Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Magenta and Mint: A Proud Journey

Story Index

Theme Song

Threads of Us
In a world that's loud and fast,
We find a calm that's built to last.
Two colors blend, a story spun,
Together, stronger, we become one.

Threads of us, woven tight,
Through the day and into the night.
Different worlds, hearts aligned,
Magenta and Mint combined.

Chapter Index:

1.  The Reckoning
Penny takes a hard look at the people around her and decides it’s time for a change. After years of holding in doubts and frustrations, she finally cuts ties with toxic friendships that no longer help her grow.

2. Sleep Over
A simple invite sparks a deepening friendship as Penny spends the night at Imani’s home. Through peaceful conversation, cultural rituals, and gentle understanding, a new kind of bond quietly develops.

3. A Weekend of Worlds
The girls share their passions — Penny’s love for street art and jazz, and Imani’s appreciation for quiet galleries and culture. Over chili fries and smoothies at the Olive Lantern, they find healing in each other’s worlds.

4. Through Our Parents' Eyes
Penny and Imani’s parents meet for dinner, discovering shared values and diverse backgrounds. Their conversation opens space for connection, wisdom, and reflection on their daughters’ growth.

5. Truth Hurts, But Heals
Trudy and Oscar Proud attend couples counseling with Suga Mama’s unique support. Honest, sometimes uncomfortable conversations lead to slow but hopeful healing.

6. The Penny Void
Penny’s ex-friends try to fill the space she left, but their immature reactions only reveal their own struggles with loss and change.

7. Speak When Ready
Imani encourages Penny to find her voice — not only with others but within herself. Penny begins journaling, uncovering thoughts she had long avoided.

8. Real Talk, Real World
After experiencing racism in public, Penny and Imani face new challenges. A stranger’s intervention sparks deeper conversations at home and school.

9. Art and Angles
Imani opens up about her passion for graphic design and storytelling. Penny starts to see their shared creativity as the spark for a joint dream.

10. Roots and Routes
They explore their family histories — Penny on her quest for roots, and Imani embracing her blend of North African and African American heritage. Both find strength in honoring their roots.

11. Quiet Isn’t Weak
When Imani is unfairly judged as “too quiet,” she proves that calmness can be powerful and that her voice carries weight in unexpected ways.

12. Goodbye, No Closure
Penny runs into one of her ex-friends. The conversation is honest but not dramatic — no fairy-tale ending, just personal growth and acceptance.

13. Just Breathe
A day overwhelms Penny emotionally. Imani gently guides her through grounding techniques and self-compassion.

14. Friendship Trails Part 1
The girls start developing a VR game centered on emotional intelligence and healthy relationships, transforming their pain into something beautiful.

15. Friendship Trails Part 2
They pitch their game idea to a youth creative program. Nerves and doubts arise, but family and friendship keep them grounded.

16. Bridges and Breakthroughs
Trudy reconnects with Penny in new ways. Oscar grows increasingly emotionally involved, and Suga Mama begins to express herself in a different way. Growth feels slow but steady.

17. A Place of Our Own
They restore a neglected community space with art, light, and love. The Olive Lantern becomes a symbol of their journey, culminating in Penny hosting a spoken word night.

18. Letters Never Sent
Imani writes a letter to her younger self; Penny writes one to her ex-friends — letters that symbolize letting go rather than seeking a response.

19. Prayer and Progress
Penny joins Imani for evening prayer, not from obligation but because it brings peace. Their friendship feels fully formed — still growing, but rooted.

20. Magenta and Mint
The final chapter weaves together the stories of two girls and one friendship. They move forward — different, but aligned — with a game, a bond, and a brighter future.

Main Characters

Penny Proud
The canonical protagonist navigating early high school challenges and learning the value of true friendship.

Original Characters

Imani Khalil

Age: 15

Ethnicity: Black and Arab (Tunisian-American)

Faith: Muslim

Languages: Fluent in English, some Arabic, and French

Style: Modest, expressive, layered looks with soft colors; wears a hijab

Personality: Grounded, empathetic, quietly strong, emotionally perceptive, kind, sometimes self-reliant, avoids confrontation

Interests: Drawing, graphic design, storytelling, cooking, music, languages

Voice Actor: Yara Shahidi

Nura Khalil (Imani’s Mom)

Appearance: Deep violet hijabs, soft makeup, artistic but modest style

Personality: Warm, calm, deeply empathetic, nurturing, with quiet confidence

Profession: Freelance graphic designer

Voice Actor: Hiam Abbass

James Khalil (Imani’s Dad)

Appearance: Warm brown skin, neat salt-and-pepper beard, steady smile

Personality: Thoughtful, direct but gentle, skilled in conflict resolution

Profession: Youth restorative justice and community conflict resolution worker

Voice Actor: Colman Domingo

Chapter Text

Penny Proud stepped out of her front door feeling transformed. Not just different—reborn. Her high, sleek ponytail shimmered in the morning light, the bold magenta streak running through it, unflinching. It wasn’t just a color—it was a promise that she was done playing small, that she could change, and that she was changing. She slid on the jacket Imani had helped her choose—deep magenta, cropped at the waist, with stylized embroidery swirling across the back like a signature.

Her jeans fit perfectly, with bold floral patterns climbing up one leg like vines. The ankle boots grounded her. They weren’t just fashion—they were armor. Hoop earrings in. Simple choker clasped. The pink gem at the center caught the light—a quiet reminder of her heart: still soft, but no longer hiding.

At the corner, Imani waited, leaning against a streetlamp with earbuds hanging from her hand. Her caramel-toned skin glowed under the sun, and her deep plum hijab—neatly wrapped, soft against her pretty face—fluttered in the breeze. Imani always carried herself with quiet steadiness, as if she were tuned into something deeper. She didn’t need to talk big to be heard. She just was.

"Nice jacket,” she stated with a big grin.

"You helped pick it out,” Penny teased, but her smile was genuine. Not forced. Not for show. They began strolling together, their footsteps falling into a natural rhythm. For once, Penny didn’t feel the pressure to entertain, perform, or fill every silence with nervous jokes or over-explanations. Imani let the silence breathe.

"You good?” Imani asked gently.

Penny shrugged, then nodded. “My parents were... weird last night. Not yelling, though. Just... listening. Kinda freaked me out."

"That’s progress, right?"

"I guess.” She exhaled. “Mom mentioned maybe talking to someone, like counseling or something. She didn’t say it all proud like usual either. She said it softly. Like she meant it."

Imani nodded. “Soft can be honest.”

They crossed the street, school just a few blocks away.

“Is it bad that I feel lighter today?” Penny asked with a hint of anxiety in her voice. “Even though everything’s still kind of messy?”

