BRIANNA

BRIANNA'S POV Every year, this day arrives with a heavy heart, a day that I always wish would never come. It marks the anniversary of my father’s death, a profound loss that has cast a long shadow over my life and my mother's as well. Five years have passed since that fateful day, but the pain remains fresh, a reminder of the void that can never be filled. My father wasn't a man of wealth, yet his love for us was boundless, an enduring presence that lingers even in his absence. His love, though intangible, was a treasure more precious than any material possession, and its memory still warms my heart amid the sorrow. In the aftermath of his death, my mother was engulfed in a sea of misery, and who could blame her? My father was the love of her life, a partner she had never envisioned living without. Their love story was one of devotion and mutual respect, a bond so strong that its sudden rupture left her adrift, struggling to find her bearings in a world that seemed suddenly cruel and unforgiving. I shared in her disbelief and grief, for my father had been my beacon of happiness, a constant source of joy in my life. He would walk me to school each day, his reassuring presence a comfort before he headed off to work. Sundays were special, as he would take charge of the kitchen, filling our home with the tantalizing aromas of his culinary creations. Those Sunday meals are now a bittersweet memory. In an attempt to preserve our family traditions, my mother cooks the same dishes my father once did. While her food is delicious, it lacks the unique touch that made his meals extraordinary. Each bite reminds us of what we've lost, a nostalgic echo of a happier time. After my father's passing, my mother took up a job at a nearby diner, her salary the lifeline that keeps our household afloat. She works tirelessly, and though we manage to pay the bills, the financial strain is ever-present, casting a pall over our dreams and aspirations. The prospect of attending college seems increasingly remote, a distant goal slipping further from my grasp with each passing year. I know that my mother would gladly cover the costs if she could, allowing me to focus solely on my studies. However, our reality is stark, and I must come to terms with the likelihood that higher education is a luxury we cannot afford. My dream of becoming a cardiologist, a beacon of hope that has guided me for so long, now feels like a fantasy, an aspiration that may never be realized. Despite my academic diligence, my efforts to secure scholarships have been met with disappointment. Rejection letters have become all too familiar, each one a blow to my already fragile hopes. The most recent application didn’t even warrant a response, leaving me devastated and questioning my worth. Friends at school have encouraged me to try again as I enter my senior year, but the optimism I once felt has waned. My grades, stellar as they are, seem insufficient to break the cycle of rejection. From a young age, I understood that education was my ticket to a better future, a way out of the hardships that have defined my life. I have dedicated myself to studying relentlessly, often at the expense of a social life, believing that sacrifices now would pay off later. Yet, as the years pass, the dream of escaping our financial struggles seems increasingly out of reach. My mother's relentless efforts to provide for us are a testament to her strength and love, but I can't help but feel the weight of our precarious existence. We can’t continue like this indefinitely, and the uncertainty of what lies ahead is a constant source of anxiety. I cling to the hope that something will change, that a door will open, granting me the opportunity to pursue my dreams. Until then, I will continue to support my mother, doing whatever it takes to keep our heads above water. The memory of my father fuels my determination, his love a guiding light in the darkest of times. I owe it to him, and my mother, to keep striving, to honour their sacrifices by persevering, no matter how daunting the path may seem. "Brianna, are you not going to have breakfast today?" My mother's voice called from the kitchen, a sound that startled me out of my reverie. I hadn't even realized she was awake. Normally, she rises with the sun, but today is different. This day is special, or rather, it's a day I dread. Traditionally, I'm the one who wakes early to prepare breakfast for us on this solemn day, a small ritual of remembrance and comfort. My mother usually allows herself the luxury of sleeping in until ten, as if delaying the inevitable acknowledgement of our loss. "I'm coming, Mom!" I responded, pulling myself from the sanctuary of my bed. The morning routine was mechanical: brushing my teeth, the cold sting of the water in the shower, the softness of a towel. I dressed in a simple, understated dress and tied my hair into a messy bun, a semblance of normalcy on a day that felt anything but ordinary. With a deep breath, I headed to the kitchen. To my surprise, my mother was already seated, enjoying her breakfast. She looked serene, her demeanour as calm and composed as any other day. It was a stark contrast to the turmoil I felt inside. She didn't appear different at all, despite the significance of the day. She was nibbling on her pancakes, a sight that seemed almost surreal given the circumstances. "Don't