Kamala sat cross-legged on the grass, the warm sun casting soft patterns through the leaves of the oak tree above. She leaned back on her hands, feeling the blades of grass press into her palms as she looked up at the sky, clouds drifting lazily against the bright blue. Her friend, Monica, was lying beside her with a textbook on her chest, sunglasses slipping down her nose.
"Kam," Monica said, a smirk tugging at her lips, "you're staring at the clouds like they're going to tell you something."
Kamala chuckled, but a part of her couldn't shake the feeling that had been resting, unspoken, somewhere deep inside her lately. She ran her hand over her hair, glancing down at her lap, then squinting her eyes at the distance across the yard. "I don't know. It's strange. I just... I keep getting this feeling."
Monica turned to look up at her, eyebrow raised. "What kind of feeling?"
Kamala shrugged, searching for the right words. "Like... like I'm meant to do something. Something that matters, you know?" She paused, a little embarrassed by the enormity of it. "I know that sounds... dumb, but I can't help it. It's just there, like this little feeling in my chest. And it's in the back of my mind too."
Her friend was silent for a moment, a gentle smile playing on her face. "That doesn't sound crazy at all. What do you think it means?"
Kamala shook her head, pulling a blade of grass and rolling it between her fingers. "I dunno. I just have this sense that there's something I'm supposed to be a part of... Felt it when we were doin' that thing with the student election back there. I saw one of the cards for it, you know, so I took it? Put it in my pocket. I have it right now. It feels like that was important."
"Yeah?" Monica pushed down her sunglasses to look Kamala in the eyes.
Kamala looks down at her. "Yeah."
She looked out over the campus, at all the students sprawled on blankets, reading books, laughing, chatting. She loved college life, the freedom, the ideas floating around in classrooms and late-night conversations. But eventually they'd all move on to the next chapter of their lives, and she'd hold tight to the hope that she'd be okay.
Monica sighed, stretching her arms over her head. "It sounds like you're just waiting for the right moment to find you. Or maybe you find it. I think you should sign up."
Kamala smiled at the thought. "Yeah... maybe." She put her hand in her pocket to feel for the card. "Maybe I'd be a good candidate." She paused, thinking about the classes she was drawn to, the professors whose words stuck with her, the community work that made her feel alive. "It's like I want to help, you know? Like, I want to do something that makes a difference. Maybe that's what the feeling is trying to tell me."
Monica gave her a gentle nudge with her shoulder. "Well, I think if anyone's gonna do somethin', it's you. You do a lot already."
Kamala's face softened, a hint of pride mixing with the lingering uncertainty. She didn't know what the future held, but something in her told her that the path would reveal itself if she kept moving forward, kept listening to that feeling inside her.
They sat there in comfortable silence, the sun warm on their skin, and for the first time, Kamala let herself trust the feeling. Whatever it was—whatever it meant—she'd figure it out one day. And maybe, just maybe, she'd find exactly what she was meant to do.