“No,” Imani answered calmly. “That’s how healing starts.”

But the peace didn’t last.

The moment they reached the school gates, it hit Penny hard.

Dijonay, LaCienega, and Zoey stood near the front entrance like they were waiting for her. Arms crossed, eyes sharp. Penny felt her steps slow.

“LaProud,” LaCienega said, lips pursed. “Oh, now you show up.”

Zoey folded her arms tighter. “You ditched us yesterday. Just disappeared.”

“I had stuff going on,” Penny said evenly.

Dijonay scoffed. “Yeah, we saw. You blew us off in front of half the school to run off with your new little friend.”

Imani stiffened beside her but didn’t say anything.

LaCienega tilted her head. “You really that mad over one little joke? Girl, you need to get over yourself.”

Something in Penny snapped. Not loud. Not angry. Just done.

“You embarrassed me. In public. For laughs. And you’ve done it before.” Her voice was steady, but her eyes didn’t waver. “You make fun of me, talk over me, drag me into messes—and then act like I’m the problem when I don’t smile and take it.”

The group blinked like they weren’t expecting her to push back.

Zoey frowned. “Dang, Penny. That’s not fair.”

“No,” Penny said. “What’s not fair is me always being the punchline. Or the backup. Or the one who’s supposed to laugh it off just to keep the peace.”

LaCienega’s lip curled, but Dijonay looked... unsure, like a crack had just split through the center of their trio.

Imani finally stepped forward, not aggressive, just calm. “If someone tells you they’re hurt and your first reaction is to dismiss it, maybe you should ask why.”

“Who even are you?” LaCienega muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Someone who listens,” Imani said simply.

Penny turned without waiting for a reply, heart pounding but posture tall. Imani walked beside her like always—steady, unshaken.

“Thanks,” Penny muttered.

Imani shrugged with a small smile. “You didn’t need me to fight for you. You already did that yourself.”

Penny glanced sideways. “I’ve been holding that in for way too long.”

“I could tell.” Imani bumped her shoulder gently. “You handled it. You’re not alone in this anymore.”

The two freshmen girls crossed onto campus, the school buzz starting to swell around them. But for the first time in a while, Penny felt clear like she’d finally made room for who she was becoming.

And Imani? She was already a part of that.

Chapter Text

The amber sun hung low, casting long shadows as Penny and Imani walked side by side, backpacks slung low, steps unhurried. Dry red and golden leaves skated across the pavement, crunching like popcorn. The sky was that soft, quiet blue that made everything feel still.

It was mid-October — cool enough to hug your sleeves tighter, but not cold enough for a coat. Porch steps wore pumpkins — painted, carved, or waiting their turn. Orange string lights flickered softly, promising Halloween was near.

They didn’t need to fill every moment with words. Walking home had become theirs — easy, routine.

“So I told him,” Penny said, wrinkling her nose, “if you gon’ spend all class talkin’ sports, at least know the difference between a foul and a flag. He tried to argue basketball and football are the same.”

Imani laughed, covering her mouth. “Wait — what?”

“He said something about ‘offside’ in basketball. I was like, boy, please.”

Imani shook her head, grinning. “Ya satir…”

Penny blinked. “Huh?”

“It’s Arabic. Like, ‘Lord, help us.’ It just slips out.”

“You really speak it?”

“Yeah. Mom’s from Tunisia. We mix Arabic, French, English — depends on the mood.”

“That’s cool,” Penny said, smiling.

They paused at the corner, checking phones. Nothing urgent.

Imani slid hers away. “Hey, if you’re still up for it… maybe this weekend could be the sleepover?” Her voice was soft, fingers twisting her plum-colored hijab.

Penny paused. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. We could hang, watch something, cook, or just be lazy.”

Penny smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Cool,” Imani replied, warm but easy.

They walked on. Penny’s shoulders relaxed, something quietly clicking into place.

Imani’s house came into view — cream-colored, mint trim, jasmine vines curling over the porch rail. A carved wooden sign read Khalil in graceful Arabic script. Wind chimes tinkled overhead.

Soft lights glowed inside. Curtains, green plants. Serene. Penny looked at it differently now. Not just a neighbor’s house. A home.

That evening, the living room was dim, lit by a floor lamp. Upstairs, the twins were asleep. Silence felt like a gift.

A knock. Oscar opened the door to Imani’s parents, Nura and James. Nura wore a soft gray abaya and deep violet hijab. James gave a warm, “Hey, how y’all doing?”

“Come in,” Oscar said.

Nura looked around — toys in corners, half-folded laundry. “Feels like a real home,” she said.

Trudy smiled. “We try.”

They settled — two couples, careful but open.

“We wanted to talk through it,” Trudy said. “The girls asked about a sleepover.”

“We’re glad they did,” Nura said. “But we understand it’s personal.”

“Penny’s been through a lot,” Trudy said. “So have we — counseling, listening.”

Oscar added, “Her trust isn’t taken lightly.”

James nodded. “We respect that. Just want transparency — who we are, what kind of space she’d be in.”

“She’d have her own room,” Nura said. “No pressure. Just food, a movie, and time to be kids.”

“We’ll be home,” James added.

Trudy glanced upstairs. “Penny mentions Imani a lot — like she feels seen.”

“Imani feels the same,” Nura said. “She’s careful who she lets in.”

Oscar nodded. “Could be good for her. A change of scene.”

Trudy exhaled. “Alright. But we’ll exchange numbers and check in — just until Penny settles.”

“Of course,” Nura said, pulling out her phone.

James smiled. “We’re not here to impress. Just raising a kind-hearted daughter. We know y’all are too.”

That landed. Trudy smiled. “Alright then. Let’s give them a chance.”

Penny sat on her bed, earbuds in, music low.

A soft knock. “Come in,” she said.

Trudy entered, Oscar behind her. Calm.

“We talked to Imani’s parents,” Trudy said.

Oscar folded his arms. “If you want… the sleepover’s on.”

Penny blinked.

“For real?” she whispered.

“For real,” Trudy said.

Penny stood and hugged them both. No warning, no joke.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Oscar’s hand rested on her back. Trudy wrapped her arms gently around her. No words needed.

That Saturday, Penny stood outside Imani’s door. The air smelled like firewood and spice. Backpack slung over one shoulder, she didn’t knock — didn’t need to.

The door opened. “There you are,” Imani grinned. “Come in.”

Penny wiped her sneakers on the mat. The house was warm — not just in heat, but in feeling.

Savory smells drifted from the kitchen. Soft oud music played.

“Shoof el door,” Nura called. James murmured something back.

“Shoes by the door,” Imani said, slipping hers off. “House rule.”

Penny nodded, kicked hers off, followed.