just stand there, honey. Join me," she said, taking another bite of her pancakes. Her voice was warm, and inviting, a slice of normal life on a day overshadowed by loss. "Mom, you look lovely today. I didn't expect to see you like this," I remarked as I took the chair beside her and started to eat. "Ah! Yes, I'm having an interview at the new restaurant in town. It just opened and the owner of the diner where I work told us about it," she replied, her eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and hope. "Mom, that's wonderful! I mean, it's better than working at that diner. I know you'll miss them, but this is amazing," I said, feeling a surge of pride and joy for her. "I know, honey. They've treated me well, and the owner even spoke to the new restaurant's owner, saying good things about me. The salary is even better," she explained, her smile broadening. "That's amazing. I wasn't expecting to see you this happy today," I admitted, still marvelling at her resilience. "I know. Your father would've loved to see us happy, and I'm only trying to move on from his death. It's about time I made peace with it," she said, her voice tinged with both sadness and resolve. "I know I'll always miss him, but we have to start getting used to the fact that he is no longer with us. We'll continue doing things he loved, of course," she added, her eyes distant, lost in fond memories of the past. She was right. It has been five years since his passing, and I know he would have wanted us to move forward, to find joy and fulfilment in life, even without him. It was a difficult truth to accept, but necessary for our healing. "I know it's just an interview, but I am very positive that I will get this job. I've been waiting for something like this for a long time now, and it's finally happening," she continued, her optimism infectious. "If things go well, who knows? Maybe I can even start saving for your college fees. I know it won't cover everything, but it will be a start. I can look for another part-time job too so that I can at least have enough money to take care of us and also pay for your fees," she said. Oh, Mom! I thought, overwhelmed by gratitude and love. She's been my rock all my life, a source of unwavering support and strength. I don't know what I did to deserve such a wonderful mother. "Thank you, Mom. I don't know how to thank you. You've done so much for me, and I know you're taking this job because of me," I said, smiling at her with all the warmth I could muster. She returned my smile with one of her own, small but filled with love. "Honey, I'm your mother, and it's my duty to take care of you. I made a promise to your father that I would do absolutely anything to make sure you never lack anything, and I don't want to start failing now," she said, her voice firm and resolute. "I will never be able to live with myself if you don't go to that medical school. I don't want you to settle for something less than what you want, and you know that," she concluded, her eyes shining with conviction. I guess when God gave kids mothers, he made sure that I had the best. I wouldn't trade this woman for anything in the world. Her unwavering love and relentless determination to ensure my well-being have been the anchors in the stormy seas of our lives. Her strength is a beacon of hope, guiding me through the darkest days, especially today, as we face the painful reminder of our loss. We continued eating our breakfast in comfortable silence, a mutual understanding passing between us without the need for words. Each bite of the warm, homemade pancakes seemed to hold a promise, a testament to the resilience and love that binds us. Once we finished, my mom left for her interview, a mix of excitement and nerves evident in her stride. I watched her leave, feeling a swell of pride and hope. I decided to make my way to the internet café to check on the status of the scholarship. It had been two days since I last checked my emails, and the anticipation was gnawing at me. The internet café, a familiar haunt just a few blocks from our house, was an easy walk. This short stroll was not just a means to save a few bucks but also a way to clear my mind, breathe in the morning air and collect my thoughts. The walk took only a few minutes. As I pushed open the door of the internet café, the soft jingle of the bell announced my arrival. Clara, the ever-friendly receptionist, greeted me with a warm smile. "Brianna, I haven't seen you here for a while," she said, her voice filled with genuine warmth. I returned her smile, appreciating her kind presence. "Hi, Clara. I was here a few days ago, but you weren't in. There was someone else I hadn't seen before. I thought maybe you quit," I explained, settling into the familiar environment. Clara chuckled softly, shaking her head. "I wouldn't dare. I need this job. That was my cousin. I asked her to fill in for me so that I could take my grandmother to the hospital. Her blood pressure was really high, and if I hadn't been there, she might not have made it through the day. I came back the day after, though," she said, her eyes reflecting the recent worry she'd endured. "I guess you're here for the scholarship?" she added, her tone shifting to a lighter note. "Yes," I replied, a mix of anxiety and hope evident in my voice. "I know it's silly, really, but I need to know if they have responded