Restored by grace

SILENT BATTLE

The sky outside the window was streaked with hues of orange and lavender, signaling the close of another day. Nandi sat motionless at her desk, staring blankly at the textbooks spread before her. The events of the afternoon replayed in her mind like a broken record, the heated exchange with her father echoing louder than she wanted to admit.

You think life is so hard now? Wait until you’ve lived a little longer, his voice had thundered. The memory of his words still stung, not because of the volume, but because of the truth buried beneath them.

She traced the edge of her notebook absently. The argument had left her exhausted, but even more so, it had left her feeling small. It wasn’t just her father’s words that weighed on her. It was the overwhelming sense of helplessness. Of being caught in a cycle she didn’t know how to break.

Her phone buzzed, snapping her back to the present. She glanced at the screen. A message from Thandi.

Thandi: “Dinner in thirty? You better come this time.”

Nandi hesitated, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. She wasn’t sure if she had the energy to endure the chatter of the cafeteria tonight, even if Thandi was there. But before she could respond, another message popped up.

Thandi: “No excuses. You need to eat, and you need to see people.”

Nandi sighed. Thandi’s persistence was both a comfort and a challenge. Reluctantly, she typed out a response.

Nandi: “Fine. But you owe me dessert.”

Thandi: “Deal.”

---

The cafeteria buzzed with activity. The aroma of fried plantains and beef stew filled the air, mingling with the sound of clinking trays and conversations. Nandi walked through the maze of tables, her tray balanced carefully in her hands. She spotted Thandi at their usual corner table, waving her over enthusiastically.

Thandi was always easy to spot. Her vibrant personality seemed to radiate outward, drawing people to her. Today, her braids were pulled back into a bun, and her white blouse was immaculate, as always. She had the kind of confidence that made people sit up straighter when she walked into a room.

“Look who decided to grace us with her presence!” Thandi teased as Nandi slid into the seat across from her.

“I’m here for the dessert,” Nandi replied, attempting a smile.

Thandi raised an eyebrow. “You’re here because you know I’m right.”

“Let’s not push it,” Nandi muttered, picking at her rice.

Thandi leaned forward, her voice softening. “How are you holding up?”

Nandi shrugged, avoiding eye contact. “Fine, I guess.”

Thandi studied her for a moment, her playful demeanor replaced by genuine concern. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know.”

Nandi hesitated. Part of her wanted to open up, to spill everything weighing on her heart. But the other part, the part that had learned to keep her guard up, held her back.

“It’s just been a long week,” she said finally.

Thandi nodded, as if sensing there was more to the story but choosing not to press. “Well, you’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Nandi sighed and decided to focus on her food. She couldn't open up fully yet. she wasn't ready. So she decided to stay silent.

---

The following day, Nandi found herself in the crowded lecture hall, her usual spot near the back offering a false sense of security. The professor’s voice droned on as he outlined the intricacies of the human nervous system.

“Miss Banda,” Professor Mwale called out, his sharp tone cutting through her thoughts.

Nandi’s head snapped up. “Yes?”

“Can you tell us the function of the vagus nerve?”

The room seemed to hold its breath. Nandi’s mind went blank, her notes a jumbled mess of words that suddenly felt foreign.

“Um… it regulates heart rate and digestion?” she stammered.

Mwale raised an eyebrow. “And?”

Nandi opened her mouth, but no words came.

“Anyone else?” Mwale’s gaze swept the room.

A student near the front raised their hand, rattling off the correct answer with ease. Nandi sank lower in her seat, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

After class, she lingered behind, hoping to avoid the usual flood of students. She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see a familiar face, Kwame.

Kwame was a quiet but well-respected student, known for his sharp mind and calm demeanor. He always sat in the front row, jotting down notes with almost mechanical precision.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“Yeah,” Nandi lied, shoving her notebook into her bag.

“You had the right idea about the vagus nerve,” he said. “You just need to trust yourself more.”

Nandi forced a smile. “Thanks, Kwame.”

She said before making her way out of the lecture hall so she could head to her next class.

---

By mid-afternoon, Nandi found herself standing outside the campus counseling center. She stared at the sign on the door, her stomach twisting with anxiety.

She thought of Thandi’s words from the night before: “You don’t have to carry it alone.”

Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside. The waiting room was small but inviting, with soft chairs and motivational posters lining the walls. A receptionist looked up from her desk, smiling warmly.

“Hi there. How can I help you?”

“I, um…” Nandi’s voice faltered. “I’d like to make an appointment.”

“Of course,” the receptionist said. “Are you looking for individual counseling or group support?”

“Individual,” Nandi said quickly.

“Alright. We have an opening next Tuesday at 2 p.m. Will that work for you?”

Nandi nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

As she left the office, a small weight lifted from her shoulders. It wasn’t much, but it was a step forward.

---

That evening, back in her room, Nandi opened her Bible. Her fingers flipped through the pages until they landed on Matthew 11:28-30:

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.”

The words seemed to leap off the page, wrapping around her like a comforting embrace. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered a prayer.

“God, I don’t know if I can do this. But if You’re there…please help me.”

For the first time in weeks, she felt a flicker of peace, a tiny light in the overwhelming darkness.

After her prayer, Nandi sat in silence, the Bible still open in her lap. The weight in her chest felt a little lighter. Her eyes fell on her journal, a battered notebook that she hadn’t opened in months. It had been her safe place once. A space where she poured out her thoughts without fear of judgment.

She reached for it hesitantly, flipping past the scribbled pages of old entries filled with pain and confusion. Tonight, she wrote something different:

“I don’t know where to start, but I’m willing to try. Today, I prayed for the first time in a long time. God, if You’re listening, thank You for giving me the courage to come to You.”

Her handwriting was shaky, but as the words flowed, she felt a sense of release. Writing her prayer down made it feel real, tangible. It was a small act, but it was the first step toward something she couldn’t quite name yet.

Setting the journal aside, she looked around her room. The clutter of the past weeks, discarded clothes, unopened textbooks, and empty snack wrappers suddenly felt suffocating. Nandi stood and began tidying up, folding her clothes and stacking her books neatly. It wasn’t just about cleaning her room; it was about reclaiming her space, one small action at a time.

When she finally lay down that night, the room felt calmer, and so did she. Sleep didn’t come easily. Her mind still raced with worries about her father, her grades, and her future, but the verse she had read replayed in her thoughts, a soothing refrain: “Come to me, all you who are weary…”