“Guest room’s ready,” Imani said, opening a door. “Added a few things.”

Simple and soft — twin bed, mint blanket, linen curtains. A dish of dates and a folded note: Make yourself at home.

Penny took it in. “This is nice.”

“I’m glad,” Imani said, brushing lint off the blanket. “Heads up — no music or shows during prayer. Arabic’s everywhere, especially when Mom’s multitasking.”

“That’s cool.”

“And we never eat pork. I cover my hair around guests, but since it’s just us girls, it’s relaxed.”

“You don’t have to explain. I get it.”

Imani smiled. “Thanks. Just want you comfy.”

“No problem.” Penny paused. “Need help in the kitchen?”

Imani grinned. “Sure.”

The kitchen smelled like cinnamon and cumin. Pots bubbled. Nura chopped, graceful. James leaned on the island, sipping tea.

“Ready to help or just gonna stare?” Imani teased.

Penny laughed. “I’m ready. Just don’t expect me to know the rules.”

Nura handed her a bowl of garlic. “We’ll teach you.”

Penny turned a clove. “Do you cook all this every night?”

James chuckled. “Not every night. But fresh meals keep us close.”

Penny hesitated. “What’s that spice — the warm earth one?”

“Cumin,” Nura said.

“Cumin. Got it.”

“You’re doing fine,” Imani said.

Penny blushed. “Some of this is new.”

James said, “Learning’s part of friendship.”

Nura added, “Respect and curiosity — you have both.”

Penny smiled. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

They worked side by side. Penny asked about recipes and language. Nura and James answered patiently.

The kitchen was full — not noisy, just alive. Penny peeled garlic, more confident now. Imani measured spices nearby.

“She’s different from the other kids,” Nura murmured.

James nodded. “Calm. She listens.”

“She’s Imani’s first real friend since we moved.”

James smiled. “We want to protect her — but let her grow.”

Later, Penny nudged Imani. “Movie? Snacks?”

“Movie first. Then snacks,” Imani said.

The movie played softly. But their voices filled the room. Penny quoted Langston Hughes. Imani recited Arabic verses that flowed like music.

“I didn’t know you liked poetry,” Penny said.

“It helps me make sense. Music too — Mom plays oud. I listen to hip-hop, R&B.”

“Me too,” Penny grinned.

Threads of connection.

As the credits rolled, Imani checked the time. “Almost time.”

Penny looked up.

Imani moved to a small rug. “Wanna join me? It’s salat. I’ll explain.”

Penny nodded.

Imani guided her — bowing, stillness, whispered meanings. New, but not strange. Peace settled deep.

When it ended, they smiled.

“Thanks for trying,” Imani said.

“Thanks for sharing,” Penny replied.

That night, Penny lay beneath the blanket. Eyes closed. The noise in her head quieted. The weight on her chest lifted — just a little.

Here, in kindness and understanding, she found something new.

Peace.

Sleep came slowly, wrapping her in calm.

Chapter Text

The sky was a pale, wintry gray. Wind tugged at scarves and sent fallen leaves skittering like whispers along the sidewalk. Penny stuffed her hands deeper into her coat pockets as she followed Imani uphill toward the newly reopened cultural arts center, its bold banners fluttering in Arabic, English, and French.

Inside, the amber-lit gallery buzzed with quiet excitement. Guests thawed in warm air, coats steaming gently. Penny tugged her hoodie sleeves over her knuckles, painfully aware of her scuffed sneakers and how some adults glanced her way when she lingered too long at a painting.

Imani stood beside her, calm and steady. She nodded to a curator, then led Penny to the first wall—no rush, just space to breathe.

Penny stared at the painting: deep cobalt strokes curled into calligraphy, gold leaf glowing underneath.

“That’s Arabic?” she asked, squinting. “Looks like waves. Or petals?”

Imani nodded, her voice low and warm. “A verse from the Quran. The artist used color and line to show peace in motion. Blue means protection. Gold is sacred.”

Penny blinked. “Whoa.”

“It’s called Islamic calligraphy,” Imani added. “Not just writing—it’s meant to be felt.”

They moved to another piece—a woman in earthy tones, her hijab shimmering with patterned light.

“She’s Tunisian,” Imani murmured, her eyes shining. “The artist said faith is a reflection. Not a cover.”

Penny leaned in. “She looks strong. Like she sees right through you.”

“That’s why I love it.”

Penny hesitated. “I feel kinda like a tourist. I want to learn. I’m just… scared I’ll get it wrong.”

“You’re not a tourist,” Imani said gently. “You’re curious. That matters.”

Penny tried, shyly: “In… inshalla?”

Imani turned, surprised and pleased. “Inshallah. Really close.”

Penny grinned. “I’ve been practicing. In my notes app.”

Imani bumped her shoulder. “It shows.”

Later, they ended the day at their usual café—The Olive Lantern, nestled between a laundromat and a tailor’s shop. The windows fogged with steam, and the scent of cinnamon and bread drifted onto the sidewalk. Inside, a copper tree mural stretched across the wall, its leaves painted for the seasons.

Penny nudged their plate of chili cheese fries toward Imani. “This okay for you?”

Imani nodded, popping off a jalapeño. “My mom called to check the oil. We’re good.”

They sipped raspberry smoothies in comfortable silence, laughter tucked beneath the music.

Penny looked out the window, then back at Imani. “I still don’t know everything. But I feel… lucky. That you’re letting me in.”

Imani met her eyes. “You’re not in my world. You’re part of it.”

The next morning, they met at the cracked sidewalk between their houses, hoods up and mittens on. The trees on their block stood half-dressed in amber and rust.

Penny pointed to fresh graffiti near the bike shop—neon purples and electric oranges swirling around a girl with her mouth open in silent defiance.

“She reminds me of fighting back,” Penny said. “Loud, even when no one’s listening.”

Imani breathed in. “She looks like she’s made of thunder.”

They ducked into the used music store next to it: creaky floors, rows of vinyl. Penny showed Imani the listening station while a soul record spun, scratched but rich. Imani bobbed along, smiling at how unfamiliar it still felt, a little like home.

Later, they found a painted table behind the community library—glitter, Sharpie hearts, last summer’s joy sealed into wood. Penny pulled out a sketchpad.

“Don’t judge. I was doodling last night.”

She showed a half-done drawing of the mural girl, lightning in her eyes.

“I love it,” Imani said instantly. “She looks like she’s still deciding whether to speak or scream.”

Penny smiled. “That’s kinda the vibe.”

They split a muffin—half chocolate chip, half blueberry—and Penny raised her cup.

“Sah-ha,” she said proudly.

Imani giggled. “Still sounds like a polite sneeze.”

