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MidReal Story
Singing In My Sleep
Scenario:this story is in the year of 2017 a story in los angeles a story about high school and college and fame and sex and rumors and scandals and drug and alcohol use and mental health and nudity and drama and fights and music and abandonment and love and friendships and second family and betrayal and streaming and A talented teenage songwriter grapples with the overwhelming legacy of her late mothers 's music as the 20th anniversary of her debut album approaches, compelling her to confront her abandonment and its impact on my life. and my name is mohamed abdi and i am 17 years old and i have abs and muscles and dark skin and i can play instruments and i can sing really well and write songs and make and produce music and i stream from my computer playing my original and cover songs and my mother is the 36 year old late legend pop star rachel abdi with light skin and medium short blonde hair and blue eyes and her second family with a 43 years oldlight skin white husband named henry and a 12 years old daughter named chloe abdi and my father abdinur abdi and he has dark skin and he has been there for me always and he is 40 years old and this story is named singing in my sleep
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Mohamed Abdi
He is a 17yearold high school student in Los Angeles. He is creative, introspective, and resilient. Mohamed is the son of a legendary pop star, Rachel Abdi. He struggles with the legacy of his mother's music and the emotional distance created by his father's absence. Despite his tumultuous home life, he finds solace in creating music. Mohamed secretly lives with his father, Abdinur, who supports his dreams. He navigates high school dynamics while dealing with family drama and personal aspirations.
Abdinur Abdi
He is a 40yearold musician and Mohamed's father. He is caring, supportive, and slightly absent. Living separately from Rachel's second family, Abdinur maintains a close relationship with Mohamed. Despite occasional absences, he provides stability for Mohamed during times of need. He encourages Mohamed’s interest in music, recognizing the special bond they share through playing instruments and singing together. Abdinur plays a crucial role in filling the emotional gap left by Rachel's absence in Mohamed's life.
Aisha
She is a 16yearold classmate of Mohamed Abdi from Los Angeles High School. She is witty, empathetic, and slightly rebellious. Aisha shares an exchange with an anonymous texter that piques Mohamed’s curiosity at school. Her ability to handle humor even at tense moments provides comfort to Mohamed during his academic challenges and social frustrations. Aisha represents a familiar presence in the school environment that supports Mohamed emotionally.
It was the 20th anniversary of my mom's first album, and I couldn't help but think about her.
I was 17, a high school student living in Los Angeles.
My mom, Rachel Abdi, was a legend in the music industry.
She had released her first album twenty years ago when she was seventeen, the same age as me now.
In my bedroom studio, I sat in front of my beat maker and piano.
I was streaming live on the internet, and people were watching me make a new song.
The song was called "Delicate," and it was about how I felt when I was in love.
I had just finished making the beat and was about to sing the lyrics when someone donated $10 to my stream.
"Sing one of your mom's songs," they typed in the chat.
I rolled my eyes.
People always asked me to sing my mom's songs, but I wanted to be known for my own music.
I started singing "Delicate," and people began to donate more money.
But then, someone typed in the chat, "You're not as good as your mom."
I stopped singing and deleted their comment.
After shutting off my computer, I went downstairs to have dinner with my dad.
He was smoking weed in the living room, and the smell was strong.
"Hey, Dad," I said.
"Hey, son," he replied.
We sat down at the table and started eating.
"So, I got some news today," he said.
"What is it?"
I asked.
"Universal Music wants you to perform at a tribute concert for your mom," he said.
I dropped my fork and cursed.
"No way," I said.
"Why not?" he asked.
"I don't want to eulogize her," I said.
"It's not about eulogizing her. It's about celebrating her music," he said.
"I don't care. I'm not doing it," I said.
"Relax, son. It's just a concert," he said.
The next day, I went to the music store where I work part-time.
My boss, Mary, greeted me with a smile.
"Hey, how's it going?" she asked.
"Good," I replied.
"So, I heard that Universal Music wants you to perform at a tribute concert for your mom," she said.
"Yeah," I said.
"What do you think about it?" she asked.
"I don't know," I said.
"I don't want to be known just as Rachel Abdi's son. I want to be known for my own music."
Mary nodded.
"I understand," she said.
"I knew your mom. She was a great person. She tried to balance her fame and motherhood."
I listened to her, remembering how my mom struggled with addiction.
