The announcement came during morning roll call.
"All students who sat for resit exams," the administrator said with a clipped tone, "results will be pasted on the main notice board by noon today. No crowding. No shouting. Behave yourselves accordingly."
Those words hit Amara like a wave of icy water. She had been dreading this moment ever since she handed in her last resit paper—especially Medical-Surgical Nursing. The exam itself had been kinder than expected, but the anxiety hadn't left her since. Now, the moment of truth was staring her in the face.
For the rest of the morning, she barely heard anything in class. Every tick of the wall clock sounded like a drumbeat echoing in her chest. Her palms were damp. She bit the inside of her cheek until it stung. Time moved both too fast and too slow.
By 11:45 AM, her legs were already carrying her toward the notice board. She wasn't alone. Dozens of students had already begun to trickle in—some pacing, others forming loose circles, talking nervously. The air was thick with tension and the kind of silence that spoke louder than words.
The result sheet was still being taped up when she arrived. The admin staff walked away after pinning the last page. In that split second, everyone surged forward, eyes scanning the typed list, fingers trailing down the numbered rows.
Amara stayed frozen.
Her heart slammed against her ribs as she watched people react—some groaned, others whispered excitedly. A few jumped up and down with joy. But she couldn't move. What if her name wasn't there? Or worse—what if it was, but with the word "FAIL" stamped beside it?
She slowly made her way through the small crowd. Every step felt like her legs were carrying bricks. When she finally stood in front of the board, she searched for her name through the blur of anxiety clouding her vision.
Asogwa Amara — Med-Surg: PASS
Asogwa Amara — Research: PASS
She blinked.
Again.
Then her knees nearly gave out from under her. It was there. Clear. In black ink. The word PASS stared back at her like a lifeline.
For a second, she thought she might cry.
The tension that had built in her chest like a volcano finally cracked, releasing a flood of relief. She exhaled sharply, bringing a hand to her mouth, as if to silence the gasp that escaped.
But the peace didn't last long.
A sharp voice cut through the chatter. "Well, well, miracles still happen."
Amara turned.
There she was—Vanessa, the class bully in red lip gloss, a skirt that violated every dress code, and a permanent smirk stretched across her face.
"I'm surprised you passed," Vanessa said loudly, loud enough for nearby students to hear. "Especially with all that stress about your poor family. I mean, no light, no generator, no food sometimes... and yet here you are. God really favors the broke ones."
Several heads turned. A few people snickered. Amara's ears burned.
Vanessa stepped closer, her voice dropping just slightly. "I was sure you'd flunk again, honestly. Would've made sense—girl like you doesn't belong in a place like this."
Amara felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. She stood still, fists clenched, trying not to let her voice crack.
But before she could reply, a familiar voice stepped in.
"You can move along now, Vanessa," said Kelsey, who had appeared beside her silently.
Vanessa rolled her eyes. "I wasn't talking to you."
"Good, then you won't mind shutting up," Kelsey said coldly.
That did it.
Vanessa scoffed and turned on her heel, walking off in a dramatic swing of her bag strap, muttering something about "charity cases."
Amara stood stunned.
Kelsey looked at her and smiled. "People like her talk because they're empty. Don't let it get to you."
Amara nodded slowly, still stunned by both the insult and the defense.
Kelsey glanced up at the board. "You passed both."
"You too?"
Kelsey grinned. "Yeah. Barely. But yeah."
The weight Amara had been carrying all week lifted a little more. She smiled for the first time that day—a real one. Kelsey nudged her gently with her elbow.
"Wanna go eat? My treat. I think we deserve it."
Amara laughed under her breath. "Yeah… I think we really do."
As they walked away from the board, students still crowding around behind them, Amara realized something: her journey wasn't going to be easy. There would always be people like Vanessa. There would always be fear and struggle.
But she was still here.
And for now, that was more than enough.