One (sort of) Guardian Angel. One wayward girl. One hell of a night.
Luke doesn't believe in miracles, but if he wants to keep his spot as an Angel in Heaven, he's gonna need a big one. In a last-ditch effort to remain in Heaven, he becomes a...
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AMAL'S MOTHER, NADIA, sits at the kitchen table, gazing at the photographs attached to the old white fridge — and wow, there sure are a lot of them. The surface is covered so thoroughly in photographs that she'd have no idea what colour the fridge is if she wasn't the one who bought it, some fifteen years ago.
So much has changed since then.
She's learning, however, that change is not always a bad thing.
The kettle is on the stove, cooling down after an intense twenty minutes of steaming and screaming. The air hangs heavy and rich with the scent of soaked tea leaves. Beams of weak sunlight stream through the kitchen window, a sign that the world is starting to wake up.
Yes, the world is finally starting to wake up.
Amal runs a hand through her thick black hair, wondering if she should get a haircut soon. She eyes the photographs on the fridge and laughs to herself — no one will see the haircut anyway, thanks to her extensive collection of silky hijabs. Hijabs which, for the record, prohibit her from ever having a bad hair day. She eyes her mother's greying hair, which hangs loosely around her shoulders. They have the same thick, wavy hair. The same brown eyes. The same wide lips. Amal likes the similarities between herself and her mother. She only hopes her mother feels the same.
Like mother, like daughter.
After taking a long, slow sip of her black tea, Nadia's eyes flick from the fridge to her daughter. "You must be the only person who still prints photographs, habibti."
At the stove, Amal sighs good-naturedly. This is a common argument between the two of them. It's become a game Amal pretends not to look forward to every time her mother comes over to visit. And she's started visiting quite frequently, ever since Amal finally told her the truth.
It wasn't an easy phone call, that's for sure. It wasn't easy the first time her mom came to visit her since the transition, either. But it was necessary. You can't push people out of your life just because you're afraid, Amal was learning.
Everyone deserves a chance.
"You love these photographs, Mama. They prove to you that I have friends."
Amal's mother laughs. She's met all of Amal's friends in the last few months — except Grim, of course, who still hasn't given Amal the ingredients for the healing potion. Nadia thinks Luke's tattoos are scary, but loves JT. "That girl looks like an angel," she once whispered conspiratorially to Amal, who could barely contain her laughter.
Nadia has a soft spot for Blaire though. "That girl has always been so nice," she says at every chance she gets, remembering the days of Amal's childhood when Blaire was a constant fixture in their lives. Nadia knows young love when she sees it; she even considers herself a hopeless romantic. Looking at Blaire and Amal together, she knows their connection is strong. Powerful. They fit together, like puzzle pieces. Blaire makes Amal so happy, she can tell. From the way her daughter lights up at the mere mention of Blaire, or when she catches Amal staring at the main picture on display, front and centre, on the fridge.
