The days fell silently, one after another. Each morning, the sun peeked more gently than the day before through the half‑open windows. The pages of Manijeh’s notebook, one by one, filled with words, numbers, strange and sometimes beautiful drawings. The sentences were short and intertwined, but with each passing day they became more precise and meaningful. In the heart of those pages, something more than homework began to take root. One of her teachers, Ms. Roya, soon noticed her way of thinking differently from the other students. Manijeh always sat in the second row, not too visible, not too far back. Her notebook was always neat.
One day, Ms. Roya came to class with a big smile and greeted each and every student as usual. She turned to the blackboard and decorated it with white chalk. She started writing code and talking at the same time: “Okay, my dear girls, today I am going to ask you a question first.” Then she said in a sarcastic tone, “I feel like you are all full of energy. 64 plus 49 equals what?”
Some of the students looked at the board with round eyes and leaned on their palms in thought. After a few minutes, half of the students sighed and leaned back, while others picked up their notebooks and started writing. Karima put her head close to Manijeh’s ear and whispered softly, “How many numbers did you write? My brain is burning.”
Manijeh smiled and said, “Instead of these words, let’s start answering slowly and get closer. It’s a great achievement, girl.” And she carefully went over the numbers in her mind. Then, writing the numbers, she started adding them up by counting on her fingers. After a few minutes of counting, she paused and raised her hand. In her opinion, a person should not be ashamed of herself. Maybe her answer would not be correct, but the important thing was that she tried to solve it. When she thought about the morning that afternoon, she wouldn’t be ashamed, thinking, “Oh, I wish I had tried to solve it.”
Ms. Roya said with a smile, “Manijeh, you found the answer?”
Manijeh stood up, still feeling stressed in front of the teacher and afraid of speaking. Her lips were dry and her hands were shaking slightly, but she stopped and said, “I think the answer to this question is 113.”
And Ms. Roya said with a wide smile, “Well done, my worthy girl, you did a great job.”
Like the first time, a spark of joy ran through Manijeh’s heart. A spark appeared in her eyes and her heart calmed down. She smiled back at Ms. Roya and sat down, taking a deep breath. Manijeh loved the dormitory, where she slept at night and studied during the day and the faces of women were cheerful and kind.
The next day, their English teacher, Ms. Leila, came to the class. Leila was a young woman with green eyes, olive hair, and most importantly, a special accent that made her voice melodious and charming. After greeting them collectively, she began to speak.
“Our dear students learned the letters of the alphabet. We learned English. Now let’s learn how to introduce ourselves.”
Manijeh stared at the board and Ms. Leila very carefully. She sat down, frowning between her eyebrows. She opened the notebook and, as usual, turned the pen in her hand once. The teacher, with her back to the students, wrote on the board, “My name
is ________. I am a student.” And then she kindly said to the students, “Guess what we should put here.” Everyone was silent for a few seconds. Everyone had an answer in their minds, but they were worried that it might be wrong and that others would make fun of it. Manijeh was hesitant, afraid, and wanted to tell the answer and reassure herself. After a few minutes , she raised her hand and was allowed to speak.
She stood up and said in a thin voice, “I think you should write your name in that empty space, for example, ‘My name is Manijeh, I am a st… ud… ent.’” Ms. Leila said cheerfully, “Perfect.” And the same habits were repeated.
And now Manijeh had a separate notebook. At the end of each day, she would write down what she had learned. Sometimes from her feelings, sometimes from her heart, sometimes from her mouth. Sometimes a sentence, sometimes a page, sometimes several pages. On one of those pages, in crooked and childish handwriting, she wrote, “My wish for the future is this: I want to read a lot, write a lot, learn a lot. Maybe one day I will become a teacher or a writer. Maybe one day I will write a book about girls like me.”
Karimeh was always by her side, full of talk and jokes. Her life felt bland, yet strangely bitter. She had become like family to Manijeh, like a shadow, like a pillar. Sometimes she would joke, sometimes she would grumble, but she was always with Manijeh.
