The cafeteria was a noisy mess of chatter and clinking trays, but Amara felt completely alone as she stood frozen near the entrance. Her grip on the food tray tightened as she scanned the room—every seat seemed to be taken by someone she didn't want to sit near. Laughter, side glances, the occasional pointed whisper—it all pressed against her like walls closing in.
Her usual spot in the corner was still open. She slipped toward it quietly, keeping her head low.
The tray landed on the table with a soft thud. She didn't touch the food.
Instead, Amara stared blankly ahead, trying not to let the tears sting her eyes. The morning had already been a mess—waking up late, the humiliation in class, and the weight of everything she was trying so hard to carry.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and saw a text from her younger brother.
"Mum said your hostel rent is due again. What should we do?"
Amara stared at the screen, her throat tightening. Her fingers hovered, then locked the phone and dropped it into her bag. She had no answers.
Home hadn't been a home lately—it was a battlefield. Her mom had taken a pay cut at the clinic, and every week brought new bills. Amara had spent the whole Easter holiday juggling house chores, boiling rice with barely any seasoning, trying to study while her little siblings argued loudly in the background.
She tried revising Med-Surg—but her notes looked like scribbles. She'd failed it last semester, alongside Research. Two brutal subjects. Two resits.
She didn't even know how she was going to afford staying in school if she failed again.
"Mind if I sit?"
Amara blinked, pulled from her spiral of thoughts. It was Kelsey.
Sure," Amara said, a little surprised.
Kelsey sat down, unwrapping a sandwich she probably brought from home. She didn't say much—just enough to remind Amara that someone saw her.
They ate in silence for a while. It wasn't awkward. It was… comfortable. Like both girls needed the quiet more than they needed words.
Then Kelsey said softly, "I have a resit too."
Amara looked up.
"Research," Kelsey added. "My least favorite subject on this planet."
Amara gave a tired smile. "Mine are Med-Surg and Research."
Kelsey nodded slowly. "Tough combo."
Amara hesitated, then said, "I didn't even get to study much during the break. I was either cooking or sweeping or trying to figure out if we had enough rice for the next day."
Kelsey let out a small laugh, not mocking—understanding. "Same. My mom's been selling secondhand clothes in front of our house just to scrape up my fees. If I fail this resit, I might not come back."
Amara looked at her. For once, someone else got it. The fear. The shame. The helplessness.
Before she could say anything else, the cafeteria speaker crackled to life.
"All students with pending resits are to report to the school auditorium immediately for an urgent announcement."
The buzz in the cafeteria stopped. Everyone with a resit paused, exchanged nervous glances, then slowly got up.
Kelsey groaned. "Nothing good ever starts with an announcement."
The two girls joined the trail of anxious students heading toward the auditorium.
They sat side by side in the middle row, hearts racing.
Then the academic coordinator, Mr. Ford, walked onto the stage, holding a clipboard and a scowl.
He didn't waste time.
"As you're aware, resit examinations are a second chance. For some of you, a final one. The Nursing Board has adjusted the calendar, and all resit exams will now hold next week—Monday through Wednesday."
Gasps rippled through the room.
Amara's breath caught.
Next week? She hadn't even touched her Research notes. She didn't have textbooks. Her Med-Surg concepts were a mess. She wasn't ready. She wasn't even close.
"Any student who fails to appear or fails the exams will be asked to withdraw from the program permanently," Mr. Ford continued. "No exceptions."
The silence afterward was deafening.
Amara stared ahead, frozen. Her fingers dug into her lap.
Kelsey leaned in. "We're so screwed."
Amara whispered, more to herself than anyone, "I can't go back home without this."
Her voice trembled, but deep down, something hardened.
This wasn't just about school anymore. It was survival.