Английская школа (2020)

The air in the small apartment was thick—not just with the smell of old wood, the kind that carries the weight of years, but with something else. Desperation? No, that’s too strong. Determination, maybe, but even that feels off. It was more like... a quiet hum, the kind you hear when you press your ear to a train track, waiting for something to come. He sat at the kitchen table, fingers drumming on the chipped surface, staring at the numbers scribbled on a scrap of paper. The numbers didn’t add up. They never did. But he kept trying, rearranging them like puzzle pieces that refused to fit.

“Dad?” Her voice cut through the silence, soft but sharp, like a knife through butter. He looked up, forcing a smile. She was holding her English textbook, the one with the dog-eared pages and the faint smell of ink and dust. “Do you think I’ll really get to go?”

He didn’t answer right away. How could he? The truth was a heavy thing, and he wasn’t ready to let it out of its cage. Instead, he said, “We’ll see,” which was his way of saying, “I’ll move heaven and earth if I have to.”

The days blurred together after that. He worked—double shifts, odd jobs, anything that paid. He even considered selling the car, but then how would he get to work? The irony wasn’t lost on him. He’d laugh if it didn’t hurt so much. Nights were the worst. That’s when the doubts crept in, shadows dancing on the walls like... like demons, or maybe just drunks at a Saturday night party. He’d lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he was fooling himself. But then he’d think of her—her laugh, her dreams, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about England—and he’d push the doubts aside.

There were moments, though. Small victories. A bonus at work. A raffle he almost won. A friend who lent him a few hundred, no questions asked. Each one felt like a step forward, even if the path was still shrouded in fog. And then, one day, it happened. He got the call. The one he’d been waiting for, though he hadn’t realized it until the voice on the other end said the words.

“We’d like to offer you a grant.”

He didn’t cry. Not then. But later, when he told her, when he saw her face—that’s when it hit him. The weight of it all. The fear, the hope, the sheer impossibility of it. He’d done it. Or maybe they’d done it together. Does it even matter?

You ever feel like the world is holding its breath? Like everything’s paused, just for a second, waiting for you to catch up? That’s what it felt like. And then, just like that, the air shifted. The hum faded. And for the first time in years, he could breathe.

But you know how it is. Even when you win, there’s always something. Always. The grant didn’t cover everything. There were still forms to fill, fees to pay, flights to book. The road ahead wasn’t smooth, but it was there. And that was enough.

For now.