Akutu sat alone in the library, staring at the pages of her notebook, but the words blurred together. 48%. The number haunted her. It was more than just a bad grade—it was proof that she had let herself down.
She had worked so hard to be a disciplined student, yet one moment of distraction had thrown her off course. But was one failure enough to define her?
She clenched her jaw. No.
If she had pulled herself into this mess, she would pull herself out.
That afternoon, she walked into the lecturer's office. Professor Mensah glanced up from his desk, adjusting his glasses. "Yes?"
Akutu took a deep breath. "Sir, I need your help."
He raised an eyebrow. "Help?"
"I failed the assignment. I know I didn't do my best, and I take full responsibility. But I want to improve. Can you guide me on what I did wrong?"
Professor Mensah studied her for a moment before nodding. "Most students just complain about their grades. You actually want to learn. That's a good start."
He pulled out her assignment and went through the feedback with her. Lack of research. Poor structure. Weak arguments.
As he spoke, Akutu scribbled down notes. By the time she left his office, she had a clear understanding of her mistakes—and a plan to fix them.
Back in her hostel, she spread her books across the desk. She was going to redo the entire assignment—not for marks, but for herself.
She spent hours researching, rewriting, refining. This time, she wouldn't cut corners.
By the end of the night, she had something she was proud of. It wasn't about proving anything to her lecturer or classmates—it was about proving to herself that she could do better.
The next morning, she handed the rewritten paper to Professor Mensah.
He glanced at it, surprised. "I didn't ask you to redo it."
"I know," Akutu said. "But I needed to."
A small smile formed on his lips. "I'll review it and let you know what I think."
Days later, he called her back. "This is excellent work. If this had been your submission, you would've scored in the 80s. You've redeemed yourself, Akutu."
A weight lifted from her chest. She nodded, feeling a deep sense of pride.
Failures weren't permanent. They were lessons. And she had learned hers.
The pulleys of life had shifted once more.