Sweat had begun to show on her forehead. It was the fifth time in her academic life that she was expecting her graduation result. As the clock struck 10 am, she could hear the sound of bicycle riding the stash of dead leaves outside the door. She knew the mailman was on his way. A failure, this time, would mean demoralization and a lethargic wait for another year to obtain an Undergraduate in Arts. A favorable outcome would put her on the right path to pursue her career in photojournalism.
As the doorbell rang, she moved at a snail’s pace towards the door and looked through the eyehole to confirm. It was indeed the mailman. She slowly opened the door. The mailman handed her a letter. It was from the University, as expected. She momentarily prayed as she tore open the flap of the envelope. The ground beneath her feet cracked. Her hands shook as she opened the fold of the letter and began to read,