One night, when Manijeh was writing and studying the notebook, Karimeh peeked out from behind her and said, “If you become a writer, please write about me too. I want to be famous too.” And her face turned into a look of delight and she laughed out loud.
Seeing her laugh, Manijeh laughed too. Her eyes sparkled, she turned her head and said, “I have to write. I am writing about the purest friend in the world. If I don’t write about you, my book is incomplete.”
Karimeh smiled. She put her hand under her chin and said quietly: “Pure heart… Well, this is beautiful.” And with that, Manijeh slowly invited Karimeh to step into her writing.
That night, in the silence of the dormitory, under the blanket stretched over them, and with the weak light of the flashlight, two girls in the dark, with words, with dreams, with
friendship, walked a path that perhaps no one outside could see. But in their hearts it was the brightest path in the world. A path to teach and learn.
A few years passed in this way…
Manijeh was now a seventh-grade student. Brave, successful, and victorious. The shy girl from yesterday was now among the best students in the dormitory school. Her grades in math, English and science were always at the top. She was an example for others. She was no longer the quiet child who was afraid to say hello. She now participated in discussions, and sometimes she was invited by teachers to go to the blackboard to encourage other students.
In the same year, representatives of a foreign institution entered the dormitory. Their faces were kind, their clothes were neat and formal, and their words were accompanied by smiles. They made an appointment with Ms. Roya.
A few days later, Ms. Roya gathered everyone in the dormitory courtyard and said that a special course was going to be held for talented students. “You will study for a month in English, chemistry, and physics, and then take an exam.” Those who did well on the exam would have doors open for their future.
Many students wanted to take the exam and be among the selected ones. From that day on, the dormitory took on a different color. After school, everyone walked around the dormitory yard, books in hand, studying hard. The dormitory, which was supposed to be open by 10 o’clock, had lights on at 3 or 4 in the morning.
By the time the exam day arrived, no one had slept all night. Everyone looked for their coats with tired eyes. The exam was supposed to be held in the schoolyard. Manijeh got ready before the others, left the room, and slowly walked down the hallway, watching the girls bending over while putting on their coats and looking for a sentence in a book. But Manijeh hadn’t stayed awake studying that night. She knew that a lesson that is studied with stress is a guest of the mind and didn’t consider the mind its home.
She quickened her steps. Five minutes later, she arrived at school. As soon as she stepped into the yard, her heart and hands trembled. A few men in suits entered and after explaining a few points, they distributed the papers.
Manijeh looked at the paper and started writing by saying Bismillah. Almost all the exam questions were familiar. Finally, she wrote the last answer and reviewed the paper. She handed the paper to the men and left the school.
Manijeh saw Karimeh, and they talked about the exam. Karimeh laughed and said that it was good, the exam had passed and now things were back to normal. But in the back of everyone’s mind, they were busy with the announcement of the results, which would happen in seven days.
The day of the announcement of the results arrived. The students headed to school early in the morning. On their way to the dormitory, Karimeh talked as usual about small things, like the way others were dressed. At the far end of the school, girls stood around the wall as if searching for something. Manijeh held the book in front of her face in the scorching sun. Karimeh said, “Let’s go see what the fuss is about.” And she ran. Manijeh watched her curiously and then ran after her. Manijeh moved through the crowd, gently pushing past people through the loud noises and placed her hand against the wall. She turned her gaze to the bookstore next to the school. A new book was displayed there. She had to save up money to buy it. It was during these thoughts when Karimah gasped and took a step back. Karimeh ran toward her, calling out, “You did it, you did it!” She stopped in front of her. She paused, took a deep breath, grabbed Manijeh’s arm, pulled Manijeh towards the wall, and happily thanked God.
Manijeh saw the title of the sheet in the middle of the page: “Announcement of Results.” The names were written on a piece of paper pasted on the school wall. She stared at the second column when Karimeh hugged her from behind and said, “Look! Manijeh, your name is written, I said you are different, you are unique.”
Manijeh looked for a few more moments and saw her name on the second line:
“Manijeh Nuristani—Accepted.”