Mary's words made me feel a mix of emotions.
I started stacking CDs on the shelves, trying to focus on my work.
A customer came in and asked about a new album release.
I helped him find it, and he left the store.
After he was gone, I turned to Mary.
"My mom didn't die from drowning," I said.
"She died from drugs."
Mary nodded sadly.
"I know," she said.
"I'm sorry."
Lisa came into the store, and we chatted and laughed.
After my shift, we rode our bikes to a park and sat on the grass.
I asked her about her plans for the summer, and she said she would help at her mother's restaurant or intern at a fashion design company.
I was impressed by her busy schedule.
Lisa talked about needing to breathe and mentioned that some of her friends would be visiting town soon.
She asked if I thought I would like them, and I said maybe.
She inquired about my finances, and I admitted that I was low on money but hoped to earn some from donations on New Year's Eve.
Two days later, Lisa took me to meet her friends Victor and Sasha.
They were dating, and I was introduced to them as her best friend.
We were preparing for a camping trip in the woods.
Lisa's father had lent us his big van, which we packed with food and supplies.
On our way to the campsite, we stopped at a gas station to buy snacks and alcohol.
As we were shopping, I ran into someone I hadn't seen in a long time—my stepdad Henry.
He was my late mother Rachel's widower and Chloe's father.
I had never met Chloe before, but I knew she was my half-sister.
Henry was surprised to see me, and we hugged each other tightly.
We chatted for a while, catching up on each other's lives.
Henry showed me a recent photo of Chloe; she was twelve years old now.
He told me that he and Chloe would love to have me over anytime for dinner or a visit.
I nodded, realizing that maybe it was time to reconnect with the part of my family I had kept at a distance for too long.
Back at the car, I helped Lisa load our supplies into the trunk.
Victor and Sasha waited inside the car while we finished packing.
The bottles of alcohol clinked together as we carefully arranged them between sleeping bags and snack bags.
At the campsite, Victor and I struggled to set up the tents in the fading light.
We cursed and laughed as we tried to figure out how to connect the poles.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we managed to get two tents properly anchored.
As night began to fall, we gathered around a crackling fire that Victor had started.
We passed around drinks, getting comfortable on fallen logs and branches.
Sasha mentioned that Lisa had a crush on me, and I felt my cheeks warm with embarrassment.
I pulled out my guitar and began playing some chords.
At the campsite, I sat by the fire, my guitar in hand.
Victor, Lisa, and Sasha gathered around me.
I started strumming and singing "Who You Are," a song about my mother Rachel.
The lyrics flowed from my heart, telling her story.
She was a pop star who became famous at 17, touring the world and performing for thousands.
But behind the scenes, she struggled with addiction and depression.
She had two families: one with her husband Henry and their daughter Chloe, and another with me and my dad.
As I sang, I focused on each chord, letting the words speak for themselves.
When I finished, Victor nodded his head in appreciation.
Lisa's eyes glistened with emotion.
Sasha listened intently to every word.
They all clapped for me, and Victor got up to get another beer from the cooler.
He offered me all his money to record the song, but I just laughed and thanked him.
I stand frozen at the edge of the bridge, watching my friends strip down to their swimsuits.
The water below is murky, churning with a life of its own.
Victor takes the first leap, his body cutting through the surface with a splash.
Sasha follows, her dive graceful and effortless.
Lisa turns to me, her eyes sparkling with encouragement.
But I can't move.
The image of my mom's body being pulled from the ocean floods my mind, and I feel a wave of fear wash over me.
My hands tremble as I step back, shaking my head.
Lisa squeezes my shoulder and jumps in without hesitation.
I sink onto a nearby rock, fully clothed, listening to the splashing and laughter echo off the canyon walls.
I unpacked my bags in my bedroom, putting away my clothes and music gear.
As I sorted through my things, my dad joined me on the couch.
"So, what did the label say about the tribute concert?" he asked.
"They only want me because I'm Rachel Abdi's son," I replied.
Dad nodded thoughtfully.
"I told them you weren't interested," he said.
"Thanks, Dad."
He looked at me with pride in his eyes.
"You're talented, son. You could be just like your mom."
I nodded, feeling a mix of emotions.
In my bedroom, Lisa and I set up for a livestream on Twitch.
I strummed my guitar, and she shook the maracas.
