| Imran Adebayo Ibrahim |

"Can I get milk Cookies, please?" The third patron of the day ordered.

I smiled at him, glancing at the unoccupied seats. Business wasn't booming, typical of Thursdays. Few people were seated, amongst them were students who just came for the free WiFi after getting a cup of bland coffee. Three people made reasonable orders, the patron who wanted milk Cookies included.

"Is that on a go, or you'll have it here?" I inquired.

He paused for a while to think, humming, then he shrugged, "actually, I think I'll have it here." He said.

"Alright," I packed his freshly baked milk Cookies and gave it to him, "thank you, enjoy." I added, mechanically.

"Ooh ooh, look at you all formal, you're getting better at this, you might have a bright future waiting tables."  Francis quipped, putting the money of the cookies we just sold in the register.

As he worked the register, his gaze wasn't broken from the Calculus textbook that was on the counter. Francis and I are studying as I worked my shift — our midterms are starting next week, and studying early was the only cure for failure — honestly, we had nothing to do.

"So funny Francis," I chuckled, "check it out." I said as I brought out my brand new name-tag from under the counter, "I'm working here full time after exams."

"Wow, that's a nice step you took. I'm impressed, man." He gave me a pat filled with pride on my shoulder.

"You can also consider working here as well, after all you've been helping out for free, y'know your way around the cash register." I suggested.

Francis shrugged, "summer job is the last thing I want at the moment, I'd rather be at the inventor's camp than work under Alex's management." He announced and we both chuckled loudly.

"Yeah, working with Alex can be—" I paused, trying to find the right adjective, "—chaotic." I completed it.

"You guys know I can hear you, right?" We heard Alex say from the storage room, and we just chuckled more.

He sure was a chaotic person to work with — a meticulous perfectionist, that's what he is. But apart from Alex's strict management, he is actually a sweet guy. He has been good to me, ever since my last encounter with Ella. Everything was almost going smoothly for me, I patch up things with my nemesis, and most importantly I helped Zayd — that was my proudest accomplishment.

"Did I tell you how yesterday went?" I inquired, arranging the muffins in the show-through glass. Francis shook his head in negativity, "so, as I arrived yesterday, Ayesha was already there."

"She was? Man that would be so awkward."

I agreed with a nod, "it was far from awkward, I wished the ground would just swallow me up at once—"

"No cap!" He concurred with a smile.

"—But yesterday took an unexpected turn, it seems Zayd really missed his mother, for real he wasn't angry at me, he said he was disappointed but he later told me it's okay. And plus my mother said she's proud of me, and trust me you don't get that a lot from Nigerian mothers. You shoulda seen Zayd's face, he was happy yesterday and I'm so happy I could help him." I narrated, a hint of pride could be perceived from my words.

"Way to go, Superman — I was wrong earlier, you'd probably make a lot of moolah working as a detective."

"No doy! I think I have a knack for this detective thing." I said, my hand caressing my chin, "I might be up to something." I added.

"The only thing you're unto is Calculus, bro." Francis shoved the textbook in my hand.

"Did I tell you Zayd invited his mother to his upcoming baseball match, on Friday." I inquired, keeping the textbook before me.

"Really, we've got a baseball team in Midtown High? How come no one told me." Francis muttered, feigning ignorance.

"Bro, we aren't jocks, we are nerds — we don't need baseball to get us spots at Ivy leagues university, we have our brains to do that for us."

"Hmmm. . . boy, I know that's right." Francis said, clicking his fingers rhythmically. "We're not jocks, we don't need sports, we just need our smart-ass brain."

"Francis, technically we need sport, we need to pass PE, if not we won't have a chance."

"Yeah that's right." He concurred, "well, I guess we have a baseball game on Friday."

I nodded my head. As funny as it sounded, I was a fan of baseball and the fact that my step brother was playing made the game a must-attend event for me. I'd be there cheering Zayd on from the bleachers: raising the cardboard sign we all made for him up — and hopefully, if his team wins the game, we'll all go to Daddy D'z pizza place to celebrate Zayd's big win.

"I hope we win against Westminster schools, those rich white brats are so infuriating," I ranted as I bent down to pick the paper cup I dropped, "they all behave as if they've been granted success in life — I mean, they think their white parents runs the world. . . Pathetic." I added with a scoff as I blindly searched for the cup.

Noticing Francis was eerily silent, I called him. "Fran, you there?" I asked, but he still wasn't talking. Instead, he kicked me.

"Ow, damn it, Francis! What's wrong with you?" I whined, rubbing my leg.

"Twelve o'clock, twelve o'clock!" he repeated. I followed his gaze, which was fixated on the entrance.

"What's happening at twelve? Got somewhere to be?" I inquired, standing up, only to hit my head on the counter. "Shit— God, that hurt," I groaned, clutching my head while Francis continued his chant. "I swear to God, Francis, I'll kill you. What's with you and twelve—" His voice cut me short.

"Hey Sahar, and Raheem, how have y'all been?" he greeted.

