The silence had become unbearable.
His friends were celebrating their victories, sharing screenshots of results, getting calls from proud relatives.
But Kingstar remained in the shadows not because he failed, but because his results were locked away.
He couldn't take it anymore.
That night, under the flickering bulb in his room, he called his mother.
"Ma…"
"Kingstar! Any news yet?"
His throat tightened.
"Ma… they blocked my results. I couldn't pay the fees. I didn't tell you because I didn't want to worry you."
There was a pause.
Then quiet sobs from the other end.
"So… you carried this all alone?"
"I'm sorry, Ma. I thought I was protecting you."
She cried not from anger, but the weight of sacrifice.
"Next time, don't protect me from your truth, my son. Let me carry it with you."
The next day, she paid every pesewa.
By afternoon, Kingstar walked into the ICT lab with trembling hands. He typed his index number.
This time, it opened.
His eyes darted through the lines:
Core Mathematics – A1
Elective Mathematics – A1
Geography – A1
Integrated Science – B2
Social Studies – B2
Economics – B3
English Language – B3
French – B3
He froze.
3 A1s. 2 B2s. 3 B3s.
Tears welled up.
All the sleepless nights… the fear… the risk… the lies…
They had not been in vain.
He stepped outside and called his mother.
"Ma, I've seen it. Three A1s."
She screamed.
He heard laughter and weeping in the same voice.
"You've made me proud, my son. You've made us all proud."
That night, Kingstar didn't just sleep.
He dreamed.
Of a future worth fighting for.