Taban sits at a rickety desk by the window, his eyes tracing the outline of the rising sun as if searching for a sign of peace. Beside him, Lisa arranges her worn notebooks with care, her fingers trembling each time a distant explosion rattles the glass. A third desk, adorned with a hand-carved wooden bird, waits for their friend Nyakim, whose absence is as heavy as the silence between them. "Do you think Nyakim will make it today?"

The gate creaks open, and Nyakim, tall and thin with determined eyes, darts in. She clutches a tattered math book to her chest, her breath shallow from running. "Sorry I’m late. The road was blocked again. Soldiers everywhere," "We’re just glad you’re safe. Come on, we have to finish the assignment before the teacher comes,"

Lisa leans over the page, her brow furrowed as she reads out a physics problem, while Taban scribbles calculations in the margins. Nyakim listens, nodding, her gaze flicking to the window each time the ground trembles. "If we get this right, maybe we could enter the science competition in Juba—if it still happens," "We have to believe it will," she replies softly, determination burning in her eyes.

Nyakim grips Lisa's hand, her knuckles white. Taban presses his back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, willing himself to stay calm. "We’ll get through this. Promise me we’ll finish our studies, no matter what," "I promise. Together,"

Taban pulls out his notebook, refusing to let despair take root. Lisa fishes a pencil from her bag and passes it to Nyakim. "Let’s keep studying. If we stop now, we let the war decide who we become," "My mother says learning is a kind of resistance," Nyakim whispers, her voice trembling but resolute.

"One day, we’ll look back and see how far we’ve come. Maybe the world will change," "Until then, we keep going. For us, for our families, for South Sudan," "Together," Nyakim affirms, and their shared laughter rises, soft and defiant, into the night.