| Imran Adebayo Ibrahim |

African Mothers are the worst. They'll make sure they embarrass you and there's nothing — absolutely nothing you can do about it.

As we pulled up to the orphanage in the old sedan Jamal had gifted my mother, I couldn't help but feel a mix of embarrassment and amusement. My mother had been teasing me the entire ride from home about Sahar — who she was convinced I had a crush on. She wasn't wrong, I had a crush on her — but the last thing I wanted was for her to know.

"Come on, Imran, admit it! You're blushing every time I mention her," she nudged me, barely containing her laughter.

Sahar, sitting beside me in the backseat in her regular overalls and hijab, just rolled her eyes and chuckled. She was somewhat used to adult's antics. 

The orphanage was a sprawling old building with a big yard where some kids were playing soccer. Mom parked the car and turned around in her seat, giving us a mischievous grin. "Alright, lovebirds, remember to behave yourselves," she teased, emphasizing 'lovebirds' just enough to make me groan inwardly.

I glanced at Sahar, who was trying hard not to burst out laughing. "Mom, come on," I muttered, hoping she'd drop it.

But my mother was relentless. "Don't forget to hold hands and share your snacks," she added with a wink before turning serious. "Okay, jokes aside, it's really great you two are volunteering here. Just be kind and helpful, alright?"

I nodded, feeling grateful for her support even if it came with embarrassing teasing. Sahar reached over and patted my arm reassuringly. "We'll be fine, Mrs. Raymond," she said with a smile.

My mother's face softened as she looked at Sahar. "I know, fine girl," she said warmly. "And thank you both for doing this."

We got out of the car, and my mother gave me a quick, yet embarrassing hug before she drove off, waving cheerfully. As we walked towards the entrance, Sahar bumped into my shoulder playfully. "Your mom is awesome, yeah?" she acknowledged, grinning.

"Yeah, she's something," I replied, feeling a mixture of vexation and affection. Deep down, I knew I was lucky to have a mom who cared so much, even if her teasing could be embarrassing. We continued our tracks and entered the orphanage with our aid form in our backpack.

Inside the orphanage, the atmosphere immediately struck me with its lively and homely feeling. The main common area was bustling with activity, filled with the sounds of children laughing, chatting, and playing. The room was divided into different zones: offices, dorms, kitchen, cafeteria and the restrooms.

Near the entrance, a group of younger kids were invested in a game of building blocks. Their faces lit up with excitement as they constructed elaborate towers and castles, occasionally erupting into fits of giggles when their creations toppled over. One boy, with a mischievous grin, proudly showed off his latest masterpiece to me who clapped in delight.

Nearby, a quieter area was designated for reading and study — a corner for introverts, kids like me. Several children sat at desks, their noses buried in books borrowed from the well-stocked shelves lining the walls. Occasionally, a volunteer would sit with them, offering guidance or reading aloud, fostering a love for learning in the attentive young minds.

The walls were adorned with bright artwork and motivational posters, showcasing the creativity and talent of the children who called this place home. Finger-painted masterpieces hung alongside drawings of fantastical creatures and heartfelt messages of hope and encouragement.

My visit to the orphanage made me cherish and love my mother more; those kids had no parents, but they were still happy — the realization of my luck struck me. Despite the challenges they faced, there was a sense of community and resilience among the children. 

As I stood there, taking in the sights and sounds of this cheerful sanctuary, I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of admiration and gratitude for the dedicated individuals who made this orphanage feel like a true home for these children. It was a place filled with laughter, learning, and love — a haven where every child had the opportunity to grow, thrive, and dream of a brighter future. I was thrilled I did drugs, if not how would I be able to experience such priceless joy.

Even Sahar was also experiencing the joy and solitude. She was full of Nirvana. I glanced at her and smiled. Maybe Mom was right about one thing – it was nice spending time with her. And volunteering here didn't seem so bad after all.

