“Morning Assembly speaker this week: Naeel Ahmed (Class 9)” Naeel stared at his name on the list pasted outside the staff room. Then he blinked twice, hoping it would vanish, but it didn’t. It remained there.

At his school, it was a tradition that every week a random student was selected to give a short morning assembly speech on Fridays, and the selected student’s name was pasted on the notice board at the start of the week. The purpose was to build confidence in all children, not just the ones who always raised their hands to speak.

Naeel had stage fright. He was intelligent, but speaking in front of everyone required courage, and Naeel never had that. Even during presentations, his legs felt like jelly and he would often forget what he had to say. And now, he was to speak in front of the entire school! It was his worst fear. Naeel was a quiet boy who sat at the back of the class and did his work without being noticed.

He was still standing near the notice board when his teacher noticed him. She smiled and said, “Just speak from the heart,” as if that were the easiest thing to do. Naeel could do nothing but nod in agreement.

When he arrived home that evening, he went straight to writing his speech. Soon enough, he was surrounded by crumpled papers. Nothing sounded right. He was even more scared.

He didn’t want to sound rehearsed, nor did he want his speech to feel copied from other students. What he wanted to talk about was pressure, the ever-growing competition, the fear of disappointing parents and the exhaustion during exam times. But who talks about that during an assembly?

And just like that, Thursday night arrived. Naeel folded his speech paper and put it in his pocket.

The next day, students lined up in neat rows under the morning sun. Teachers stood with their respective classes and the microphone crackled. The day had arrived.

“And now,” the principal announced, “Naeel Ahmed from Class 9 will address the assembly.”

Naeel’s heart thudded so loudly that he wondered if everyone could hear it through the microphone. His hands trembled as he took out his paper. Slowly, he unfolded it. It was blank.

What had he been thinking? That somehow it would fill itself with an amazing speech in the morning? Yes, he had thought that. But now reality made him look up. Hundreds of faces stared at him. Naeel took a deep breath. And then another. The silence was starting to become painful.

“Good morning,” he began in a shaky voice. “I didn’t prepare a speech today,” he continued nervously.

A murmur ran through the assembly.

“I tried,” he said honestly, “but everything I wrote sounded fake. So instead…” He gripped the microphone tightly, as if it might shatter in his hands. He was gaining momentum and a little courage. “I want to talk about something real.”

The assembly grew quiet.

“We come here every day trying to excel, to get top grades, to learn good behaviour, and that’s good. But sometimes, in this race, we get tired. Some of us are scared of failing. Some are scared of disappointing our parents. Some feel like they don’t fit in, no matter how hard they try,” Naeel’s voice steadied.

“If you feel that way, then I’m here to tell you: you’re not alone. There are many, many students like you. The difference is that no one says it out loud,” he paused. “And no matter what you’re going through, be kind to each other, because someone might be fighting something we can’t see.”

Naeel folded the blank paper as he ended with “Thank you.”

For a second, nobody moved. Then the principal started clapping and soon the entire assembly followed. Naeel stepped down, his heart still thudding, but lighter now.

Later that day, students whispered to each other about how they felt the same. Some even thanked Naeel for speaking up. His teacher smiled proudly at him.

And that’s the thing about speaking, you don’t have to speak perfectly, just truthfully.

Published in Dawn, Young World, April 25th, 2026