The morning of Noah's second interview came heavy with both hope and tension. He moved slower than usual, his hands fumbling with the same ironed polo shirt he wore the last time. The shoes were polished, his papers neatly arranged in the folder he checked over and over again.
At breakfast, he barely touched the rice.
"You should eat," I said, sliding the plate closer.
He shook his head. "I'm too nervous. If I eat, I'll just throw it all up."
I sighed, keeping my patience intact. "At least drink this." I pushed a steaming cup of cheap 3-in-1 coffee toward him.
He held it like it was medicine, sipping carefully. His eyes flicked to me. "Noira… what if this is it? What if I fail again?"
I held his gaze, firm but soft. "Then it's not the end. You'll keep trying. But if you pass—this could finally be the start of change for us."
He nodded, half-believing, then left with a hesitant smile, like he needed my strength more than his own.
---
+Waiting Games+
At work, I couldn't concentrate. The numbers on my monitor blurred, and every buzz of my phone made my heart leap. By lunchtime, I had already checked for messages more than twenty times.
When my phone finally buzzed at 3:42 PM, I grabbed it instantly.
> *Done. They'll let me know the result within the day.*
My chest tightened. More waiting. More silence.
I typed back, *Proud of you. Whatever happens, you gave your best.* But I knew the hours ahead would drag like stones tied to my ribs.
By evening, as I walked home, Nalyn's forwarded message lit my phone again.
> *So what's your plan after graduation? Will you just keep juggling everything? Or should Noah step up?*
The words stung. I wanted to scream, but instead, I typed with measured calm:
*I'm doing all that I can, Ate. I study, I work, I keep the household afloat. Yet the more I give, the more I'm asked for. I am not complaining, only asking for understanding. Please, not more demands—not when I'm already at my breaking point.*
I sent it with trembling fingers, my heart pounding harder than I'd admit.
---
+Talking to Noah+
Later, after work, Noah met me near the street corner. The city was alive with vendors shouting, jeepneys roaring past, and the faint smell of roasted corn in the air.
I walked beside him, my bag heavy, my heart heavier. "Noah," I said, breaking the silence, "we need to talk about Nalyn's message."
He looked down, his lips pressing thin. "What did she say now?"
I showed him my phone, and he read silently. His face tightened.
I exhaled sharply. "I can't keep explaining myself over and over. I told her already—I'm doing everything I can. If you still don't have a job by the time graduation comes, then maybe you should just go home and take care of Neven. At least that way, no one can say you're not helping."
He stopped walking, staring at me as though I'd slapped him. "You want me to be a nanny?"
"I want peace, Noah!" I shot back, my voice sharper than intended. "I'm carrying the weight of school, work, pregnancy, and the household. Every day it's more questions, more doubts. I can't fight everyone alone. If you can't bring in income yet, then at least silence their tongues by being here for our child."
His jaw clenched, his silence heavy. Finally, he spoke low, almost broken. "You think I don't want to provide? You think I'm happy letting you carry everything?"
I softened, reaching for his arm. "Then show them. Show me. Take this job seriously. Take us seriously."
He swallowed hard, his voice trembling. "I have my own plans for us, Noira. But… I can't just stand by and watch you break. Maybe you're right. Maybe it's time I stop resisting and start proving."
---
+The Call+
That night, after Neven was asleep, the phone finally rang. Noah answered so fast it almost slipped from his hands.
"Yes, this is him," he said, voice tight. I stood frozen, reading every flicker of his expression. Seconds stretched into forever.
"Yes… yes, thank you." He hung up slowly, as though the phone might vanish if he moved too fast.
"Noah?" My voice trembled.
Then he turned, his eyes wide, and for the first time in so long, his smile was real. "I got it. I got the job."
I covered my mouth, half laughing, half crying. "You—you really did?"
He nodded, setting the phone gently on the table like it was sacred. "Training starts next week. It's not much, but it's steady."
I threw my arms around him, the relief crashing over me like a long-awaited tide. "It's more than steady. It's hope."
---
+ A New Kind of Quiet+
That night, lying in bed beside him, the silence was different. No longer sharp with worry, no longer filled with unspoken accusations. Just peace.
Neven's soft breathing filled the room. The electric fan hummed steadily. My heart, for once, wasn't racing with fear.
"Noira," Noah whispered into the darkness, "thank you for not giving up on me."
I squeezed his hand. "I almost did… but I never could."
And with that, for the first time in months, I closed my eyes believing that maybe—just maybe—tomorrow would not be heavier than today.
---
+Training Days+
The following week, life shifted into a rhythm neither of us had known in a long time. Noah walked with me every morning to my company, his steps lighter than before. We'd part at the building gate where I worked, and he would head off to his training site nearby.
It was a small thing, but those shared walks filled the silence with something gentler—like we were starting again.
By the third day, one of my teammates noticed him waiting outside and struck up a conversation. Before long, Noah had been recruited by one of their acquaintances—an opportunity that aligned perfectly with his training.
For once, his name wasn't being whispered with doubt but spoken with potential.
---
+The In-Laws+
Of course, news traveled fast. His sisters were quick to comment, this time with a different tone.
"So he finally decided to do something," one messaged me.
Another added, "Good. Now maybe you can focus on your studies without stressing so much."
It wasn't praise—not quite—but it was lighter than the criticism I had grown used to. And that, for now, was enough.
Noah, on the other hand, said nothing back to them. He only told me quietly one night, "I'll let my work speak. No more arguments. Just results."
---
+ A Flicker of Light+
Every evening, when we returned home, tired but together, I could feel the weight slowly lifting. It wasn't gone—the bills still waited, Neven still coughed some nights, and the future was still uncertain. But there was something different now.
A flicker of light.
Something to hold onto.
And for the first time in years, I allowed myself to believe in the possibility that we were not just surviving, but slowly—steadily—finding our way.