A Welcome That Becomes a Way of Leading | Student Spotlight: Khady ’26

Khady ’26 still remembers the first time Friends Seminary felt like hers—before she knew where she’d spend her time or who she’d become close to. In her first weeks, members of the Black Culture Club offered her something every ninth grader hopes for without saying it out loud: a sense of belonging. A genuine hello, an open seat, an easy welcome that made the day feel lighter. You’re here with us.

That early kindness didn’t fade into memory—it became a blueprint. Four years later, Khady carries it forward in the way she shows up: not by taking up space, but by shaping it. Asked what has mattered most at Friends, she doesn’t reach for the biggest moments. She talks about the steady ones—showing up consistently, the rooms where students can speak honestly and be taken seriously, the laughter that comes easily. And she’s quick to name what culture club spaces make possible: “Culture Clubs build a connection with people. Not just within school but outside of it.”

Khady is part of both the Black Culture Club and the Muslim Culture Club, and she loves what happens when those rooms feel real—when people can question, disagree, and still stay connected. Her presence is steady—attentive, grounded, quietly assured. She notices who hasn’t spoken yet. She tracks the energy in a room. She listens long enough to understand what someone is reaching for, not just what they manage to say out loud.

This year, Khady says, the senior class has been making strides in drawing younger grades more fully into these spaces—closing the distance between “Upper School life” and everyone else’s experience of the School.

For her, that work is relational. It looks like building trust early, offering younger students a meaningful role.

That instinct is most visible in the cross-divisional culture club partnership that invites Lower School students to visit Upper School Culture Club gatherings throughout the year. Khady speaks about these sessions with uncomplicated joy. “Working with Lower School students is my favorite activity,” she says. “Usually we try to do something hands-on and engaging.” She describes a recent clay project she helped lead, where students created moons and stars to represent Islamic symbols. As they worked, Khady talked with them about why they were there—about shared identity, and the simple power of seeing yourself reflected back in someone else.

The exchange, she’s clear, is mutual. “I learn from them as much as they learn from me,” she says. “It warms my heart to just see them have fun and be engaged in the activity.” In those moments, her influence looks less like directing and more like creating the conditions for joy and belonging—especially for students who are still learning what it means to be seen.

That same care guided a conversation Khady co-led during a joint session between the Diversity, Equity, and Belonging Committee and the Muslim Culture Club focused on Mayor Zohran Mamdani’s campaign and the question of representation. For Khady, the moment felt larger than politics. “It was a monumental moment for different communities throughout New York City, including mine,” she said. The session was discussion-based, shaped around intersecting identities and what students hoped to see during his term. But it was also, for Khady, an exercise in facilitation—learning how to hold a room with care.

“The experience taught me how to lead a conversation and make sure that different perspectives are being heard in the room,” she said. She learned to listen for the voices that come quickly—and the ones that arrive more quietly. To make space for students who might hesitate before speaking. To ensure that even the most reserved voices are not overlooked, but welcomed in—and, in the Friends way, held in the Light.

Her interest in civic learning deepened this January when Khady traveled with other student leaders to Washington, D.C. for the NAIS Student Civic Leadership Summit. The week asked students to do more than speak passionately; it asked them to work carefully: to study policy issues, trace how national and global challenges show up locally, and grapple with the systems that can make progress difficult.

But the part Khady returns to isn’t the itinerary—it’s the tone. She was struck by how her group carried complex conversations with a maturity beyond their years: listening closely, speaking with clarity, staying in the room when things got complicated. She credits the habits Friends builds over time: the quiet discipline of Meeting for Worship, the expectation of reflection before reaction, and the practice of taking one another’s words seriously. Students developed vision statements with tangible action steps and presented them to educators and experts. For Khady, it was an exercise in agency: moving from what’s happening to what can we do, and grounding big questions in practical next steps.

Next fall, Khady plans to attend Brown, where she hopes to spread her talent across a range of interests—History, creative writing, and STEM. But when she speaks about what she hopes to leave behind at Friends, she doesn’t list titles or accolades. She talks about what she wants to protect—and what she wants to keep growing. She wants minority voices to continue to be lifted up. She wants younger voices to be heard with the same care and weight as older ones. And she wants the kinds of spaces that have mattered to her—spaces where students can speak honestly, ask hard questions, and be met with respect—to remain strong.

As a senior, one thing she wants to pass on, especially to younger students, is simple and demanding in the best way. “Have empathy for others and themselves,” she says. “Caring for each other is the most important thing we can do for our community. Be open to new ideas—and bringing your identity to every room and every space is important.”

As Khady’s story at Friends Seminary comes to a close, it returns to where it began: an open seat, a genuine hello, the small kindness that changes the feel of a day. The kind of influence that leaves a school softer at the edges, and stronger at the center. Not because it calls attention to itself, but because it makes more room for other people to speak—and makes it more likely that someone new will hear the same message Khady did at the start: you’re here with us.