St. Agnes High was buzzing with excitement. Posters were plastered across the corridors—Annual Interschool Spelling Bee Competition: This Friday! The winners would get shiny trophies, book vouchers, and—perhaps the most tempting reward of all—free ice cream for a week from the canteen.
Tara didn't care much for trophies, but ice cream was a different story.
"I'm signing us up," she declared, balancing her chair on two legs during break.
Meera's eyes widened. "Us? Tara, I freeze when I'm nervous. I once forgot how to spell 'restaurant.'"
Tara laughed. "It's okay. I forget how to spell 'necessary' every time. That's why we're a team."
"But what if I mess up?"
"Then I'll mess up with you."
There it was again—that quiet, effortless loyalty that Tara wore like second skin.
By Thursday, they had practiced every evening after school. Meera's house turned into a word zone, sticky notes covering the fridge and Tara calling out spellings while chewing on biscuits.
On Friday morning, Meera's stomach churned as they stood backstage, waiting for their turn. The auditorium was packed. Other teams looked intimidating in their polished shoes and confident grins.
"I can't do this," Meera whispered.
Tara didn't say anything at first. She simply took Meera's hand, squeezed it, and said, "Just spell the way you talk to me—slow, clear, and like you mean it."
That helped.
They made it through the first round, then the second. Meera spelled conscientious correctly, and Tara nailed irreversible. The crowd clapped politely each time.
In the final round, it was Meera's turn. The word was reminiscence.
Her throat went dry.
She closed her eyes. Tried to imagine it written on one of their fridge sticky notes. She opened her mouth.
"R-E-M-I-N… E-S-C-E-N-C-E."
A short pause.
The bell rang.
"I'm sorry," the judge said kindly. "That's incorrect."
The auditorium went quiet. Tara's face didn't change, but Meera could see the flicker of disappointment behind her calm.
"I ruined it," Meera muttered as they stepped offstage.
"You didn't," Tara said immediately.
"But I cost us the win—"
"Meera," Tara said, stopping her. "We got to the final round. You spelled conscientious. Who even does that? We did great. And anyway, I was never in it for the trophy."
"Then what were you in it for?"
Tara smiled. "The biscuit-sticky note study sessions. And the part where I got to see you believe in yourself."
Meera blinked.
A moment later, she started laughing.
So did Tara.
They sat on the stone steps behind the auditorium, still in their school uniforms, eating leftover ice cream that one of the winning teams shared out of kindness.
And somehow, even with no trophy, it felt like they'd won something far better.
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Moral:
Success isn't just about winning—it's about showing up, trying your best, and having someone beside you who believes in you, even when you stumble.