30/06/2025
Title: Ada’s Dance Dream (Final Batch)
*(Continuation and conclusion of Batch 1)*
The day of the audition arrived like a whirlwind.
Ada stood by the roadside, staring at the long stretch of road that led to the audition venue. She wore an old skirt her grandmother had carefully mended and a plain top that had seen better days. No fancy costume. No makeup. Just her and her dreams.
She had begged for transport fare around her neighborhood the day before, facing insults and mockery. Some laughed in her face, asking her what a "bush girl" wanted with dance. Others slammed their doors before she could even explain.
But her grandmother… her ever-loving grandmother, despite her weak bones and tired soul, had sold her old cooking pot just so Ada could afford transport fare to the audition.
Tears burned Ada’s eyes as the bus approached. She clutched the small envelope of coins her grandmother had wrapped in an old cloth and boarded the bus—her heart pounding, hands trembling.
At the audition venue, everything felt like a dream. Dancers wore sparkling costumes, heavy makeup, and expensive sneakers. Ada felt out of place. She heard whispers and saw eyes mocking her appearance.
“She’s in the wrong place,” someone muttered.
“Is she here to clean the hall?” another laughed.
But she shut it all out.
When it was her turn to perform, she stepped on stage barefoot. The judges raised their brows. The music started. And then… Ada danced.
She danced like her life depended on it. She danced with the hunger of a girl who had known nothing but hardship. Every movement was a story—her pain, her struggle, her hope. The hall went silent. Then, slowly, one by one, people stood—clapping, shouting, crying.
She finished and stood still, chest heaving, eyes closed. She expected laughter again… but what she heard was a thunderous applause.
One of the judges stood up, tears in her eyes.
“Where did you learn to dance like that?” she asked.
Ada, her voice shaking, replied,
“From the rhythm of survival.”
That day, not only did Ada qualify, she was offered a full scholarship to a dance academy. Sponsors came forward. Her story went viral. People from all over wanted to help “the barefoot girl who danced her pain.”
She returned home that night to her grandmother with good news and held her tight.
“We made it, grandma,” she whispered through tears.
And from that day on, Ada never danced just for herself again—she danced for the forgotten, the mocked, the dreamers who had nothing but faith.
THE END.
