“What are you so afraid of?” she whispered.

What else but fear was stopping her from pursuing the dream that had once been so important to her? If she weren’t serious about developing her app she would have tossed out all those notebooks when packing up her apartment earlier this year. She would have put that box out with the trash instead of stashing it in the back of her hall closet once she moved into her condo. Seriously, what was stopping her?

You know what’s stopping you.

It took a lot more than just an amazing idea to bring an app to market. It took money to develop it and man-hours to work on it. Her handsome salary was enough to allow her to live credit card debt–free and save well for retirement, but it wasn’t enough to launch an app.

Maybe she should just do as she’d said she would and find herself a hobby. Hobbies were more realistic. If a hobby didn’t work out, she wouldn’t feel as if she’d wasted all her time and money. She wouldn’t feel as if she’d failed.

“Okay, so that’s a lie,” Samiah said. She’d always been notoriously hard on herself, regardless of what she was trying to accomplish. But she had a feeling that failing at this particular thing would affect her differently than if it was some random hobby she’d decided to take up.

She caught every red light on her drive home. On the way in, she stopped at the alcove of chrome-plated mailboxes just left of the elevator bank. She opened her mailbox and slid out a bundle of letters and magazines. Standing next to the recycling bin, she threw away the flyers and junk mail. When she got to one of the half-dozen tech magazines she subscribed to, Samiah stopped short.

On its back cover was an advertisement for the Future in Innovation Tech Conference. One of the hallmarks of the FITC was the opportunity for start-ups in the tech world to showcase their products and secure venture capital.

The conference would be held in Austin next spring.

“Seriously, universe?” Samiah grumbled.

On the way up to her floor, she leafed through the magazine until she found the two-page spread listing the highlights of the upcoming conference. Once in her condo, she dropped her purse on the kitchen island, grabbed a can of soda from the fridge, and went into the living room. Samiah kicked her heels off, plopped onto the sofa, and spread the magazine open on her lap.

Her grandmother used to say that God always sent you signs. And for the really stubborn ones, he knocked you in the head.

God had used a sledgehammer on her.

“Okay,” Samiah whispered as she looked over the magazine. “I guess I’m doing this.”