and if I got it or not. The waiting is killing me, and they should have responded a week ago." Clara nodded sympathetically. "Sorry, Brianna. I know how that feels. Don't worry, though. Your grades are great, and I know you'll get it," she reassured me, her confidence in my abilities a small but significant comfort. "Thank you," I said, grateful for her encouragement. "How much will it cost? I'll be here for a few minutes." "Oh, come on. Just choose any computer and do your thing. Don't worry about the p*****t; it's on the house," Clara said with a generous smile. I couldn't help but smile back gratefully at Clara. I guess today is my lucky day, I thought, as I made my way to an empty chair that had caught my eye. I logged into the computer, my heart pounding with each keystroke. Navigating to the scholarship website, I took a deep breath before checking the status. 'APPLICATION DECLINED' was written in block letters, stark and unyielding on the screen. I couldn't stop the tears from escaping my eyes, blurring the painful words that confirmed my worst fears. This was the last scholarship I had applied for, the final lifeline in a series of desperate attempts to secure my future. I had been applying for months, pouring my heart and soul into each application, and now I was left with nothing. A crushing sense of hopelessness settled over me, and I struggled to contain the sobs that threatened to break free. Clara seemed to notice my distress. She approached with a glass of water, her eyes filled with empathy. "I'm sorry, Brianna," she said softly, placing the glass in front of me. "I know this was your last chance. I was also praying that you get this one. I'm so sorry." She squeezed my right shoulder gently, her touch a small comfort in the face of my overwhelming disappointment. "What do I do now?" I whispered, my voice trembling. "I don't even know why I'm not given an opportunity to prove that I will do great next year. My grades are already great, and I just need a few credits to be able to graduate next year." Clara sighed, her expression one of helpless sympathy. "I know, darling, and I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do for you," she said, her tone filled with genuine regret. I knew she would help if she could, but there was nothing she could do to change the reality of my situation. "Thank you, Clara," I said, forcing a small smile for her sake. I felt a deep sense of gratitude for her kindness, even though it did little to alleviate my despair. I decided to check my emails before heading back home to make lunch, hoping for any distraction from the pain. As I scanned my inbox, I found nothing but a few junk mail. I methodically checked and deleted each one, my mind numb and my heart heavy. Just as I was about to log out, a new notification popped up addressed 'CONGRATULATIONS'. My heart skipped a beat, confusion and curiosity battling within me. Huh? I don't remember applying for anything except these scholarships that took a lot of my time for nothing. I looked at Clara, who seemed just as surprised as I was, but the encouraging smile on her face urged me to open the email. With trembling fingers, I clicked on the message. 'Miss Brianna North Jones, congratulations on receiving a scholarship to study at Brooklyn International School in Brooklyn. Brooklyn International School offers a scholarship to one deserving student across the country and you're the lucky winner. You can start your senior year next year and if there's anything you would want to know, feel free to contact us. The school fees are already paid off but unfortunately, you'll have to pay for the accommodation. Meal allowances are part of the school fees. We'll be expecting you on the first day of school. Please report to the headmaster's office upon your arrival. Congratulations once again, we look forward to having you in our school. Warm regards, Jacob Charles Brooklyn International School Owner.' I couldn't believe even a single word as I continued reading the email. It felt surreal, like a dream I was afraid to wake from. Brooklyn International School? I never thought I would study there. It's one of the most prestigious and expensive private schools in the country, a place where students from very wealthy families go. And to receive a personal email from Mr. Charles, the owner himself, was beyond anything I could have imagined. What surprised me the most was that I never applied for it. I didn't even know they offered a scholarship. How had this happened? Studying at Brooklyn International would open up so many opportunities for me, and I knew that very well. Getting a scholarship for my medical studies would be easier, and medical schools would have no problem accepting me with such a background. Lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice Clara had left until I saw her returning with two cups of juice. She handed one to me, her face beaming with joy. "This calls for a celebration! I'm so happy for you, Brianna," she exclaimed. We clicked our glasses together, and I took a sip of the juice, the sweetness a sharp contrast to the bitterness of my earlier disappointment. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt a glimmer of hope and excitement. I couldn't wait to tell my mom about this. She would be ecstatic, and I could already imagine the look of pride and happiness on her face.