Penny smirked. “Hey, at least I’m trying.”

“Then I will too.” Imani cleared her throat. “That’s so… lit?”

Penny blinked. “Wow. Tragic.”

Imani gasped. “Hey!”

“‘Lit’ was cool, like, three years ago. You sound like a teacher trying to be hip.”

They both burst out laughing, leaning into each other, laughter spilling warm and easy.

They ended Sunday like they had Saturday—back at The Olive Lantern, their weekend rhythm tucked between old shops and older stories. The windows glowed against the dusk, little paper lanterns strung above the register for the upcoming winter market.

Their smoothies arrived—Penny’s with extra berries, Imani’s tinged with rose water—and another plate of fries between them.

Penny slumped back with a sigh. “I like that it’s not always the same. But it still feels like us.”

Imani twirled her straw. “You mean the weekend?”

“Yeah. Your world, my world. It doesn’t match. But it fits.”

Imani considered that. “Like puzzle pieces. They look different, but still lock in.”

Penny’s heart tugged, soft and full.

That night, the sky turned indigo. Cold air clung to the windows, leaves rustling like old paper. Their houses stood side by side, porch lights flickering on like quiet beacons.

After waving to her mom, Penny followed Imani inside. Her steps were slower now. Familiar.

In Imani’s room, the soft adhan played from her phone—gentle, melodic. Imani laid out her prayer mat. Penny sat in the corner, cross-legged, hoodie sleeves over her hands. Watching—not from a distance, but as if already within.

“I still don’t know the words,” she whispered.

“You don’t need to,” Imani said, adjusting her scarf. “You just need to breathe.”

So Penny did. She closed her eyes. Let the air settle. Let the quiet hold her.

Imani moved—bowing, kneeling, rising. No rush. No noise. Just rhythm and reverence. Something Penny couldn’t name, but felt.

When the prayer ended, Imani sat beside her. They didn’t speak.

Then Penny whispered, “That… grounded me. Again.”

Imani smiled softly. “Me too.”

Outside, the wind brushed the windows. Inside, the quiet lingered—two hearts, different yet deeply in tune, learning how to be still. Together.

Chapter Text

The first snowflakes of the season drifted lazily outside the softly lit restaurant window, dusting the street like powdered sugar. Inside, the warm glow of amber lights mingled with the scent of spices and fresh bread. A gentle murmur of conversations filled the space, but at one corner table, four adults were settling into something quieter, something real.

Trudy Proud pulled off her coat, smoothing the fabric of her sweater. “I’m really glad Imani agreed to watch the twins with Penny tonight,” she said, her voice soft but relieved. “It’s been a while since Oscar and I had a night just for us.”

Oscar shifted his scarf with a tired grin. “Yeah, and I ain’t used to these fancy places. But hey, this vibe’s nice. Feels good to just sit and talk.”

Nura Khalil smiled, the soft folds of her lavender hijab framing her face. “Alhamdulillah — peace is rare and precious. Thank you for inviting us.” Her Tunisian accent lent a lilting warmth to her words.

James Khalil adjusted the cuff of his jacket, nodding calmly. “Since the girls have been spending more time together, it made sense for us to do the same. It’s important to build bridges.”

The waiter arrived, placing down plates with practiced care. Nura’s dish was a hearty Tunisian lentil stew, fragrant with harissa and cinnamon, served alongside freshly baked flatbread brushed with olive oil and sprinkled with sesame seeds. James’ plate featured a succulent grilled chicken tagine, rich with preserved lemon and tender sweet potatoes.

Oscar’s meal was a twist on a Southern classic—catfish sliders with a tangy slaw, accompanied by crispy fried plantains. Trudy’s plate featured roasted okra and a vibrant couscous salad, tossed with herbs, pickled onions, and roasted peppers.

Glasses clinked softly—a mix of chilled hibiscus tea with rosewater, sparkling water, mint tea, and a sweet peach drink Oscar had been curious about.

“This right here,” Trudy said, breaking off a piece of bread, “is flavor. It reminds me why we try new things.”

Nura’s eyes sparkled. “In Tunisia, food is a way to tell stories. My teta used to say, ‘El qalb yiftah ma‘ el ta‘am’ — the heart opens with food.”

Oscar bit into his slider, eyes widening. “Man, this fish? This fish is hitting different. I might need some lessons.”

James chuckled. “Good food opens hearts—and minds.”

“I’m serious,” Oscar said, leaning forward. “I’ve been trying to get my Proud Snacks back on the shelves. But folks say they’re more like ‘punishments’ than snacks.”

Trudy gave him a pointed look. “Oscar, your snacks have been known to clear rooms.”

Nura laughed softly. “Maybe I can help. I have some recipes—halal, tasty, and simple—that could bring your snacks to life.”

Oscar feigned shock. “You mean I don’t have to rely on chemical explosions in a bag?”

James smiled. “Sometimes it’s just about balance. Sweet, salty, spicy—knowing how they work together.”

Their conversation drifted naturally from food to careers.

“So, James, you work in restorative justice, right?” Trudy asked.

He nodded. “Yes. Mostly community mediation and conflict resolution. It’s challenging, but it’s about healing.”

“Penny’s always had a strong sense of fairness,” Trudy said thoughtfully. “I think she’s picking that up.”

Nura added, “Imani is a storyteller through drawing and words. She carries her culture with pride but sometimes holds back her voice.”

Trudy’s eyes softened. “She’s growing, just like Penny.”

Oscar smiled. “Both girls got something special. Brains and heart.”

Nura reached across the table with a quiet kindness. “And we’re lucky to have found friends in each other.”

Back at the Proud home…

The twins were unusually calm, curled on the couch with their blankets and a bowl of popcorn. Penny sat nearby, sorting colored pencils, while Imani flipped through a sketchbook.

Penny whispered, “You think our parents are really getting along?”

Imani smiled softly. “I think so. My mom’s smiling more than usual.”

Penny nodded. “It’s kinda nice. Like, everyone brings their own rhythm.”

Imani tapped her pencil on the floor. “Maybe that’s how friendship works.”

Back at the restaurant…

Dessert consisted of sweet baklava drizzled with honey and accompanied by cinnamon beignets. The snow outside had thickened, coating the streets in a thick layer of white.

Oscar dabbed his mouth, surprised. “I didn’t expect tonight to feel this easy.”

“It’s a start,” Trudy said, gathering her things. “Feels like we’ve known each other longer.”

James smiled. “Connection doesn’t always need time, just space.”

Nura nodded. “Our girls saw it first.”

They stepped out into the quiet snowfall. Oscar pulled his coat tight.

“Well,” he said, looking up at the sky, “this might be the start of something good.”