"Good morning to y'all." Someone called our attention towards them, "welcome to Amazing Grace foundation, I am the Director, Mark Price." A man who looked like the coordinator of the Orphanage greeted us. I assumed him to be the coordinator due to the way he was dressed — in a well tailored suit and the children kept greeting him as they passed by. 

Sahar and I fastened our pace to join the man. "Good morning sir, we are tenth grade aides from Midtown High." Sahar introduced.

"I got a call from your Principal, it's lovely the thing y'all are doing, volunteering to help, the kids and I will be grateful." 

"We are happy to help, sir." I said with an enthusiastic smile. 

Sahar, with sparkling eyes, gave Director Price a toothy grin, "where can we start from, sir?" She inquired.

"Walk with me." The man said, walking ahead of us as we trailed behind him. 

The whole environment smelled like flowers. I could tell Sahar was as happy as I was. She kept giving me playful nudges and smiles. The way she had a slight bounce in her step and the way she held onto the straps of her backpack did justice to her happiness. 

Arriving at a room with a white Common Room  written on it placard, Mr. Price turned the door knob. As it was written on the door, the room was a common room for the staff and other volunteers like us. Their chatting and laughing were interrupted by the opening of the door. Setting their eyes on us they smiled at us. 

"Hello, Director Price and two new faces." One of them greeted with a smile, the rest just waved at us and smiled; just the perfect amount of introduction, before everything would get awkward. 

Mr. Price entered but we stayed behind, turning, he said, "c'mon in, would you?" 

We entered, reciprocating everybody's greeting with a wave and smile as well. 

"These are volunteer students from Midtown High," Mr. Price paused abruptly, realizing he didn't know our names. He turned to me, clearing his throat as a cue for me to introduce myself.

"I'm—" I started, but the weight of everyone's attention paralyzed me with insecurity. I feared stumbling over my words, and my nerves caused me to fidget until Sahar gently squeezed my cold hand. Her reassuring smile spoke volumes: 'it's okay.' Taking a deep breath, I gathered my courage and pushed aside my doubts. "I'm Imran Raymond Ibrahim," I finally managed to say, surprising myself with how smoothly it came out.

"That's a unique name," someone murmured among the other volunteers. "Are you from Nigeria or Sudan?" they asked politely.

"N-Nigeria," I replied with a slight stutter.

"Welcome to Amazing Grace Foundation, Imran," another volunteer chimed in warmly. "I'm Nigerian too," he added with a smile.

Such enthusiasm could make me give away my whole biography to him. But I brushed that thought away, since it wasn't a meet and greet. "Thank you." Was all I could mutter.

"I'm Sahar Adele Abdul-Jabar, happy to be here." Sahar introduced.

"Girl!" A woman exclaimed from the volunteers, "you related to Kareem Abdul-Jabar?" She inquired.

"Yeah, he is my great grandfather." Sahar replied as they both babbled into a contiguous laughter that infected everyone but me. I didn't know whether Sahar was being sarcastic or serious, but all I knew was that that girl was nowhere related to Kareem Abdul-Jabar.

"Make yourself at home, it's nice having you here once again, and please if you're done for today, I'll be expecting you at my office, to give you a small token." Director Price explained, before walking out. 

Me and Sahar took our seats on a sofa that wasn't occupied. Most of the volunteers that were present were older than us, we were the only high schoolers there. Sahar unzipped her bag and brought out two chicken sandwiches, wrapped in a plastic bag and a flask of water. 

"Here," she handed me one of the sandwiches and I mouthed a thank you to her. 

After a brief meal, we relaxed on the sofa, mostly engrossed in our phones until we were summoned by the enthusiastic Nigerian man from earlier.

"Brother, where are you from in Nigeria?" he asked as we made our way to his destination, his arm draped over my shoulder like the older brother I never had.

"Lagos," I replied simply. "And you?" I inquired, feeling comfortable in his presence.

"I grew up in Kwara state, but my parents were from Edo," he answered, a little bit nostalgic, narrowing his gaze.

