The Mensah Circus grounds felt strangely hushed the next morning. Normally, the air rang with the clatter of pins, the roar of lions, the beat of drums. But today, the performers kept their voices low, their glances quick and guilty. Everyone had heard the decision: the board's vote would come later, but Madam Efua had spoken first.
Naki was banned from the ropes.
She sat outside the caravan, her clown mask lying useless in her lap. The painted grin mocked her, a cruel echo of a dream smothered before it could bloom.
Kwesi crouched beside her, torch balanced across his knees. "Naks… Ma's just scared. She'll come around."
"She won't," Naki whispered. "I saw it in her eyes. She'd rather tear the tent down than let me fly."
Kwesi clenched his jaw but said nothing. His silence was louder than words.
Grandpa Ofori emerged from his wagon, leaning on his cane. "Child," he said gently, "a prodigy's path is never smooth. The silence of the tent does not mean the end of music. Only that the song is waiting."
But Naki's chest ached too deeply. "What if I was wrong, Grandpa? What if I'm just pretending to be something I'm not? A clown pretending to be a star."
For the first time, Ofori's eyes softened with sorrow. He reached out, squeezing her hand. "Only you can answer that. But I have never seen a clown fly like you."
Still, doubt weighed her down heavier than any rope.
That night, the rehearsal tent was empty. Naki slipped inside, unable to resist. The ropes hung above her, swaying gently in the breeze, but her feet refused to move. She stood frozen beneath them, tears slipping down her cheeks.
"Why won't you let me?" she whispered to the silent ropes. "Why won't you let me prove myself?"
A soft laugh echoed from the shadows.
Naki spun. Ayoa "Sky" Boateng leaned casually against the platform ladder, arms folded, his trademark grin flickering in the lamplight.
"You're talking to ropes now?" he teased. "That's a new level of desperate."
Naki glared, swiping at her tears. "What do you want?"
"To see if the prodigy had quit already." His smile softened, almost kind. "Good thing I checked."
"I'm not a prodigy," she muttered. "I'm just a clown."
Sky climbed the ladder with effortless grace and balanced on the rope, as if standing on the ground. "Clowns don't risk their necks to save falling performers. Clowns don't duel rivals in the dead of night. Clowns don't make the crowd roar louder than fire."
His eyes met hers, sharp and sure. "You're hiding because you're afraid of her shadow. But prodigies are not born to hide."
Naki's breath caught. His words cut through the silence, rekindling something that had almost gone out.
"You don't understand," she whispered. "If I disobey her again—"
"Then you'll prove her wrong again," Sky interrupted, grinning. "And I'll be there to push you higher."
The tent was silent no longer. In Naki's heart, a new rhythm stirred—faint, but steady.
The ropes were waiting. And so was her destiny.