Trudy slipped her arm through his. “It already is.”

Chapter Text

It was an early December evening. The bank clock on the corner read 5:20 p.m. A chill tugged at scarves, and a few stubborn amber leaves skittered across the wet pavement.

The Proud family hadn’t been to this quaint little street before—mom-and-pop shops flanked the block, with their destination in the center: a dark brick building. Thick ivy crawled along one side, and a simple sign read Thompson Therapy. The warmth hit the moment they stepped inside.

Soft, nature-inspired music played. A tray of apple slices, granola bars, and water waited, alongside a couple of multi-colored stress balls and a fidget spinner on the polished coffee table. Tiny invitations to settle nerves.

Oscar flopped dramatically into a chair, spinning a ballpoint pen. “Man… this place too calm. Can’t trust calm.”

Trudy leaned back against the sage-colored couch arm, crossing her legs. “Maybe you’ll actually hear something for once,” she muttered under her breath.

Suga Mama rested her hand on her cane, eyes narrowing at the tray. “Hmph. Only reason I’m here is ‘cause Oscar begged me. Don’t think some fancy lady’s gonna fix my boy.”

The door opened quietly, and Dr. Maya Thompson stepped in, calm and steady. Her curls caught the light, hints of gold threading through dark coils. Hazel-brown eyes scanned the room, warm but alert. She carried a small clipboard, pausing to let the room settle.

“Water? Snack?” she asked, nodding toward the tray.

Oscar blinked at the granola bars. “Wait—we can eat?”

Maya smiled. “Therapy takes energy. Hydrate. Snack. Fidget if you need.” She gestured toward the toys.

Trudy grabbed a water bottle, twisting her hands together. “Nice touch.”

Maya lifted a hand gently. “Before we start: speak respectfully. Listen fully. Accept each other’s words as they are—not as you hope or want them. Reflect first, then respond. Got it?”

They nodded. Oscar rolled a teal stress ball between his palms.

“Trudy, why don’t you start?” Maya prompted.

Trudy exhaled, rubbing her temples. “I feel invisible sometimes. Like I’m running around all day, keeping everything together, and nobody notices. It’s exhausting. Oscar, I need you to see me, not just assume I’ve got it handled.”

Oscar shifted, biting his lip. “I… I’ve been feeling stressed too. Scared I’m messing up, or that I’m not enough. So I shut down instead of talking. I hate that it makes you feel invisible or unsupported.”

Suga Mama huffed, tapping her cane sharply. “Boy, don’t just sit there blaming yourself! You gotta do better!”

Maya raised a hand. “Suga Mama, speak respectfully. Focus on your feelings without attacking. Try again.”

Suga Mama exhaled softer. “Fine. I feel scared and frustrated seeing you shut down, Oscar. Sometimes I feel like I can’t protect or guide you. It makes me snap, even when I don’t mean to.”

Oscar nodded, letting the stress ball drop. “I hear you, Mom. I’ll try to notice when I’m shutting down and be honest about my stress.”

Trudy leaned forward, twirling a fidget ring. “And sometimes, I feel like I can’t admit I’m tired or overwhelmed without feeling guilty. I just want to be heard, without anyone snapping at me or thinking I’m weak.”

Suga Mama rubbed her forehead. “I… I didn’t realize. I worry about my son and forget how my words affect both of you. I need to do better.”

Oscar glanced at her. “I want that too, Mom. I want to notice you and Trudy, really listen, and be honest about my own struggles.”

Trudy smiled faintly. “Feels good to finally say it out loud. Like someone’s actually hearing me.”

Suga Mama tapped her cane again. “Baby steps. But… I feel scared sometimes you’ll get hurt or mess up. That’s on me, not you.”

Maya leaned slightly forward. “Notice the emotions, tone, gestures. Reflect first, respond second. Suga Mama, remember—respectful speech even when frustrated.”

Oscar groaned softly. “I wish we did this more often.”

Trudy chuckled. “Yeah, even with Suga Mama yelling a little.”

Suga Mama smirked. “Hey! I’m allowed to be dramatic.”

Maya smiled, raising her hand. “Let’s keep the teasing gentle—practice reflection and respect. Time’s almost up.”

She glanced at her watch. “Between now and next week, keep a small journal. Write what you hear, what you feel, and what you notice about your reactions. Tiny observations matter. This isn’t homework—it’s awareness practice.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Journal? Really?”

“Yes,” Maya said, calm but firm. “Reflection is key. Be honest with yourself.”

Trudy chuckled softly. “I can do that.”

Suga Mama snorted. “Might surprise me.”

Maya nodded at all three. “Good. Speak respectfully, listen fully, accept each other’s words as they are—not as you wish they’d be. Practice that until we meet again.”

They gathered their things slowly. Oscar tossed a wrapper into the trash; Trudy zipped her bag; Suga Mama tapped her cane twice. Outside, the December wind bit at their cheeks, but inside, a quiet warmth lingered—like a seed planted, waiting to grow.

The soft glow of the lamp, the smooth fidget toys, and the faint scent of apple from the tray made it a small, safe space to start over.

Chapter Text

The week before winter break, the high school cafeteria was a simmering cauldron of emotions. Students chatted excitedly about holiday plans, but at Dijonay, LaCienega, Zoey, and Sticky’s table, the atmosphere was thick with tension, frustration, and embarrassment.

As freshmen, they were still figuring out high school. Penny, the heart of their group, had always mediated conflicts and kept the peace. But now, without her, everything felt exposed.

The group turned red when they spotted the “traitor” across the lunchroom with her new friend. Penny and Imani were minding their own business, enjoying a lunch Imani’s mom had lovingly prepared: neatly wrapped sandwiches, fresh fruit, and a steaming thermos of soup. Penny laughed at something Imani said, her voice light and carefree. The sight stabbed at the ex-friends like a thousand tiny cuts.

Dijonay slammed her hand on the table. “Oh, come on! She’s just… sitting there, like we never existed?”

LaCienega’s smirk faltered. “Yeah… smiling… with someone who actually cares. Why can’t it be us?”

Zoey muttered, voice trembling, “Maybe… maybe we… weren’t nice to her.”

Sticky shrugged, uneasy. “I don’t get it. Why does it even matter?”

Fueled by a mix of rage and humiliation, Dijonay leapt up. “Hey! Penny! You think you’re better than us?!”

The cafeteria went completely silent. Everyone held their breath, waiting to see what would happen.

Penny stood, calm as ever, Imani’s hand lightly on her shoulder. Her eyes swept the table, steady and unflinching. “As-sabr muftah al-faraj.”

The ex-friends froze, confusion and irritation flashing across their faces.

“What the heck is that supposed to mean?” Dijonay barked, her voice tight with anger.

