Fatima's email arrived late at night, long after Jamila had finished her homework and the house had gone quiet. Jamila read it twice before her heart began to race.
I've been offered a placement, Fatima wrote. A research and training program. It could lead to a scholarship abroad.
Jamila sat up in bed, excitement and fear colliding in her chest. This was what Fatima had been working toward for years. It was proof that her sacrifices were being seen.
But there was another line.
It starts soon. And it would mean being even farther away.
The next day, the family gathered to talk. Fatima joined by video call, her face lit by the dim light of her hostel room. She looked proud—and torn.
"This is big," their father said carefully. "But it's also demanding."
"I don't know if I should take it," Fatima admitted. "You're still struggling. I don't want to leave you with more weight."
Binta shook her head gently. "We didn't raise you to shrink your dreams for us," she said. "We raised you to carry them forward."
Jamila listened quietly, watching her sister wrestle with a choice that felt both generous and painful. She had always seen Fatima as strong, but now she saw the vulnerability beneath that strength.
"What if I can't do both?" Fatima asked softly. "What if I fail you?"
Jamila spoke before she could stop herself. "You won't," she said. "You already showed us what courage looks like. Now it's our turn to show you."
Silence followed, thick with emotion.
That night, Fatima walked across campus alone, thinking about home, about distance, about guilt. She realized that dreams were not selfish—but they demanded honesty. She could not protect everyone from difficulty. She could only choose truth.
The next morning, she accepted the placement.
When she told her family, there were tears—but no regret. Pride filled the spaces fear had once occupied.
The cost of dreams, Jamila realized, was not separation.
It was bravery.
And sometimes, loving someone meant letting them go farther than you could follow—trusting that what they gained would one day
circle back home.