The beginning
The rain had been falling all afternoon, soft and steady, tracing silver lines down the window. Nayan sat by the window, her chin resting on her knees, watching as the drops slid down, racing one another.
She had always found comfort in watching the rain... It was one of the few things in her life that felt peaceful.
Outside, the streets were muddy, the air thick with the scent of wet earth. The market would be quiet today, but her mother still needed a few things for dinner.
“Nayan”, her mother's voice called from the kitchen, “the rain had slowed, go quickly and get some onions from mama titi before she packs up”.
"Yes mama", nayan replied softly, slipping her worn slippers on.
She wrapped her faded scarf around her head and stepped out into the drizzle the cool air brushing against her skin. Her feet splashed through puddles as she made her towards the market.
The town was quiet, the usual noise dampened by the weather. Most of the stalls were half covered, traders packing up their goods for the day.
She paused near mama titi's stall her attention caught by two women whispering nearby.
"You didn't hear?" One said, leaning in close, her voice low with excitement.
"They have opened that scholarship again, the one for poor children, those who can't afford to dream"
******
Nayan's heart skipped a beat."...those who can't afford to dream."
She froze, pretending to admire the onions, her ears sharp on their words.
"Ah, but it's not for the likes of us," the other woman replied, shaking her head. "The form alone costs twenty thousand naira. Who in this village can afford that?"
The first woman scoffed. "Still, it's a chance. A real chance. They say it's for a university abroad."
Abroad.
The word hit Nayan like a wave.
Her breath caught in her throat as she imagined it—leaving the narrow streets she knew, stepping into a world beyond the village, beyond the market.
A chance...
But twenty thousand naira...
That was impossible.
Or was it?
Nayan walked home slowly, the onions tucked tightly against her chest, but her thoughts were far from the muddy path beneath her feet.
Twenty thousand naira.
It sounded like a mountain. A sum too high for someone who counted coins before every meal. She couldn't even imagine what twenty thousand naira looked like in one place.
As she stepped inside the house, her mother glanced up from stirring a pot on the stove.
"You're back," she said, wiping her hands on her wrapper.
"Did you get the onions?"
Nayan nodded, setting them down.
"Yes, Mama."
But her voice was distant, her mind still tangled with the words she had overheard. Her mother didn't seem to notice. She was humming softly, busy with dinner.
That night, as the rain fell harder against their roof, Nayan lay awake, staring at the dark ceiling. Her heart was restless, her chest tight with fear.
What if it's possible? she thought. What if it is?
But then reality whispered back:
Where would I ever get that kind of money?
Still, the thought wouldn't leave her.
*******
The next morning, before dawn had fully broken, Nayan rose quietly, rapping herself in her scarf. She had made her decision, foolish as it seemed.
She began small
She started by keeping the change from errands, slipping coins underneath her mattress when no one was looking. She offered to help traders at the market carry their goods taking small tips with a polite smile. She skipped buying snacks after school, ignoring her grumbling stomache.
Every naira. Every coin, she tucked away like it was gold.
Days turned into weeks....
Sometimes she wanted to give up, especially on days when her mother's eyes looked tired or when the neighbors whispered about how silly it was for that Nayan girl to think she could ever leave the village.
But everytime don't crept in, she remembered the word that had struck her so deeply.
**ABROAD
She imagined herself there walking among talk buildings, sitting in a classroom with students from far away places. She clung to the image like it was air.
And slowly, her little stash began to grow. She kept counting and each time the total got a bit close, her heart grew lighter. Until finally, after nearly two months, what seemed like decades to her, the day finally came.
Underneath her mattress, wrapped in an old scarf, sat twenty thousand naira - crumpled bills.
Worned notes. But hers.
She stared at it, hardly believing it was real.
Her hands trembled as she counted it again, just to be sure. Then she folded it carefully, tucking it into her school bag.
***** The next morning
The first rays of sunlight slipped through the small wooden window, painting thin golden lines across the cracked walls of Nayan's room. Outside, the village was already beginning to stir. Roosters crowed in the distance, while the faint voices of women sweeping their compounds drifted in with the cool morning breeze.
Nayan lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling.
Abroad.
The word echoed quietly in her heart.
Slowly, she sat up, her bare feet touching the cool cement floor. Beside her mattress lay the old scarf she had hidden so carefully beneath it. Her hands reached for it almost instinctively.
She unfolded the faded cloth with trembling fingers.
Inside lay the money she had spent weeks gathering—crumpled notes, worn bills, each one carrying the memory of sacrifices made. She counted them once.
Then again.
Twenty thousand naira.
A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. For the first time in weeks, the number didn't feel impossible.
She wrapped the money carefully back into the scarf and slipped it into her school bag, holding the bag close against her chest for a brief moment.
Her heart pounded—not with fear this time, but with hope.
