| Imran Adebayo Ibrahim |

The silence that lingered in the apartment was so deep that you could hear a pin drop. Everything seemed boring, as the house was empty: Jamal and my mother had taken my Grandmother and cousin to the airport — they were going back to Nigeria.

I wished I could go back with them, I was a little bit homesick. I'd missed Saleem, my paternal grandparents and everyone that fancied me back there. But I had school — I had midterm and I've got a life to live in Atlanta. Most importantly, I've got approximately four weeks to hatch a plan to get Sahar back. I couldn't let Mr. Goody-two-shoes, Raheem get her, he might look all nice and cool on the outside, but deep down I know he has something he's hiding. Everyone's got a secret, but that secret gets dirtier the deeper you dig.

All sorts of thoughts just kept jumbling about in my mind; the sudden change that occured in my life were all astonishing: who would have thought I'd be friends with a queer person, it was all weird and amazing.

Lying on my bed, I stared at my rotating ceiling fan, allowing it to hypnotize me. It didn't hypnotize me though, it just made me feel dizzy, so I sat up, picking up my phone from the bedside table. Unlocking it, I began typing a short message to Sahar.

Hi, I simply typed. Instantly, I saw the blue chat-bubble pop up, and the three dots dancing inside made my heart skip a bit — it signified she was online.

After hopefully staring at the three dots for minutes, it disappeared and I didn't receive any text from her. She read my text and yet, she didn't reply to it. An audible groan escaped my throat as I flung my phone, it crashed against the frame of my bed, my skin crawled at the realization that I might have broken my phone. I quickly picked it up and buried my head in the pillow — screaming into it, long and loud.

The chiming of my smartphone made me retract my head, I quickly unlocked my phone and checked who the message was from. Seeing who had texted me, a tut flew out of my mouth, it was Saleem.

Saleem: Hey bro, how are u?

I scoffed, feeling a mix of relief and frustration. I couldn't get my mind off Sahar, so I decided to share my dilemma with my Nigerian best friend.

Hey Saleem, I'm fine, alhamdulillah. So, I've got something to tell u, are u free rn.

I typed, watching as the message got delivered.

Saleem: oh sorry bro, I'm kinda busy rn, mum wants me to go get something.

The message popped up on my phone and I read it with a sigh.

We'll talk later, Abi?

He added, and I just sent him an OK emoji. Slumping back into my bed, I stared at the ceiling fan again, watching it rotate, hypnotizing me, or maybe just making me drowsy. After a while of constantly staring into empty space, an idea crossed my mind — my boredom was my fault, there was a human in the next room, all I had to do was knock on his door and start up a conversation — so easy.

Hesitantly, I slipped my leg into my loafers and walked out of my room, proceeding to Zayd's room. I ignored his 18+ only placard that was hung on his door and knocked softly. He didn't answer, yet I could hear music bursting out of the room, I knocked again, this time harsher, there was still no response. I presumed he was being a jerk, or he had his headphones on, so I twisted the door knob — say a little prayer — then pushed the door open.

Hearing me open the door, he flinched, shutting his laptop. "What the fuck, Imran." He snapped, frowning at me.

"Is that porn?" I inquired, walking closer to him as I scanned through his room. Lotion and some moisturizer were scattered on his bed, next to his closed laptop. "Disgusting." I reclined.

"What," Zayd began packing the lotion and moisturizer, "why would I watch porn when you're just next door?" He inquired, climbing out of the bed as he picked the bottle of lotion and moisturizer, placing them on his drawer.

Unfazed, I perched on his bed. "It looks like you're watching something dirty," I mumbled as I traced his room with my eyes for any irregularities.

"Ain't proving nothin' to you," he shrugged, "and I think I can watch porn if I like, besides why are you here? Didn't you read the sign?" He said, turning at me with a puzzled look.

I inhaled and started fidgeting with my fingers, "I was bored and I decided to have a chat with you," I forced out.

Zayd scowled, "get out of my room, I'm not in the mood to chat."

"No Zayd," I jumped down off the bed, "I wanted to hear your opinion on something," I began, arm crossed over my chest.

"On what?" He inquired, his focus on his wardrobe as his finger searched for a suitable outfit.

"On a boy's topic." I mumbled, gulping down the lump that had grown in my throat.

Zayd chuckled from where he stood, "boy, it's normal for you to have weird dreams — it's called wet dream y'know." He explained, turning at me with a sweatshirt in his hand.

My eyes squinted as I leaned back, "what. . . hell no, what made you think that I'll speak to you about that," I reclined.

"Then what is it that you wanna talk 'bout?" He said as he wore his sweatshirt.

"I want advice, how do I win the heart of a girl?" And just like that, it flew out of my mouth, there was no retreat, I just had to accept the embarrassment that'll come after it.

Zayd was frozen, his mouth opened in a silent gasp, "lil' bro, are you serious?"

"As a heart attack." I replied, frozen as well.

Zayd sat next to me on the bed and draped his hand around my shoulder. "I'm glad you came to me, tell me about the girl." He requested, giving me all his attention.

"I-I. . . it's Sahar—" I began.

"Malik's sister?" He inquired and I nodded, "I knew you fancy that girl," he said as he gestured for me to carry on.