I noticed his tense had shifted to the past, indicating he was now an orphan. I partially envied his resilience — finding joy despite losing his parents. I couldn't fathom how I would cope if my mother were to join my father. It would devastate me.

"Here we are, the Music Room," he announced, his voice blending with Sahar's as he said 'music room'.

With the word 'the music room', Sahar pushed the door open, eyes closed. And like she was in a dream, she fluttered them open, inhaling the atmosphere before accumulating in her vicinity. Like a toddler, Sahar skipped inside the room, rushing to the orphans that gathered around a male volunteer. They listened to him as he played the Harp. He did it so beautifully that the children gave him applause, even I, someone who loathes classical music, was at the brink of tears. It was just so beautiful.

"I know you'd like it here, enjoy." The Nigerian guy said to me before exiting and leaving me and Sahar in the Music room.

"Hello," Sahar introduced herself to the children, waving at them. I also did a little bow for them.

"Hi," they all chorused. 

"I'm Sahar and this is Imran." She introduced again, pointing at me while the volunteer who just played the Harp kept smiling.

"I am Mary." A little girl with ponytails introduced herself, "are you a couple?" She inquired, further.

For the first time, Sahar turned tomato red. Her sudden flushed cheeks were visible due to her caramel skin colour. "No, silly, we are not. We are best friends." 

"Yes." I concurred. 

"Alright kids, can someone suggest a song for our guest to play?" The volunteer said, and the children began to murmur 'me' amongst themselves.

He picked Mary, and she was so eager to tell us what to play. I low-key prayed they wouldn't point at me to play any instrument as I couldn't even make music with a recorder, not to talk of a Piano or hell, an Harp. 

"I want the nice lady to play us Girls Like You." She politely picked Sahar, she was ready to showcase her artistic talent as she waltzed to the Piano. 

As she sat down at the piano, her slender fingers hovering over the keys, a hush fell over the room. I stood just a few feet away, feeling my heartbeat fastened in anticipation. 

She began to play, a gentle melody that filled the air in harmony. The children and the volunteer, drawn by the sound, gathered around her in a semicircle, their eyes wide with wonder. They began to sing softly, their young voices blending harmoniously with the piano's notes. I wondered where they knew the lyrics from.

"Spent 24 hours, I need more hours with you

You spent the weekend getting even, ooh

We spent the late nights making things right between us

But now it's all good, babe

Roll that back wood, babe

And play me close." They sang the first verse of the song.

I watched Sahar attentively, captivated by the way she seemed to create a union with the music. Her expression was calm and focused, her brow furrowing slightly in concentration as she navigated the keys with ease. 

I noticed the way some of her hair fell gently out of her hijab, catching the light in a halo of golden strands. Her posture was elegant, her body swaying slightly to the rhythm of the music. It was clear that this was where she felt most at home, lost in the world of melodies and harmonies. I never knew Sahar could play a Piano, she never ceases to amuse me.

"'Cause girls like you run 'round with guys like me

'Til sun down when I come through

I need a girl like you, yeah yeah

Girls like you love fun and, yeah, me too

What I want when I come through

I need a girl like you, yeah yeah." I didn't know when I joined in with the chorus, it just flew right out of my lips.

As the song reached its crescendo, her voice also joined the chorus of children's voices, blending it seamlessly. I felt a surge of admiration and affection swell within me, my admiration for Sahar's talent mixing with the warmth of my feelings.

In that fleeting moment, I realized just how deeply I cared for her, not just for her extraordinary talent but for the way she always shone with empathy and love everytime. As the final notes faded into the air, I couldn't help but smile, knowing that I just witnessed something truly magical — not just a play, but a peek into the heart of the girl I will always love, romantically!

God. . . I think I love her.

Author's Note

Hiya y'all. TGIF, I hope you have a wonderful Friday ahead of you. My days has been wonderful, so I tend to write a romantic chapter. Tell me what you think about today's update. Stay safe and stay halal.

Glossary

1. Lagos, Kwara and Edo are states in Nigeria.