| Imran Adebayo Ibrahim |

Things were finally looking up at school. Midtown High that once felt like hell on earth for me now made sense -- well, having two genuine friends was something to be proud of and having Omar; a senior by my side, made me feel safer than I've ever felt. He was my unofficial guardian angel.

Yet, among all my newfound normalcy, things at home were worse than it could ever be: my mother refused to carry-on with her chemotherapy sessions, my stepfather started working extra time to pay for my mother's treatment, Zayd was being Zayd, and Sahar had stopped talking to me. Me and Sahar had a strong bond -- a somewhat platonic one. She was the Bonnie to my Clyde -- the Watson to my Sherlock, her cheerful smiles that kept me going were now replaced by her cold shoulders.

I doubted if she ever felt something for me, or perhaps, I was just another friend.

I've become accustomed to Sahar's apologies that they were already a part of our routine. Even when she was wrong, she would apologize -- smoothing the rough edges before they had the chance to cut the ties between us. It was a strange repartee we had, her constant need to apologize and my reluctance to forgive, making her bear the burden of our misunderstanding alone.

School without Sahar felt empty, the only thing that kept me going was the fact that I had two friends.

Every Chemistry class I've ever attended was always boring, but that day was out of the league. We awaited the sound of the automatic bell to grace our day as we listened to Mr. Breckley's educational yet corny lesson about Transition Metals. We eagerly anticipated the ringing of the bell as we endured, yet another torture our corny-ass teacher had transformed Inorganic Chemistry into. The boredom that lingered in the room was heavy as the fumes from the Bunsen burner we seldom use.

"Why do chemists like nitrates so much?" He asked, pausing with a toothy grin. "Because, it is way cheaper than day rates! Get it? I think that's my best one yet."

We all responded with a collective sigh, that was the worst one yet in the Book of Mr. Breckley's Dad-jokes.

"Y'all should loosen up, Chemistry can be fun. . . Like putting the mistry in Chemistry." He added, throwing his hand at us.

Oh God. Just kill him already. Human race would be better off without him.

Melodiously, the long-awaited bell rang; music to our ears. Normally, the students always exit the classroom after the third ring, but as soon as the first ring was heard, we all breathed a sigh of relief and they all bolted for the door, their chairs screeching against the linoleum floor. They nearly pushed Mr. Beckley out of the way in order to get out.

Within a moment, I was the only one remaining in the class. After all, I loathe the man's joke, not his subject.

Solitude embraces the classroom in the absence of my classmates. I inhaled happily, consuming the beautiful solitude that surrounded me. I brought out my Chemistry textbook, answer book, pencils and multi-color highlighter from my backpack -- opening my textbook to the page about inorganic and transitional metals, Mr. Breckley's joke replayed in my head and a soft chuckle escaped my mouth.

That was indeed his best one yet.

"Look at you, all happy, what pray tell is the causative of this black boi happiness of yours?" I heard Omar's voice from the classroom entrance. Looking up at him, I saw Francis beside him -- also giggling at me.

"Hi. . . Imran." He greeted as soon as we made eye contact, shortly after lowering his gaze, I could tell he was still embarrassed from our previous conversation at the William Sidis Institute.

"Fran, hey." I replied with an almost-normal smile, trying my best to keep a non-awkward air. "Can't an introvert enjoy the mysteries of Organic Chemistry in peace," I added, turning to Omar.

"Wait till Mr. B sue you for copyright infringement." Omar quipped, taking his seat next to me while Francis stood, laughing at his joke.

I, as well, couldn't contain my laughter, it flew out of my mouth. "That's brilliant, like totally." I remarked, trying to contain my laughter. After my laughter had stopped, I closed my book, "--don't you have an eleventh grade stuff to do?" I inquired, packing my school supplies back inside my backpack.

Omar's finger draped his chin, as his head tilted one side. "I've got AP Physics after lunch, I guess?" unsure, he checked his time schedule on his smartphone, "yeah, it's physics a'ight." He said the last part with a frown. "I'm guessing y'all have AP Spanish after lunch, yeah?"

Francis and I nodded in sync. "Oh, I forgot," I said, strapping my backpack on my shoulder, "I'm meeting with Miss Charlene today." I told them as we began walking out of the classroom.

"Who's that?" Omar and Francis chorused.

I glanced at them with the side of my eyes, "well nosy, if you must know, I've officially gone loco." I announced, shuddering at the session I was about to have.

Omar's and Francis' eyes widened in shock. "You mean it metaphorically, right?" Francis inquired with a raised brow.

