Chapter 1I follow Amal through an endless maze of towering sugarcane.
“Where are we going?” I ask her for the third time.
“Shh!” my best friend chides me. “If you talk too loudly, one of my sisters will hear, and there’ll be no secret conversations.”
“We could talk quietly right here and—Ouch!” I flinch as my arm grazes the jagged edge of a dried stalk. Amal shoots me a look.
It takes a few more minutes, but at last we find ourselves on the other side of the field, where a grassy plain stretches into the blue horizon. Water buffalo graze and goats bleat in the distance. Amal heads toward a narrow stream slicing the land in two. Balancing atop a fallen tree trunkthat bridges the divide, she settles down and gestures for me to join her.
“Why here?” I ask, though I can see it
is a pretty spot. The stream gurgles inches from our swinging feet. Overhead, the sun slips behind a patch of feathery clouds.
“You said you needed to talk about something top secret.” She gestures to the expanse stretching out around us. “This is the best spot to be free of prying eyes and ears.”
“You have a top secret place
I didn’t even know about?”
“You’ve never asked for a top secret discussion before.” Amal tilts her head. “What’s up?”
“See for yourself.” I pull out the folded envelope nestled in the bottom of my satchel and show it to her. She squints as she takes in the golden calligraphy. Her eyes widen.
“Is that . . . is that the acceptance letter from the Bukhari summer camp?”
“Or the
rejection letter.”
“You don’t know what it says?”
“I . . . I haven’t opened it yet.”
“Hafsa!”
“I know, I know. It’s just . . . I didn’t tell Amma and Abu that I applied,” I remind her. “I’ve been stalking the mailman for weeks so I’d be the one to intercept it. And now that it’s here . . . I guess I didn’t want to be alone when I got the news.”
“Well, I’m here now.” Amal points to the letter. “Go on. Open it.”
“I probably
didn’t get in. It’s the best program in Pakistan. They only have a handful of spots for students who aren’t enrolled during the regular school year.” I shrug. “It’s not a big deal either way.”
Amal nods agreeably, even though we both know I’m lying. This
is a big deal. I’ve had my eye on this camp for months, ever since my teacher told us about attending it herself when she was my age. I’d studied Miss Sadia’s faded flyer until I’d practically memorized it. This session is a four-week program for girls who are curious about a career in medicine—shadowing not just doctors but also researchers who are trying to find cures for all sorts of different diseases, and
also spending class time doing other fun stuff, like dissecting worms and frogs. Miss Sadia ended up changing her mind when she grew up and became a teacher instead, but I
know that I want to be a doctor, so this program is tailor-made for me. I
had to apply. I also knew my parents’ answer would be no if I asked them. So I didn’t. Figured I’d worry about that later, if I actually got in. And now? Later has arrived. This thin envelope holds my fate.
Nervously, I tear at the wax seal. Pull out the neatly folded letter. My eyes travel over the words. I read them once. Then again to be certain.
To the parents of Hafsa Imtiaz,
Congratulations!
We are pleased to extend an invitation to the Bukhari Summer Science Camp for the upcoming B session. Our top-of-the-line courses are taught by nationally certified educators with supplemental learning, excursion experiences, and more provided by renowned experts in their field.
Please secure your child’s spot by June 24. Classes begin on July 13. Course fees include all outings and food for the duration of your child’s stay. Lodging is additional. Do not hesitate to reach out if you have any questions. We look forward to seeing your child soon.
Stay learning and stay curious! Here’s to a Bukhari-tastic summer!
Warmly,
The Bukhari Summer Science Camp Team“Out with it!” Amal pokes me. “What does it say?”
“It says . . . it says
yes!”
Amal squeals and tackle-hugs me so hard I nearly lose my balance, my sandals dipping into the cool stream below. I laugh. The pressure that had been bubbling in me all these weeks fades. I feel so light right now, I could float away.
“I knew it! Hafsa, this is incredible!” She grins. “Don’t get me wrong. Four weeks dissecting frogs doesn’t sound like
my idea of a good time, but you probably can’t think of anything more exciting, right?”
I’m about to respond, but then I flip to the next page. My giddy relief fades.
“What’s wrong?” Amal asks.
“The fees.” I stare at the number for tuition plus lodging.
Amal leans over, then gapes at the numbers. “That’s ridiculous! My father just paid that much for his new motorbike!”
I sink back to earth like a deflated balloon. Of
course there’d be a high cost for a program like this. I’d been so fixated on whether I’d get in and how I’d convince my parents to let me attend that I hadn’t stopped to think about this part.
“It’s impossible,” I say.
“Well . . . it
is a big number.” Amal bites her lip. “But it’s also a big opportunity, right?”
“I don’t think Abu will see it like that.”
“Start with your mother? Convince her to convince your dad?”
I shake my head. “She’ll say everything has to go through him.”
“You never know, your father could surprise you. He’ll probably say no
at first. But you’ll convince him. You will! No one’s telling
you no.”
Amal laughs when I side-eye her.
“This is different than getting a new pair of shoes for Eid or even riding my bike around town—and you know how hard it was to convince my father that it was okay for a girl to be on a bike. This is climbing to the peak of Mount Kilimanjaro level of difficulty.”
“Well, people
have climbed that mountain, haven’t they? Sure, these fees are high, but if it’ll help you become a doctor, it will be worth it. Doctors make lots of money, don’t they?”
“I could tell him I’ll pay him back,” I say slowly. “I definitely would.”
“You shouldn’t
have to pay him back! You’re always working at your family’s market.” She straightens a bit. “You want to know what I think? I think you’ve earned it.”
I
do help Abu most days. I’ve been working at our family produce market since I was old enough to poke my head out from behind the counter. And ever since my sister, Shabnam, got married and moved away a few months ago, I’ve been at the market whenever I’m not in school.
“Shabnam lives in Lahore,” I say slowly. “She could promise my parents that she’ll check on me if they’re worried about my being so far away.” I brighten. Maybe I could see her on the weekends! My sister and I used to do everything together before she got married.
“You’ll figure out a way to make it work,” Amal says, sounding so sure as she gives me a hug.
I hug her back. This is what best friends are for, right? To remind you of your strength when you’re feeling wobbly. This camp costs a lot of money. A
whole lot of money. I know it won’t be as easy as Amal’s making it out to be. But this is important. I’ll work on my father. I’ll convince him.
He’ll come around. He has to.
Copyright © 2026 by Aisha Saeed. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