Penny’s gaze didn’t waver. “It means ‘Patience is the key to relief.’ I waited long enough for people to treat me like I mattered. I walked away from the chaos, and now… I’m free. And relieved.”

Dijonay’s jaw dropped. “Wait… you’re just… quoting someone?”

“I’m showing you,” Penny said firmly, “that respect and patience aren’t things you can demand. They’re things you earn. We earned peace, while you…” She gestured to the cafeteria. “You still have lessons to learn.”

LaCienega muttered, pride bruised, “She’s… quoting her new friend?”

Zoey’s voice shook. “Maybe she’s right.”

Sticky scratched his head. “I… don’t even know what to say.”

“C’mon, Imani, let’s jet and find somewhere more peaceful to finish our lunch,” Penny said. Imani nodded, and the girls headed toward the exit.

Still furious and humiliated, the ex-friends followed, clearly intending another confrontation. A sharp, commanding voice cut through the tension.

“Stop right there. Now.”

The students froze. Standing in the doorway was Ms. Nadir, the school guidance counselor. Tall, athletic, and impossibly commanding, her dark teal hijab matched her piercing eyes. Every movement was purposeful, every glance authoritative. Her voice was firm and warm but completely unyielding.

“You four — Dijonay, LaCienega, Zoey, Sticky — come with me. Now.”

No one moved at first. Her eyes held them in place. “Do I need to repeat myself?” she asked. They shook their heads and silently followed her to her office.

Inside, Ms. Nadir didn’t sugarcoat anything.

“You’ve crossed a line. Harassing someone — anyone — as they walk home is unacceptable. This ends today.

Dijonay, you pressured Penny constantly, guilt-tripping her whenever she didn’t do what you wanted. You demanded loyalty without offering support. To grow, you need to respect boundaries and understand that friendship isn’t about control.

LaCienega, your pride and snide remarks belittled Penny’s ideas and choices, and when confronted, you refused to listen. To grow, you must practice humility — admit when you hurt someone and apologize genuinely.

Zoey, you weren’t the instigator, but your silence and passive participation exacerbated the cruelty. You watched Penny struggle and did nothing. Growing means having the courage to speak up when someone is being mistreated.

Sticky, you tried to stay neutral, but your shrugging and avoidance let the behavior continue. You can’t hide behind indifference. Growth means taking responsibility for your role, however small, and learning to act with integrity.”

The four sat in silence, absorbing the weight of her words.

“All of you have choices,” Ms. Nadir continued. “You can continue down this path, or you can face your mistakes honestly and make real changes. Penny set boundaries because she valued herself, and that is something you should respect and learn from. Respect, patience, and accountability are not just words, but principles that guide healthy relationships. People around you — classmates, teachers, friends — will notice if you try. Growth requires effort and patience. It isn’t automatic. But it is worth it.”

By Monday, whispers followed the ex-friends through the halls. Invitations to group projects and lunch plans had vanished. Dijonay’s jokes fell flat. LaCienega’s pride took hits with every sidelong glance. Zoey’s shame grew with each whispered comment about “doing nothing.” Sticky finally realized that his neutrality had consequences, as classmates skipped past him to find lab partners.

Meanwhile, a block away, Penny and Imani were at Imani’s house. Snowflakes clung to the windows, forming delicate patterns. The warmth of the house, the smell of cocoa and cookies, and the soft light made the tension of the week fall away.

“Thanks for teaching me to stand my ground without aggression,” Penny said softly, taking a warm mug.

Imani smiled. “You didn’t need me to, but I’m glad I did. Patience pays off, right?”

Penny sipped her cocoa, feeling her chest finally unclench. “Yeah. And for the first time in a long while… it feels like winter break might actually be peaceful.”

Chapter Text

The first day of winter break had started with a peaceful, almost magical fall of fresh snow. While the days had grown shorter, the pristine blanket of white sent a soothing calm across the town.

Inside Imani’s cozy living room, the two friends curled up as if the world outside didn’t exist. Soft oud music played from the corner speaker, curling through the air like warm smoke. Matching handmade mugs with Islamic proverbs painted on them rested on the table.

Penny wore her blush pink sweater—Imani’s mother had made it as a gift—paired with her new jeans, patterned with flowers and magenta streaks. Imani and her mother wore matching pinkish-lavender hijabs, along with soft gray sweaters and pants to match, which were cozy against the winter chill. Shoes were left neatly by the door, as house rules demanded.

They shared a quiet moment, sipping cocoa, watching steam curl up from the mugs. Then, nervously, Imani grinned and pulled a small package from behind the fuzzy sofa pillow. Gold wrapping paper glimmered in the soft light.

“Merry… something,” she said, fumbling.

Penny raised an eyebrow. “Merry what?”

“Christmas? Winter break? Call it whatever you want,” Imani said, sliding it across the table. “Open it.”

Penny tore the paper carefully. Inside was a cream-colored journal, swirls decorating the cover, a small hand-painted Arabic motif in the corner. Her chest tightened.

“I thought you might like a place to write… everything you’ve been thinking,” Imani explained softly. “Safe space.”

Penny’s eyes glimmered. “Imani… this is perfect. Wait, I have something for you too.”

From her backpack, Penny produced a bundle wrapped in magenta paper with a thin ribbon. Imani’s eyes widened as she unwrapped it to reveal a journal Penny had decorated herself—flowers, tiny stars, and a streak of magenta along the spine.

“It’s for you,” Penny said with a wide smile. “For your words. Your drawings. All of it.”

Imani flipped through the pages, letting out a soft laugh. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

“I guess we both read each other’s minds when it came to gifts,” Penny chuckled.

“That just means our bond is getting stronger. And yes, it’s nice to know exactly what someone needs, even if not what they wanted,” Imani replied gently.

They set the journals on the oval table and picked up their pens. Penny opened the first page.

“I don’t know where to start,” she murmured.

“Start anywhere,” Imani said. “Just… let it out.”

Penny’s pen scratched across the page: Magenta streak catching the light again. It feels like armor, but not heavy. Just me. She paused, then tried calligraphy in the corner: sabr. The gold ink wobbled slightly. She frowned, then smiled. “Not perfect. Still mine.”

Imani tilted her head, doodling a small floral pattern around her own phrase. “Exactly. Not perfect. Felt. That’s the point,” she reminded her friend kindly.

For the next hour, they wrote side by side. Penny copied phrases Imani had taught her: as-sabr muftah al-faraj, shukran, al-hikma. Each attempt felt like a small declaration—steady, intentional, brave.