Taking a slow, steady breath, Nayan rose to her feet.
Today, she would take the first brave step toward the dream she had dared to choose..
Nayan lingered for a moment before finally letting out a slow breath.
Today.
She folded her thin blanket neatly and slipped out of bed. The morning air was cool against her skin as she stepped outside with a plastic bucket balanced against her hip.
The village was already awake.
Children chased one another through the dusty paths while women swept the front of their compounds, raising little clouds of brown dust that danced in the morning sunlight. Somewhere nearby, a radio crackled with an old highlife song.
She fetched water from the drum outside, carrying the heavy bucket into the tiny bathroom. The water was cold enough to make her shiver, but she welcomed it. It calmed the storm inside her chest.
When she finished bathing, she dried herself with a faded towel and dressed carefully.
She chose her cleanest skirt and blouse, smoothing every crease with her hands. They were old, but neatly washed. She combed her hair, tied it into a simple ponytail, and looked at herself in the cracked mirror hanging on the wall.
"You can do this," she whispered.
Back in her room, she reached beneath her mattress once more.
The old scarf was still there.
She unfolded it carefully, revealing the twenty thousand naira she had guarded for weeks. Her fingers lingered on the worn notes before she counted them one last time.
Twenty thousand.
Not a naira less.
She slipped the money into a small brown envelope and tucked it safely inside her school bag. She checked twice to be sure it was there before slinging the bag over her shoulder.
"Mama," she called softly.
Her mother looked up from peeling vegetables outside.
"You're leaving early today."
"Yes," Nayan replied, forcing a calm smile. "There's... somewhere I need to go."
Her mother studied her for a second, then nodded.
"May God go with you."
"Amen."
Nayan stepped onto the dusty road, her heart beating harder with every step.
The scholarship office had been set up in the local government education building—a modest cream-painted structure that looked older than it was. A banner hung above the entrance.
INTERNATIONAL EDUCATION SCHOLARSHIP APPLICATION.
Several students stood outside, some chatting nervously while others clutched envelopes and documents against their chests.
Nayan tightened her grip on her bag.
She had never imagined she would stand among them.
After waiting in line, her turn finally came.
A woman seated behind a wooden desk adjusted her glasses.
"Good morning."
"Good morning, ma."
"You're here for the scholarship application?"
"Yes, ma."
The woman slid a form across the table.
"Fill this in carefully. Use block letters. Attach your passport photograph and submit it with the application fee."
Nayan's fingers trembled slightly as she accepted the form.
She sat on a wooden bench in the corner of the room and carefully wrote her name, date of birth, address, school, and every detail requested. She paused after every line, checking that she hadn't made a mistake.
When she finished, she attached the passport photograph she had taken the week before.
Taking one last deep breath, she walked back to the desk.
She placed the completed form and the brown envelope containing the twenty thousand naira before the woman.
The woman counted the money carefully.
Then she stamped the application with a firm THUD.
She tore off a small acknowledgment slip and handed it to Nayan.
"Your application has been received. Keep this slip safe. If you're shortlisted, you'll be contacted for the next stage."
Nayan accepted the slip with both hands.
"Thank you, ma."
As she stepped out of the building, the morning sun felt warmer than before.
She looked down at the small piece of paper in her hand and smiled.
It wasn't an admission letter.
It wasn't a visa.
It wasn't even a guarantee.
But it was proof that she had done something she once believed was impossible.
For the first time in her life, her dream no longer belonged only to her imagination.
It had begun.
The days had dragged on like old clothes across a worn floor—
Slow, heavy, worn.
Nayan had almost convinced herself it wasn't meant to be.
Maybe the committee had looked at her application and laughed.
Maybe twenty thousand naira had only bought her disappointment.
She stopped checking the dusty road every afternoon.
Stopped listening for footsteps outside their door.
Life settled back into its old rhythm.
She helped her mother at the market.
She fetched water before sunrise.
She swept the compound, cooked meals, and tried to bury the dream beneath ordinary days.
But dreams, she discovered, were stubborn things.
Even when she told herself to forget, a small part of her still listened whenever someone knocked at the door.
Then, one quiet afternoon, as the sun hung lazily above the village, three sharp knocks broke the silence.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Her mother wiped her hands on her wrapper and walked toward the door.
Nayan barely looked up at first.
Visitors were common.
Someone borrowing salt.
A neighbour asking for water.
Nothing more.
Then she heard a man's voice.
"Good afternoon. Does Nayan live here?"
Her heart stumbled.
No one ever came looking for her.
She slowly rose from the wooden stool, every heartbeat louder than the last.
She exchanged a confused glance with her mother before stepping toward the doorway.
The man stood there holding a large brown envelope.
"Nayan?" he asked.
She swallowed.
"Yes... I'm Nayan."
The man smiled.
"I have something for you."
..........