"I like her, and I think she liked me too, but now she's been distant. I'm sure you're aware of the last argument we had, I think she's still angry at me. She's not replying my text messages and she has this new guy around now—"

"—A boyfriend?" Zayd cut me short.

"That's the problem, I don't know. This guy is in the eleventh grade, he has a cool name, he is better than me, he has the face of a model, and I think I'd lose Sahar to him and if I do I'll be devastated." I ranted, almost shedding a tear, before recollecting myself — I've made up my mind not to shed a single tear in the presence of Zayd.

"Man. . . you so funny, she's probably still angry at you for the way you spoke that day, and you were rude to her." He said and I was about to speak before he interrupted me with a raised finger, "I get you're insecure about your weight, your face and a lot more, but Imran, that's who you are, she likes your true and authentic self." Zayd said, giving me prolonged and reassuring eye contact.

Those words pierced through my heart. I've had many people tell me to embrace and try to love my authentic self, but nobody's words felt as sincere as Zayd's. The sincerity in his voice was something I have never felt before, it made me almost think I was perfect.

"But. . . who would want a skinny boy?" I inquired further, I needed his word of affirmation so badly.

"Bruh, it's not everyday a guy crushes on you, for you to have a dawg crush on you, it means you're damn fine, you're fine brother." He said, with a smile.

"What am I supposed to do to get Sahar to forgive me?" I inquired, leaning back with a sigh.

"You can start by sending her a text message, make sure you don't omit them cute kitty emojis. After that, you could find out if this new guy really is her boyfriend, then you'll strike — it's your call, it's either you let her be or you fight for her." He explained.

Why must everything be so difficult? I've never fought for anything in my life. I always had the mindset that if it were my fate to have something, it would surely be mine — I've never found myself vying for something or someone. And what chance do I stand, Raheem will always be the better man.

Like a psychic Zayd saw through my thoughts, "bruh, that guy ain't better than you, if the shawty chooses him, then it's her lost." He said, snapping his finger.

"Thank you Zayd, I'll do what you've said, but can you sign me up at your gym? I want to start building my body."

"No," he recoiled, "you ain't building no body for any shawty, listen Immie-man: authenticity is your greatest strength, don't trade it for fitting in. Be true to yourself and you'll find the right people who appreciate you for who you are." He said, meticulously, like he'd rehearsed it beforehand.

"You got that quote from a book, right?" I commented with a toothy grin.

"Yeah," he affirmed, breaking a smile, "but don't change yourself for no body." Zayd said as he stood up, "I'll go get a can of soda downstairs, do you want one?" He inquired.

"No, thank you." I answered.

I watched him as he walked out of his room. I knew snooping never did me any good, yet, I still opened his closed laptop. The urge to see what he was hiding overcame me as I double tapped the laptop's scrolling bar. The screen illuminated, revealing an email.

Why would Zayd be secretive about an email? I thought, as I opened it. It was sent to an email, with the address: [email protected]. At first I thought he had sent it to a girl in class, but after reading the email, my thoughts were in disarray.

Hi mom,

I called your cell and it sent me straight to voicemail. How are you doing, I hope you're living the dreams in Massachusetts.

I just wanna say I've decided to go study in NYU after school, I know you've always cherished that place. I really hope you call back, or at least reply to my emails some days.

I love you, ma.

Reading that email made my heart break. My eyes shifted away from the illuminating screen as a wave of guilt washed over me. Why was I always selfish? I couldn't think about other people's feelings for once. I've been holding grudges with Zayd ever since we moved to Atlanta, reminding him my mother wasn't his on many occasions. I never asked where his mother was, all I cared about was me — I even blamed my mother for marrying his father. The harsh words I'd said to Zayd came rushing back and it made it unbearable to hold my tears, it trickled down my eyes.

I couldn't fathom how Zayd would've felt when he received the text that my mother had cancer. He was probably devastated.

I scrolled through his previous emails, he'd sent thousands of emails and none of them were being replied to. He has been sending them since 2019. Each and every one of them has the same ending, I love you, ma.

Zayd was seriously struggling, and he didn't allow that to affect his human interaction — he masked his feelings away, assuming a jovial demeanor. I couldn't start to wonder what I'd do if my mother were to be gone, just like that.

I'd be devastated.

"What the hell, Imran," Zayd's voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"I'm so sorry, Zayd, I-I can explain?" I was short of words, the new revelation had made my vocal cord stop working.

"Can you please use the door, please?" Zayd inquired, surprisingly in a calm manner.

I kept his laptop on his bed, and decided to console him the way he did me. "It's okay Zayd, we are here for you—" I tried to say but he cut me short.

"Get the fuck outta my room, jerk!" He barked, the veins on his forehead were pronounced.

"I'm sorry." I said, with a slight stutter. I walked out of his room, constantly looking over my shoulder and giving him an apologetic and sympathetic gaze. Upon arriving outside, he shut the door right at my face.

Indeed, I am special. My superpower was pissing people off.

Author's Note

Salaam y'all, I'm so sorry I was unable to update yesterday, yesterday was tough for me, but alhamdulillah. So vote, comment and share.