A soft meow drew their attention. Naji, Imani’s Egyptian Mau with sleek, spotted silver-gray fur and striking green eyes, padded into the room. Her homemade collar jingled lightly, dual-sided with نجي on one side and “Naji” on the other. She brushed against Penny’s ankle, tail sweeping like a ribbon.

“Hey, Naji,” Penny laughed, scratching behind her ears. The cat purred, hopping onto the edge of the table, as if inspecting the journals.

“Mom says she’s curious about everything,” Imani said with a grin.

Just then, Imani’s mother called from the kitchen. “Girls! Come help me decorate cookies for the community center!”

They padded barefoot into the kitchen, flour-dusted gray floor tickling their toes. The air smelled of sugar, cinnamon, and butter. Bowls of icing in soft pinks, whites, and lavenders waited, along with trays of sprinkles and cookie cutters.

Penny giggled as Naji leapt to the counter, tail flicking, eyes wide at the activity. She batted gently at a stray sprinkle.

Flour on my hands. Cocoa on my lips. Laughter in the room. This is alive, Penny scribbled in her journal while icing a star-shaped cookie.

“This is fun,” Imani whispered, carefully piping flowers onto a round cookie.

"Exactly. Words, colors, thoughts… all yours, Penny wrote back, glancing at her friend.

By evening, both girls had filled several pages. Penny’s journal included sloppy calligraphy, snowflake sketches, hearts, reflections on her new look, the cafeteria confrontation, and how Imani’s friendship had helped her stand tall.

Imani closed her journal with a satisfied sigh. “Your handwriting’s improving.”

“Thanks,” Penny said, tracing her wobbly letters. Patience is the key to relief. She looked up. “I think… I feel like I’m finally finding my voice. Slowly. But it’s there.”

Imani beamed. “And that voice deserves to be heard. But only when you’re ready,” she said, resting a hand on Penny’s shoulder.

Outside, snow blanketed the neighborhood. Inside, two voices—quiet, thoughtful, and growing—filled the room. Words, ink, laughter, warmth. Penny knew she wasn’t just learning to write. She was learning to speak.

And when she was ready, she would.

Chapter Text

Penny and Imani dragged their thrift store bags down the snowy sidewalk, laughing at the neon sweater Penny had almost bought. Winter winds nipped at their cheeks, but their coats, scarves, and gloves kept them warm. The crunch of snow under their boots was the only sound… until it wasn’t.

“Why don’t you go back where you came from?”

The voice was gruff but sharp. Penny froze. Imani’s fingers clenched around her bag strap. Across the street, an older man hunched under a gray trench coat, gnarled hands gripping a cane, glared at them, eyes narrow and suspicious.

Penny opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

Then a calm voice cut through.
“That’s… funny,” said a woman stepping between them and the man. Tall. Deep blue coat. Dark curls streaked with gold and green, catching the weak winter sunlight.

“You don’t get to decide who belongs here,” she said, steady and calm. “Unless you’re of Indigenous origin, we’re all here because someone came from somewhere else.”

The man sputtered. His words hit a wall.

The woman didn’t move. Hands in her pockets. Eyes soft, but unshakable. She looked at Penny and Imani. “Are you two okay?”

Penny’s throat felt tight. She nodded. Imani whispered, “Yeah,” barely audible.

She smiled. Quiet. Full. Warm. Then she walked away, disappearing into the snow like she’d never been there.

“She… felt like a guardian,” Penny whispered, shivering.

“Like… sent by Allah or something,” Imani said, wide-eyed.

Later, Penny and Imani shrugged off their coats, fingers lingering on the thick fabric. Their thrift store bags sat forgotten at their feet. The smell of cinnamon and coffee drifted through the kitchen. They remembered — their parents tried to have one of their afternoon coffee sessions two or three times a week, just a little ritual to slow down and connect.

Trudy noticed immediately. “You girls look… tense. Want to tell us what happened?”

Penny swallowed. “Some guy… told us to go back where we came from.” She rubbed her hands together. “Then this woman stepped in. She said, ‘Unless you’re of Indigenous origin, we’re all here because someone came from somewhere else.’”

Oscar nodded slowly. “That’s… a lot. I’m glad you had each other.” His voice was steady. Careful. Still working on patience since starting therapy.

Nura leaned back, her deep violet hijab glowing softly in the light. “People act like that’s normal,” she said, calm but serious. “Like you should ignore it. But you don’t have to. Inna Allaha ma’ assabirin — Allah is with those who are patient. Patience doesn’t mean doing nothing.”

James rubbed his beard, calm and measured. “They’ll test you in little ways — jokes, comments, microaggressions. But you two… you can choose how to respond. You have each other. That matters.”

Penny stared at her hands. “I just… I don’t want to be scared all the time.”

Trudy squeezed her shoulder. “You don’t have to be. You can carry your voice with you, and we’ll back you.”

Oscar added quietly, “Not everyone sees the world like that man. Some people will stand with you, even if you don’t notice at first.”

Imani nudged Penny’s hand. “Yeah… we can do that,” she said softly. “Even if some people are idiots.”

James leaned back. “Remember: The best way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time. Change happens slowly, but each step counts.”

Penny and Imani stayed close, still feeling the echo of the stranger’s presence. She hadn’t just left courage behind — she left a reminder. They could do this. Somehow.

The next morning, snow dusted the sidewalks. Penny and Imani curled up on the couch with sketchbooks. The air smelled like cocoa and pine.

“Do you ever feel like the world just… doesn’t get it?” Penny murmured, shading a coat in her sketchbook.

“All the time,” Imani said, lips pressed together. Then a faint smile. “But… sometimes it surprises you. Like yesterday. That woman — she just stepped in. And it stopped everything.”

Penny nodded. “I keep thinking about what she said. About Indigenous people and everyone coming from somewhere. It made me mad, but… there’s hope.”

Imani’s pencil hovered. “Yeah. Even if the guy was awful, we saw people who would actually stand up. That counts.”

For a while, they drew in silence. The fireplace crackled. Outside, the world felt heavy. Inside, it felt lighter.

Later, Trudy knocked. “Girls, want to help me bake cookies? I could use some extra hands.”

“Yes!” Penny grinned. “I need a break from my sketchbook anyway.”

Imani nudged her. “And maybe we can talk strategies for next week, too. Not just cookies.”

They laughed. Warm. Rich. Fear and anger didn’t feel so heavy. The lessons — from the stranger, from their parents, from each other — were still there. But they could carry it. Grow from it. Face the world again.

That evening, the girls peeked out the window. The stranger stood on the snowy sidewalk, smiling at them. Their breath caught. Then she turned and walked away, fading into the winter evening like a whisper, leaving only warmth behind.

Chapter Text

Sadly, winter break ended too soon for the new friends. Yet when Penny and Imani found out they’d been handpicked to update the school website and blog, they were ecstatic. Not everyone got this honor, so the girls were determined to take it seriously.

