The days after "the slip" passed quietly. I was careful with my actions, but something about Tope's words stayed with me.
"Falling isn't failure. Staying down is."
She had no idea how much that one line helped me hold on.
Then, one Thursday afternoon, after physics class, she passed me a folded sheet of paper without saying a word. It wasn't like her to write notes — she usually just spoke her mind. That made the letter feel… important.
I waited until I was alone in my hostel corner before opening it.
Dear You,
I don't usually write letters, but there are things I want to say that I probably can't say out loud. At least not yet.
First, thank you — for trying. A lot of people act like change is easy. It's not. I've seen you struggle with it, and that's what makes me believe it's real.
But I also want you to know something I've never told anyone…
I wasn't always this confident. I used to be the quiet girl at the back who never raised her hand. I let fear control me. I watched my mother work two jobs just to keep me in school. And I promised myself: if I ever found strength, I would never waste it.
That's why I push people. Why I speak up.
It's not because I think I'm better — it's because I know what it feels like to be small.
I saw that same smallness in you once. But now? I see a boy trying to grow. Someone who listens. Someone who can become more — if he keeps choosing the harder path.
So here's what I'll say to you, just once:
Don't stop now.
Not for me.
Not for anyone else.
But for you.
— Tope.
I read the letter three times, each time slower than the last. My chest felt tight — not from sadness, but from something deeper. Something like hope.
And for the first time, I didn't just want to change.
I knew I could.