Waiting for my name

The teacher is calling names one by one. I’m sitting here, waiting. My notebook is open, but I’m not really looking at it.

The quiet before the sound

It’s a strange kind of quiet. Not peaceful, but full of possibility. Everyone is holding their breath a little.I trace the edge of my desk with a finger. The wood is smooth and cool. It’s something to focus on while the list gets shorter.

When the choice is yours

Sometimes, the waiting is the hardest part. You have all this time to think. To wonder what you’d pick if it were up to you.What if you could just decide for yourself? Not wait for permission. Just point to something and say, ‘That one. I want to know about that.’It feels like a secret power. One you don’t have to announce. You just use it quietly, for yourself.

A different kind of list

It wouldn’t be a list of names. It would be a list of doors. Each one leads somewhere new.

No wrong answers

The best part is, there’s no one to say you chose wrong. It’s just your curiosity, leading the way.