"Yeah, Francis." I answered, "She's my therapist."

"Boy, quit bein' all fancy." Omar said, nudging me playfully as he waved at the group of eleventh grade girls that walked past us.

"Hi Imran." One of them greeted us as they walked past us. My flushed face was palpable as I halted, frozen on the tiles with a stupid grin plastered on my face.

"The almighty Imran is on cloud nine." Omar remarked, laughing at me.

I recollected the remainder of my dignity, "It's all just new." I admitted, "plus, I stopped because this is the therapist office," I lied after looking around and finding out the office.

"If you say so." Omar tapped my shoulder, giving me a knowing smirk before turning to leave.

Francis turned, "are you sure you don't wanna eat something before going in?" he inquired.

"Yes, dad," I rolled my eyes, "I'll get something from the vending machine after my therapy session, and besides, the earlier the better." I said.

"A'ight." Francis simply said before turning, walking towards Omar who had waited for him. "Have fun." He added, walking.

"I sure will," I replied back, turning at the therapist's office door. With a deep breath, I twisted the door knob, my hand trembling slightly on the cold metal handle. Entering the office, I was welcomed by an orderly arranged room and a sharply dressed Miss Charlene. With a professional smile, she stood and greeted me.

After a quick glance of the office, my attention was drawn to Chris, sitting across from Miss Charlene.

Chris' eye met mine, and he sneered before letting out a dismissive tut. Without a word, he stood and brushed past me, his shoulder intentionally knocking into mine as he left the room.

Miss Charlene, spiteful as ever, extended a hand. "Mr. Raymond, please have a seat," she said in a calm manner.

I hesitated for a moment before walking over and sitting down on the warm cushion that Chris had prepared. The door clicked shut behind me, my therapist had locked the door.

"Let's start whenever you're ready." She said, setting an alarm for our session -- from the clock, I saw our session was supposed to last thirty minutes.

I gazed at the pendulum on her desk, its slow and rhythmic swinging was strangely hypnotic. Minutes passed and no one dared to break the silence that had grown. Miss Charlene waited patiently -- almost losing her patience.

As she noticed I wasn't ready to lose the silence game, she broke it. "How is your mum?" She finally asked, with a gentle voice.

That question punched me in the guts, literally. My throat had tightened as an indescribable wave of sadness washed over me. Thinking about my mother's refusal to start her chemo, the way she tried to mask her pain made an abominable lump grow in my throat. So I fixed my gaze on the moving pendulum, following it with my mind.

Tic — tack.

"I know how it feels," she said softly, breaking the silence again. "It's hard to see someone you love go through somethin' like this. Sometimes there's hope even when things seems cheerless, there's always a possibility that her diagnosis might not be as severe as it appears to be -- it might even be a misdiagnosis."

Her words sparked a newfound hope in me, "maybe," I murmured, the word escaping my mouth like a sigh. I prayed hard for my father's diagnosis to be wrong but Allah seemed to answer a different prayer: my father had been destined to meet his end at that time and nothing could change that, I thought if my mother had met hers as well.

Miss Charlene gave me a moment then gently prodded, "how is school?"

I shrugged, finally looking away from the pendulum. "It's. . . okay," I mumbled. "But it's not just school, it's everything. " Vexed at my life's misery, I blurted out.

"Everything?" She repeated, her tone requesting for me to elucidate what I meant by 'everything'.

"Yeah," I began, feeling the gate I'd once sealed began to open. "Sometimes it feels like none of these is real, like everything happening around me is just. . . wrong. Maybe all of these aren't real." I spat out and she wrote every word down on her notepad.

She nodded with an understanding smile. "It's okay not to be okay, especially when you're overwhelmed. Life can be surreal when you're dealing with so much at once."

I took a deep breath and to my surprise, my mountain-load of worries seemed to have melted a little bit. Miss Charlene was indeed good at what she does -- as if using witchcraft on me. The clock ticked away and the realization that our time was up made me happy. I've had my mind and brain tempered with enough for a day.

Miss Charlene also noticed the clock, "we'll work through this together, step by step. You're not alone, yeah?"

As the alarm clock rang, I stood up. Without saying a word I reached for the door. Upon reaching the door, she called out, "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

I paused, my hand on the door handle. "Maybe." I simply replied, before walking out into the hallway.

Author's Note

Hiya y'all, looks like all our black boi could do now is hope; maybe his mother's diagnosis was an error — or maybe not, who knows.
Vote, comment and share as you like! And a word for the silent readers, I see you and I cherish all of you.