Waiting changed the house.
Not loudly, not all at once—but slowly, like dust settling where no one thought to look. The grant application had been submitted, the visitors had come and gone, and now there was nothing to do but wait. The days stretched thin, each one filled with ordinary routines that felt heavier than before.
At the school, Jamila's father checked his phone more often than he realized. Every ring made his heart lift and sink at the same time. He kept his voice steady in meetings, continued walking through classrooms, continued believing—but the uncertainty followed him like a shadow.
Binta, too, felt it. At the market, she smiled and bargained as always, yet her thoughts drifted. If the grant came, she could rest a little. If it didn't, she would push harder. Either way, she reminded herself, her family would eat. That truth anchored her.
Jamila noticed everything.
At school, she faced her own test. The debate results were announced, and she was chosen to represent the school at an interschool forum. The news thrilled her classmates, but Jamila felt fear tighten her chest. Standing for herself was one thing. Standing for others felt heavier.
That afternoon, she told Fatima.
"You'll be good," Fatima said without hesitation. "You already know how to listen. That matters more than confidence."
Still, Jamila struggled. She practiced her speech alone, stumbling over words, starting again. Doubt whispered that she wasn't ready, that someone else should take her place.
One evening, as the family sat quietly together, Jamila finally spoke. "What if I fail?"
Her father looked at her for a long moment. "Failure is not the opposite of success," he said. "It's part of learning to carry responsibility."
The waiting continued—at home, at the school, inside Jamila herself.
Yet in that waiting, something unexpected happened.
They learned patience.
They learned trust.
And Jamila, standing at the edge of her own moment, realized that waiting was not emptiness.
It was preparation.
Whatever came next, she would meet it—steady, aware, and no longer afraid to be seen.