Shit! I had completely forgotten about Sahar and her cheating boyfriend, Raheem. From the floor, I pulled out my smartphone, smiling as I clicked on the picture I took of Raheem kissing that med student.

"Salaam, y'all," I said, standing up.

"Imran, how have you been? How are you?" she asked, her eyes showing affection. "My bad—" she cleared her throat, "you've met before. This is Raheem," she introduced, turning to Raheem, who waved at me with a deceitful smile. "Raheem, this is Imran, my. . . friend," she finally said after a moment of searching for the right word.

Friend. I guess I deserved that. But after the stunt I was about to pull, she'd never consider me a friend again.

"Hi Raheem, what's up," I said, extending my hand for a handshake.

He shook my hand. "It's nice to meet you, again," he said with a smile.

"Have y'all met before?" Sahar asked, surprised.

"Yeah, we absolutely have," I answered. "What would you like? A cup of blonde roast and a med student?"

"And a what?" Sahar and Raheem said in unison.

"I said macaroon," I lied through my teeth.

Sahar smiled, showing off her small, white, sharp incisors. "Boy. . . you're so crazy. You don't serve macaroons here, or do you?"

"We don't, you got me. I'm just trying to be fancy," I said, chuckling awkwardly as I rubbed the back of my head.

"You're correct about the blonde roast, though. We'll take two cups of roast blend with honey, not sugar, and three muffins, please," Raheem ordered as he paid Francis. "We'll be right over there," he said as he and Sahar walked to take a seat.

Was he implying for me to deliver the coffees and muffins to their table? The nerve of that cheating scumbag.

Francis could see my lips moving as I was making the coffee. "I bet you're gonna spit in his coffee," he said with a mischievous smile.

"No," I glanced at him. "Why would I do that? That's disgusting." I reclined as I added honey to the coffees. "But I'll do something alright," I added with a smirk.

"No, man, you can't do that." Like a psychic, Francis knew what I was thinking. "You can't show Sahar that picture. You just got her to forgive you, and now you're plotting to ruin her relationship."

"That one no concern me. I'm busting that cheating bastard today," I asserted, making my way towards them with their order in my hand.

Arriving at their table, I dropped the coffees and muffins on the table. I glanced back at Francis, who was shaking his head for me not to do it, but I was determined, and nothing was going to shake my conviction. Absent-mindedly, I dropped my phone, displaying the picture I took of Raheem, in front of Sahar.

"Oops," I said, frowning at Raheem.

Sahar caught a glimpse of the picture and dropped her phone to get a proper look. "What the hell, Raheem?" she exclaimed after seeing it clearly.

"Aha!" I exclaimed. "Busted now, you cheating phony-ass bastard," I said in a singsong manner, nearly dancing.

Raheem's face turned pale as a sheet. "What... Who... Is this?" he stammered, checking the picture.

"Wha-wha-wha—" I mimicked him. "—cat got your tongue?"

"Raheem, you're still seeing Melinda? You told me you were just friends. I vouched for you," Sahar said, anger in her voice.

"See, Sahar, you can do better. I know I'm not as handsome, built, or older as the almighty Raheem, but at least I'm not a cheating scumbag," I said, ready for a hug from Sahar for saving her from this walking red flag of a man.

"For Allah's sake, Imran, what are you saying?" she inquired, her brows furrowed. "Wait, you think Raheem is my boyfriend?" she asked, and I nodded like an idiot. "You're so clueless. We are cousins. He just moved in. God. . . you're so insecure, and it's annoying."

They are cousins? At that moment, all my confidence melted away, leaving only shame. Even Francis was embarrassed for me.

"I-I didn't know," I struggled to say, gazing at the floor.

"How would you know? You go around stalking my cousin just because of your insecurities. I'm sick and tired of you, Imran. You always try to be the victim, never apologizing for your actions, as if the world revolves around you." She seethed, vexation rushing out alongside her words. "I'm fucking done here. You're just so—" she paused, "—toxic," she finished, walking away angrily.

"I'm sorry," I yelled.

"Thanks so much, man. You could've just asked me rather than stalking me. God, you're weird," Raheem said, picking up his phone and walking after Sahar.

I stood there watching as the two of them disappeared. I felt a warm tap on my shoulder. It was Francis.

"Bro, that was brave," he commended, tapping my shoulder.

"It was something," I answered with a sigh.

"I'll talk to Sahar on your behalf."

I glanced at Francis. "No, you're not doing that," I asserted. "I'm doing this on my own."

"What are you plotting in that thick head of yours?" he inquired.

"My final act. I'm getting Sahar," I replied with a smirk.

Author's Note

Hey-o y'all, how have you been? Hope you're good, my week has been chaotic (I found out I've got a stalker) it's so so creepy, I tell you. Don't forget to vote, comment and share as you like. Stay safe out there.

Glossary

Moolah: is a slang for Money.

That one no concern me: is a pidgin English for That doesn't concern me.