Penny’s younger siblings were at Imani’s house, happily napping upstairs while Imani’s mom volunteered to watch them. Penny’s parents and grandmother were busy in another group therapy session, leaving the twins in good hands. From upstairs, a soft lullaby floated down the stairs.

“Dang, Imani,” Penny said, pausing to listen, tilting her head. “I never knew your mom had such a beautiful singing voice!”

Imani looked up from her laptop, a knowing smile tugging at her lips, her fingers drumming lightly on the keyboard. “You already know she speaks beautifully, Penny. It’s only natural that she sings beautifully, too. She sang that same lullaby when I was young.”

Penny’s eyes lit up, and she bounced slightly in her chair. “Cool! Maybe you could teach me how to sing it one day?” She tried to straighten the messy pile of papers and sketches, smoothing them into something more organized, though a few stubborn sheets slid back out of place.

Imani giggled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes, I can. However, let’s get back to work! This blog isn’t going to update itself.”

The girls leaned over their laptops, pencils and sketchbooks scattered around, Naji the cat weaving between their legs, softly purring. The lullaby upstairs mingled with the rhythmic tapping of keys and scratching of pens.

Even in the quiet chaos, the warmth of Imani’s home, the soft winter light through the windows, and the feeling of being truly supported made the work feel lighter, easier. Step by step, the girls dove into their project—patience, creativity, and friendship guiding every stroke, every keystroke.

Unexpectedly, Penny got up, surprising Imani for a moment—until she realized her friend was heading for the bathroom. Imani’s mother had brought the girls mugs of hot chocolate, so it wasn’t too shocking.

As Penny washed her hands, she paused to admire her reflection. The bags under her eyes—so familiar from the days with her ex-friends—were gone. The mirror reflected more than her magenta turtleneck and gray jeans. Her posture was straighter, her smile radiated both confidence and inner warmth, and her bold magenta hair streak gleamed brilliantly under the bathroom light.

With one last glance, she turned and headed back to the living room. Imani was sitting cross-legged on the floor, sketching abstract designs, but she couldn’t seem to decide which colors to use. She tapped her pencil lightly against her notebook, brows furrowed in concentration, then exhaled softly with a small smile.

As Penny resumed her seat on the floor, she couldn’t help but smile at how confident and radiant Imani looked when she was in her element. Today, her friend wore a mint-green long-sleeved shirt, ebony leggings, and the new colorful hijab that Penny had helped her sew in Home Ec just before winter break.

Imani’s precious feline, Naji—a sleek, silver-gray Egyptian Mau—leapt onto the couch and curled up beside them, tail flicking lazily. Her green eyes flicked toward the sketchbooks, and with a soft pat of her paw, she nudged one of Penny’s pens off the edge. Penny laughed, carefully retrieving it. “You’re supervising our work now, huh, Naji?”

Imani set her sketchbook aside and reached for the small speaker, turning on some soft, soothing music. Gentle instrumental tones filled the living room, weaving through the air like a calm current. Naji leapt from the couch armrest onto Penny’s lap, curling up between them as if claiming the space for herself. Penny laughed softly, scratching behind Naji’s ears, and Imani smiled at the cat’s antics, eyes crinkling with amusement.

“Okay, maybe now we can focus,” Imani said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “We need some inspiration for the blog update.”

“Yeah,” Penny agreed, picking up her pen. “Maybe… I don’t know, we could talk to someone else for ideas?”

Imani grinned mischievously, leaning closer. “Actually… I have someone you need to meet. My cousin, Amira. She’s more like an older sister to me. She’s studying graphic design at Wayne State in Detroit, and I’ve told her all about you. She’s really supportive, and she might help us get unstuck.”

Penny blinked, surprised. “Wait… I don’t know her.”

“Well, you do now,” Imani said, tapping her phone. “Say hi!”

A moment later, Amira’s face appeared on the screen, framed by the warm light of her Detroit dorm room. Her colorful scarf rested neatly around her neck, vibrant against her navy-blue sweater. Behind her, a tidy dorm with a small desk, art supplies, and posters of design work gave a clear picture of her graphic design major.

“Hi, Penny!” Amira greeted warmly, smiling, her eyes sparkling. “Imani’s been telling me about you. She says you’re brave and creative—and I can already see it!”

Penny hesitated but smiled, her hands twisting the edge of her notebook. “Thanks… I’m… excited to meet you.”

Amira nodded kindly. “Imani’s right—you two are going to work well together. And if you ever need someone to talk to—an older sister, a friend—you can reach out to me, too. Even if Imani isn’t available.”

Penny’s chest warmed, a small blush rising to her cheeks. “Really? That… that would be amazing.”

“Of course,” Amira replied, tilting her head thoughtfully, “and here’s a little proverb I like: al-hikma fi al-sabr—wisdom comes with patience. Take your time, trust your instincts, and let the ideas grow naturally.”

Imani chimed in, smiling at Penny, her eyes bright. “She’s also really good at thinking about how to start a project when you feel stuck. She gives you perspective.”

Penny leaned forward, curious, pen hovering over her notebook. “So, how do you deal with a creative block, Amira?”

Amira tilted her head, thinking, then shrugged lightly. “I take a break, sometimes. Step back, doodle, or even just watch a sunset if I can. The ideas usually come back when I stop forcing them. And talking it out helps too. That’s why I wanted to meet you today—you can tell me if something’s tricky, and we’ll figure it out together.”

Penny nodded, scribbling a few notes, lips curling into a small grin. “I like that… talking it out instead of panicking.”

“And remember,” Amira added with a smile, “slow and steady wins the race. It worked for Imani, it’ll work for you too. Little steps.”

Penny glanced at Imani, who winked and gave her a thumbs-up. Naji purred between them, the soft music wrapping the room in calm focus. Penny felt a spark of excitement—this creative block suddenly seemed much easier to tackle.

By the end of the call, Penny and Imani were leaning back, giggling, their eyes sparkling with excitement. Inspiration, patience, and a touch of sisterly guidance from Amira had done their magic.

“Okay,” Penny said, still laughing, “now this is actually fun!”

Imani grinned, spinning her pencil between her fingers. “Right? I told you we just needed a little spark—and maybe a cat supervisor too.”

Naji flicked her tail knowingly, stretching and curling back between them as if taking credit for the creative breakthrough. Penny’s hand automatically went to scratch behind Naji’s ears, and Imani’s shoulder nudged Penny’s lightly as they shared a quiet laugh.

And with that, the girls dove back into their project, ideas flowing freely, and the living room filled with the happy, warm energy of teamwork, friendship, and inspiration.