The cheers of the festival still echoed outside the tent when the performers gathered in the main caravan. The lantern light flickered over tense faces. Everyone spoke at once—some praising Naki's daring rescue, others whispering about defiance and danger.
At the head of the room sat the circus board: Madam Efua, three senior performers, and Grandpa Ofori. Their verdict would decide Naki's fate.
Efua's shawl was wrapped tight across her shoulders. Her eyes burned as she slammed her palm on the table. "What my daughter did tonight was reckless! She put her life at risk, and in doing so, risked the reputation of this circus. We are not in the business of gambling with death!"
"But she saved that boy," Kwesi cut in, stepping forward. "Without her, we'd be dealing with a tragedy instead of applause. The crowd cheered her like a hero!"
One of the jugglers muttered, "Or like a star."
That word spread like wildfire through the room: star. Some smiled. Others scowled.
Grandpa Ofori raised a hand, his voice steady. "Efua, I understand your fear. I know the pain of your past. But the ropes did not betray us tonight. They gave us a gift. The crowd saw more than a clown. They saw the future of the Mensah Circus."
Efua stiffened, her jaw trembling. "You would risk her life for fame?"
Ofori shook his head. "No. I would honor the fire that already burns in her. That child was not meant to stay on the ground."
The senior contortionist spoke up, her tone sharp. "She disobeyed orders. If we let this slide, what message does it send to the rest of us? That rules mean nothing?"
The juggler twins, Ama and Kojo, leapt to their feet. "We want her act in the show!" Kojo said."She makes us look less boring!" Ama added.
Laughter rippled uneasily through the performers.
All eyes turned back to Efua. As ringmaster, her word carried the most weight. But tradition demanded the board's agreement.
Her hands gripped the table, knuckles white. At last, she said, "This matter will not be decided in haste. We will vote after the next performance. Until then, she is forbidden from the ropes."
Naki's chest tightened. She bowed her head, though her heart screamed.
"Understood," she murmured.
But as the meeting dispersed, she caught Grandpa Ofori's eye. He winked. Kwesi clapped her shoulder. And in that moment, Naki knew—no matter what the board decided, the ropes were already hers.
The choice of the ringmaster might delay her rise. But the choice of the crowd, and of her own heart, had already been made.