The morning sun poured through the high windows of the assembly hall, casting golden light across rows of neatly seated students. There was a rare stillness in the air—no chattering, no rustling, just an expectant hush.
At the center of it all stood Rita.
She clutched the microphone tightly with both hands, her fingers clammy. Her heart was thudding so loud it felt like a drum inside her chest. Normally, she'd be somewhere in the middle rows, quietly watching the chapel prefect lead the morning rituals. But today was different. The chapel prefect was absent, and the responsibility had fallen—suddenly and unexpectedly—on her.
The entire school was watching.
Rita took a slow breath, trying to steady herself. Her shoes felt glued to the floor. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and spoke.
"Good morning, fellow students," she began, her voice slightly shaky, but surprisingly clear. "Today, as we gather here, let us remember the importance of unity, peace, and love. Let us pray for guidance and wisdom as we start this new day."
A few heads tilted curiously—many students weren't used to hearing Rita speak at all, let alone from a microphone. She scanned the chapel prefect's neatly scribbled notes on the podium. National Anthem – Lead solo, it read.
Rita swallowed hard.
She adjusted the mic, nodded to the AV assistant, and the familiar instrumental of the National Anthem began to float through the hall.
The first few lines flowed from her lips with ease. She had heard and sung this anthem hundreds of times. But now, with every eye on her, every note felt heavier.
Then came the stumble.
"O God of creation, help our youth the truth to know…"
Rita sang it confidently—too confidently.
The error hit the room like a dropped plate.
That wasn't the next line.
A loud, shocked "Ah ah!" burst from a student in the center row, slicing through the melody like a whip crack. Gasps followed. Heads turned. A few students stifled laughter.
Rita froze.
She blinked, her mouth still open mid-note, and stared out at the sea of faces. Confused murmurs began to bubble across the room.
"Isn't that from the second stanza?" someone whispered.
"She skipped a whole part!"
Before the chatter could swell further, a teacher's voice cut through the noise like a thunderclap.
"Silence, please!" she barked.
The room stilled. But Rita's heart was anything but still.
She felt heat rushing to her cheeks. Her hands trembled around the mic. Her mind was spiraling—How could I mess up something so simple? Everyone saw. Everyone heard.
Just then, Evelyn, sitting in the front row, leapt to her feet.
"Guys, chill! It was just a mix-up!" she called, her voice clear and firm. She turned, facing the rows of students like a protective lioness. "We all make mistakes. Let her finish!"
A few students quieted, impressed by her boldness. The hall slowly began to settle.
Rita blinked hard, her throat dry, her confidence dangling by a thread. But Evelyn's voice… it anchored her. It reminded her she wasn't alone.
She took another deep breath—this one deeper, steadier.
Then, with shaky determination, she returned to the correct line. Her voice faltered slightly at first, but she pressed on, one word at a time, willing herself to finish what she had started.
And she did.
As the final, shaky note of the National Anthem faded from the speakers, a heavy silence filled the assembly hall like fog rolling in.
Rita's voice had wavered all the way to the end, and now she stood there—rigid, vulnerable, and exposed—at the center of hundreds of staring eyes. The mic in her hand felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Her pulse thudded in her ears. Her lips trembled slightly, pressed together in a tight line. She didn't need to look around to know that some students were smirking, others whispering.
The silence dragged on.
Her mistake still echoed louder in her mind than the music ever had. She hadn't just stumbled—she'd scrambled the lyrics in front of the entire school, blurting out a line from the second stanza far too early. That lone voice from the crowd—"Ah ah!"—had sliced through her confidence like glass.
Her stomach churned. What was I thinking? Why did I even try?
She took one step back from the mic, eyes downcast, ready to retreat—when something unexpected broke through the quiet.
Clap.
It was one sharp clap. Then another.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Rita's head snapped up in surprise.
Evelyn was standing tall, her hands coming together in loud, steady applause. Her face was lit up with pride, her eyes locked on Rita with nothing but encouragement.
"Come on, everybody!" Evelyn called out with a grin that beamed brighter than the hall lights. "Let's clap for her! That took serious bravery!"
There was a brief pause—a moment of collective uncertainty—then suddenly, it happened.
Like a match igniting a flame, students across the room began to clap. At first, a few scattered pairs of hands. Then the sound grew. And grew. It spread like wildfire.
Soon, the entire assembly was clapping. Louder. Faster.
The hall, moments ago thick with awkward tension, transformed into a wave of cheers and applause. A couple of students whistled support. Others stood up. A chorus of voices rose:
"Nice try, Rita!"
"You did great!"
"She held it down!"
Rita stood frozen, her mouth slightly open. She couldn't believe it. The same eyes she'd feared moments ago were now smiling at her. Clapping for her. Not out of mockery—but genuine support.
Then, in the midst of the sea of faces, one stood out.
Anne.
She hadn't clapped. She hadn't cheered. She simply sat there, arms folded, head tilted slightly.
But then, she nodded.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Not a quick, throwaway nod—but one with weight. One that held meaning. One that said I saw what you did. And I respect it.
Rita felt something shift inside her. That single nod struck deeper than any word. Coming from Anne—someone who rarely showed emotion, let alone approval—it meant everything.
A quiet smile broke across Rita's face. She gave a small, grateful wave to the audience, her cheeks still red but now warmed by something else: pride.
She stepped down from the stage, her legs slightly unsteady, and made her way to Evelyn, who immediately threw an arm around her shoulder.
"You good?" Evelyn whispered with a teasing smile.
"I think so," Rita whispered back, her voice shaky with a mix of laughter and leftover nerves. "Did I just survive that?"
"Not just survived—you owned it," Evelyn replied. "You made the anthem unforgettable. In a good way."
Rita let out a laugh—quiet at first, then bubbling with release.
As they walked through the schoolyard toward class, the buzz of morning routine resumed all around them. Life moved on. But for Rita, something had changed.
She had faced the fear, messed up, and still stood tall. And even though she stumbled, she'd walked off that stage with her head higher than when she walked on.
Because sometimes, a round of applause—and a single nod—was all it took to turn a shaky moment into a powerful memory.!