Her arms were perfect. Her lips got fuller; her eyes, ever more beautiful. The only thing that didn’t change was her voice. It was still sweet and innocent like that of a child.The same classmates who used to make fun of her wanted to be her friends. They started loving her, few even got jealous, both boys and girls alike. She made quite a number of friends and her Abbu wasn’t her only friend anymore. That made Ahmad happy as well as sad at the same time.One afternoon while he was working on his tablet, she had called out in her baby voice, “Abbu?”“Yes, baby?” He looked up. She was standing in front of him, in a loose, white, oversized t-shirt and pink hot pants. Her long and smooth legs shone in the filtered sunlight, coming through the closed curtains.“I’m scared.”“Hey,” said he, softly, concerned, putting the tablet away. “Come here, honey pie.” She came and sat on his knees, pulling her legs up, curling in his lap, as if she was still a kid and not a beautiful eighteen-year-old.. It had been ages since I’d seen these two. Not since the summer after our high school graduation, actually. I chose to study at Algonquin College and they went to the University of Ottawa. Anyways, I was walking out of Sears and headed to the food court upstairs when I saw two very familiar silhouettes. Excitedly I walked up to them, and recognized my two old friends. Happily I greeted Salwa and Rabia, and introduced them to my boo, Steve. They looked him up and down and I swear, disapproval rolled off them in waves. For they could tell that Steve wasn’t Somali. The dude had Haitian written all over him. Clad in a red silk shirt, burgundy tie, dark blue silk pants and Timberland boots, Steve had just come back from an interview with a call center. My man was looking real good to me, but obviously Salwa and Rabia didn’t approve. If Steve picked up on Salwa and Rabia’s sudden frostiness, he didn’t let on. My boo was his usual confident, friendly self. I made small talk with Rabia and.
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