her of customers she used to greet late at night. The same small exchanges, the same quiet thanks.

Before sleeping she wrote one line on the inside wall with charcoal. Fair trade for all. The letters were crooked, but they felt strong. She blew out the lamp and lay down, listening to the rustle of straw and the soft purr of the cats. Outside, the wind brushed through the maple leaves. Tomorrow would bring new goods, new trades, and more people to meet.

As she drifted off, she whispered a promise to herself. She would build more than a shop. She would build trust, one sale at a time.