The corridors of Ridgeway hummed like a hive. Posters about unity and culture hung crookedly on the walls, half-faded from last year's challenge. But for Team Seven, the words creativity, empathy, teamwork still echoed fresh in their minds - like a promise and a threat all at once.
By the time they reached the library, Leo had already declared himself "Chief of Snacks and Motivation." He dropped his backpack on the round table by the window, earning a glare from Matteo.
"Could you not make noise in a library?" Matteo asked, rubbing his temples.
Leo smirked. "It's cultural energy."
Khadija rolled her eyes but smiled as she settled beside Maliya. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, scattering tiny dust motes that danced in the warm glow. The quiet between them didn't feel empty; it was the kind of silence that carried thoughts too big to say out loud.
Amir flipped open his notebook. "Okay, first things first. We have our countries - or, technically, each other's. But Sudan... that's the one that connects us all. We need an idea strong enough to hold everything together."
Maliya leaned forward, twirling her pen. "What if it's not just about showing Sudan's culture, but about what it means to hold on through struggle? Like, resilience as a shared language."
Khadija nodded slowly. "That fits. Every culture in this group has fought for something - freedom, identity, survival."
Matteo's expression softened. "And we show that through their stories. Food, fashion, dance - they all tell history."
Leo leaned back, balancing his chair dangerously on two legs. "So, deep message, cool visuals, and maybe music? I vote yes."
Amir jotted down Theme: Strength in Struggle and drew a box around it. "Good. Now, how do we split the work?"
Khadija tapped her notebook thoughtfully. "I can design the fashion part - traditional looks, colors that symbolize unity."
Matteo added, "I'll take architecture and history. Sudan's old cities, their heritage - it fits."
Leo raised his hand. "I'll handle music and rhythm. Brazil knows how to bring life to anything."
Maliya smiled faintly. "And I'll do the storytelling. The message."
There was a brief pause. Even Leo stayed quiet.
Amir looked up. "That fits perfectly, Maliya."
She shrugged. "I guess I just... feel it. Sudan's story - it's like it's calling us to get it right."
Khadija gave her a small, knowing smile. "Then we will."
The conversation flowed again - fast and overlapping, like waves. Ideas bounced off the walls: vibrant markets, desert dances, river songs, hope after storms. Each voice added color, shaping the rough edges of an idea that was beginning to feel like something real.
---
By late afternoon, the library had emptied out. Team Seven stayed behind, surrounded by open books and glowing laptop screens. The hum of the air conditioner mixed with faint laughter from the hallway.
Leo looked up from his sketchpad. "Hey, can I ask something?"
"Depends," Amir said, not looking up.
"Why do you think the principal picked Sudan for us? I mean, out of everywhere?"
Matteo closed his notebook. "Maybe because it's complicated."
"Everything's complicated," Khadija said.
"Yeah," Leo agreed, "but this one feels like more than just luck."
Maliya didn't respond right away. Her gaze had drifted to the window - where the sky had begun to turn orange. "Maybe," she said softly, "because some stories need to be told by people who don't expect to tell them."
The room fell quiet again.
---
Later that night, back in the dorms, Maliya couldn't sleep. The sounds of laughter faded down the hall, but her mind stayed loud. She flipped open her journal - its cover worn, the pages crowded with scribbles and thoughts.
She wrote:
> Sometimes, the world gives you a story you never asked for -
but maybe it's because you're meant to understand it differently.
She closed the book gently. On her nightstand sat a printed flag - red, white, black, with a green triangle on the left. Sudan. Its colors seemed to watch her, patient and powerful.
From outside came the faint sound of Leo's guitar - soft, playful notes drifting through the dorm walls. It made her smile. Even in confusion, her friends brought warmth.
---
The next morning, Team Seven met again - this time in the art studio. Mr. Kumar had assigned them the room for brainstorming and mock displays. The air smelled faintly of paint and wood polish.
"Alright, creative geniuses," Leo said, clapping his hands. "Let's make magic."
Khadija spread fabric swatches across the table - bright blues, deep reds, sun-drenched yellows. "These colors tell stories. Every shade means something."
Amir pointed to one piece. "That reminds me of Turkish tiles - same patterns of patience."
Maliya watched them, her heart swelling. She realized something quietly: this wasn't just about projects or grades anymore. It was about connection - about understanding pieces of people you thought you already knew.
Matteo stepped back to look at their board - filled with sketches, quotes, and fragments of history. "We're really doing this," he said, almost to himself.
Maliya smiled. "Yeah. We're really doing this."
The bell rang, and the group started packing up.
"Same time tomorrow?" Amir asked, closing his notebook halfway.
"Same time," Leo replied, putting his bag over his shoulder.
Amir hesitated, then added, his tone calm but certain, "Everyone, please try to bring real, important details about your countries - things people might not know. For example, I'll bring some facts about Turkey and a few from America. Maybe even stories about wars people forgot, or truths that got buried because no one ever really understood their value. You know - the kind of things that seem small or forgotten, but actually live closest to the heart."
The place went silent. The courtyard that had been buzzing with laughter and chatter just seconds ago suddenly felt still, like everyone was letting his words sink in.
Then Leo stood up and started clapping. Slowly. Once. Twice. The sound echoed. Everyone turned to look at him, stunned.
Matteo leaned forward with a smirk. "To be honest, bro, that's the longest I've ever heard you talk... but that's actually true."
The others nodded, some chuckling, some thoughtful. Then they parted ways.
As they walked out into the bright courtyard, the air felt lighter somehow - not because the task was easy, but because they were learning how to carry it together.
Above them, the flags outside Ridgeway rippled in the wind. And though none of them noticed, the one for Sudan caught the sunlight first.
---