Ben walked back and forth in front of the main hall at 3:58, his heart attempting to break through his chest. Through the solid wooden doors came the muffled sound of voices warming up-scales and offhand melodies that blended into something close to magic.
He'd been debating with himself the entire day. Going to choir practice would be public. Visible. A declaration that he was pursuing Sheila despite Mark's campaign of humiliation. It would place a bull's-eye on his back.
Not going, however, would be giving Sheila grounds for being right-that he was too scared to fight for what he said he felt.
"You're going in or just going to stand there sweating?" Margaret Akello appeared at his side, her arms full of sheet music. "Choir members only, the rule is. But Mrs. Nakiwala won't mind if you sit quietly in back."
"I don't know-"
"Ben." Margaret's voice was gentle but firm. "Sometimes the only way past fear is straight through it."
She pushed open the door, and before Ben could retreat, he was following her in.
The main hall was smaller than he remembered, its rows of chairs facing a small stage. Twenty students lined up, their voices blending as they went through scales. Mrs. Nakiwala, the choir director, stood at a piano, her hands moving across the keys with practiced ease.
And there, in the front row, stood Sheila.
She saw him immediately. Their eyes met across the room, and something passed between them-recognition, maybe. Or challenge. Her expression didn't change, but nor did she glance away.
Ben slumped into a chair in the back corner, trying to disappear. Some of the choir members turned his way, whispers started, but Mrs. Nakiwala clapped her hands loudly.
"Attention, everyone! Today we're singing 'Tuliyo.' This is a very old song-older than your grandparents. Show it respect."
The pianist began an introduction-minor chords with a haunting, echoing tone of yearning. When the choir began to sing, Ben felt goosebumps in his arms.
*Tuliyo, tuliyo, we nga gye ndi*
*Nnakomyewo, nnakomyewo*
The words spoke of love and parting, of vows spoken and travels undertaken. Though he didn't comprehend each syllable, Ben was caught up in the feeling.
Sheila began her solo then.
Her voice took flight from the harmony like a prayer-pure and sweet and achingly beautiful. But it was more than mere technical skill that constricted Ben's chest. It was the emotion she poured into each note, the manner in which she made the old words sound intimate and desperate.
She wasn't singing the song. She was living it.
*Where I am going, I will return, my love*
*Wait for me as the moon waits for the sun*
As she sang, Sheila's eyes met his across the room. The connection was mere seconds, but at that moment, Ben knew what she was asking him.
Would he wait? Would he fight for this? Was he brave enough to mean what he'd written?
When the last note faded away, the spell was shattered. Mrs. Nakiwala began to give corrections-"Sopranos, watch your breath here"-and the choir fell apart into the usual sounds of rustling sheets and cleared throats.
"What's he doing here?"
Mark's voice cut through the usual din like a knife. Ben's blood went cold as he watched Mark enter the hall, followed by Joseph and two other football players.
"The lab's over there, Science Boy," Joseph said, waving his hand. "This is for people with actual talent."
Some of the choir members laughed-empty-headed rather than cruel, but wounding all the same. Ben's ancient reaction flared, the urge to run, to hide, to avoid confrontation.
Then Sheila moved forward.
She leaped down from the risers and marched over to him. Not to Mark. To Ben. Every eye in the room followed her.
"You came," she said when she reached his row, in a voice that was full of what appeared to be genuine joy.
"I-yes."
"Sheila," Mark's voice was a warning. "What are you doing?"
She didn't even glance at him. "Did you like the song?"
Ben swallowed, aware of the weight of eyes on him, judgment forming in real time. This was a moment. Another test.
"Your voice," he managed, "it made the whole room hold its breath."
Sheila's smile was dazzling. "Thank you. That means a lot coming from someone who actually listens." She turned to face the room, her voice ringing with clear command. "For anyone who's wondering, Ben is here because I invited him. Any issues with that?"
Silence. Complete, shocked silence.
Mark's face darkened with contained anger. "Sheila, can I speak with you? Privately?"
"No."
"I think you're misunderstanding-"
"I'm not confused about anything." Sheila's voice was still pleasant but with steel underneath. "I invited a friend to come and listen to choir practice. That's all."
"Friend?" Mark's laugh wasn't pleasant. "Is that what he said? Because I don't-"
"I don't care what you think, Mark." Sheila cut him off with the kind of polite brutality that could only be achieved by teenage girls. "This is choir practice, not a football game. If you're not going to sing, then please get out."
Mrs. Nakiwala, who had been watching this exchange with raised eyebrows, finally intervened. "Mr. Okello, Miss Nalwanga are correct. This is rehearsal time. If you are not a choir member, I'll have to ask you to leave."
Mark's jaw clenched. Ben thought for a moment he would actually cause a scene. But even Mark wasn't stupid enough to take on a teacher in public. He shot Ben a look of pure venom, then stalked off, his groupies trailing behind him like confused puppies.
The moment the door closed behind them, the chatter broke out. Sheila ignored them all, turning back to Ben.
"We're done with practice. Want to walk back towards the dorms together?"
It was more of a declaration than an invitation. A line drawn in the sand. Ben was both scared and excited in equal measure.
"Yes," he replied, his voice stronger than expected. "I'd like that."
As Sheila returned to finish practice, Ben sat in his corner chair and felt something primal shift in his chest. He hadn't run. He hadn't hidden. When it had come down to it, he had stayed.
It wasn't much. Sitting in a chair while Sheila fought his battle for him. But it was something. A small victory over the cowardice that had defined him for so long.
The choir practiced two more pieces, but Ben did not truly listen. His mind was too busy with what had happened, with what Sheila's defense would imply, with what would happen now that Mark's rage had such a precise target.
When rehearsal finally ended, Sheila collected her music folder and walked toward him with the same confident stride. Choir members whispered and speculated around them, but she did not seem to notice or care.
"Ready?" she said.
"I think so."
"You think so?"
"I'm scared," Ben admitted. "But I'm here."
Sheila's smile became real and warm. "Being scared but still showing up? That's not cowardice, Ben. That's courage."
Hand in hand they walked out of the hall, into the golden afternoon sunlight, and Ben felt like he was walking into a brand new world-one where maybe, just maybe, he could be a person deserving of loving.
Behind them, the choir murmured with rumors that would be all around school by dinner. Ahead of them, Mark's anger loomed with consequences neither of them could even foresee.
But here and now, Ben and Sheila walked together, side by side, and that appeared the bravest thing Ben had ever done.