Warmth lingered. With her eyes closed, Zara let the feeling wash over her—and for the first time, she understood. So this is what it feels like to be cheered for.

Her chest felt full and hot, yet the happiness was unfamiliar, difficult to name. She couldn't think of what words to write in her notebook, or how to describe it properly.

Moments of loneliness after parting with Amani—days spent alone at school—flashed through her mind like passing scenes. And yet, even within that solitude, the songs she had sung with Amani remained, quietly glowing with hope.

Zara pulled out her notebook and opened to the first page. Her fingers trembled as she held the pencil. After a moment of hesitation, she slowly wrote a single word. Hope.

The letters were crooked, but Zara stared at them for a long time. It felt as if she had transferred a small spark onto the page, as though today's trembling had settled inside that word. When she touched the paper, she felt its texture beneath her fingertips.

The warmth of the hands she had held onstage still seemed to linger, and faint echoes of applause rang softly in her ears. Anxiety and hope tangled together, making her fingers shake ever so slightly.

I'm still small, still clumsy. But... I don't want to lose this spark.

Zara closed her eyes. She saw her hometown hill bathed in red sunset light, the wind rustling the baobab leaves, and Amani laughing as she struck a tin can. Clang, clang—

The metallic sound echoed in her ears, blending into the rhythm of the applause that had filled the auditorium earlier that day. Zara whispered carefully. "Hope..."

Her breath brushed through the air of the room. After a brief pause, she spoke again, a little more clearly. "Hope... can you hear me, Amani? I sang today, here without you. But it's strange... I felt brave, like you were right beside me, tapping that tin can again."

Her eyes burned with moisture, but she didn't lose her smile. She gently closed the notebook and pressed a palm against its cover. The faint resilience of the paper beneath her hand overlapped with the rhythm of her heartbeat. As if afraid the word might scatter, she slowly lifted her hand—like covering a spark to protect it.

Beyond the window, city lights shimmered. Staring at the distant blinking lights, Zara felt an unfounded premonition. She couldn't name this light yet, but she knew—one day, she would surely meet it.

Sliding the notebook beneath her pillow, Zara whispered one last time. "Hope." As if speaking directly into Amani's ear—soft, yet clear.

The trembling in her fingers gradually subsided. In the space where anxiety had drained away, something remained: a warmth, small but unmistakable. It was not fear—but hope, granted for the very first time.