"Hey everyone, welcome to our stream," I said.
"Lisa is here with me."
"Hi guys," she waved at the camera.
"So, Lisa, what are you doing this summer?"
I asked her.
"Well, I'm in college now," she said.
"Maybe I'll do some part-time jobs or internships."
"Cool," I replied.
Someone donated $5 to the stream and typed "Lisa should start an OnlyFans."
I laughed and said "You'd have to compete with her fans."
Lisa nudged me playfully.
Then, someone donated $10 and typed "I wish you had drowned like your mother. You're not talented at all."
Lisa gasped, and I deleted the comment.
I shut down the stream and turned off the camera and computer.
I needed to be alone for a while.
I walked outside, letting the night air clear my mind.
I rode my bike to Henry's house, sipping vodka mixed with orange juice.
The house was huge, and I parked my bike outside.
In the garden, I saw Chloe and her friend Maya playing by the pool.
They were both wearing swimsuits, and Chloe waved at me as I approached.
"Hey, you must be Mohamed," she said.
"I've seen pictures of you."
"Hi Chloe," I replied.
"Do you know who I am?"
"Yeah, Henry told me about you. You're my half-brother."
"Nice to meet you."
Maya looked at me curiously.
"Who is he?" she asked Chloe.
"He's my brother," Chloe replied.
"My half-brother," I corrected her.
Maya smiled flirtatiously at me.
"Well, you're full hot."
Chloe rolled her eyes and told Maya to shut up.
Maya shook my hand playfully and introduced herself as Maya.
I sat on the couch, sipping tea with Henry.
He told me that he had been watching my streams and liked my music.
He mentioned the tribute concert again, saying it might be a good way for me to process my mom's death.
I changed the subject by complimenting Chloe.
Henry agreed that she was a great kid.
Then, he brought up the concert again, saying I didn't have to play my mom's songs if I didn't want to.
I explained that I didn't know my mom well because she was always busy with her career and I lived with my dad.
Henry said he understood, but not fully.
He mentioned that my mom had left me checks for $600,000, but I didn't know about them because my dad hadn't told me.
I stormed into our house, looking for my dad.
He was sitting on the couch, watching TV in his usual spot.
My hands were shaking as I held up the checks.
"Where did you get these?"
I asked him.
He looked at me with a guilty expression.
"I've been meaning to tell you about those," he said.
"But I spent them all."
"What? How could you spend all that money without telling me?"
I demanded.
"I used it to fix up the house and pay some bills," he explained.
"But that's not your money! It's mine!"
I shouted.
He just shrugged and continued watching TV.
I couldn't believe he was acting like this, like I wasn't even there.
"You're so childish," I said, shaking my head in disgust.
I turned and marched to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.
I started throwing clothes into my suitcase, determined to leave this place behind. As I packed, I glanced over at my music setup in the corner of the room.
My guitar case sat next to my computer, surrounded by cables and equipment.
I walked over and picked up the guitar case, feeling its familiar weight in my hands.
I took one last look around the room before walking out and closing the door behind me.
I drag my suitcase up the winding driveway, guitar case heavy on my shoulder.
The mansion looms before me, its grandeur a stark contrast to the modest house I just left.
Henry greets me at the door, his face etched with concern.
"Hey, Mohamed," he says, helping me carry my things inside.
"I'm glad you decided to come."
I nod, feeling a mix of emotions swirling within me.
"Thanks for having me," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.
As we enter the foyer, Chloe bounces down the grand staircase, her blonde hair bouncing with each step.
"Hey, Mohamed!" she exclaims, throwing her arms around me in a warm hug.
"Welcome to our home!"
I smile back at her, feeling a sense of relief wash over me.
"Thanks, Chloe. It's great to be here."
Henry leads us upstairs to my room, which is located at the end of the hall.
It's a spacious corner bedroom with large windows that overlook the pool and garden below.
The room is tastefully decorated in neutral tones, with a plush king-sized bed as its centerpiece.
I set down my suitcase and guitar case, taking in my new surroundings.
Chloe bounces over to the closet and flings open the doors, revealing a walk-in space filled with empty shelves and hangers.
"This is all yours," she says with a grin.
"You can put your clothes in here." I nod my thanks and begin unpacking my suitcase.
Chloe helps me hang up my clothes and place them on the shelves.
As we work, Henry brings up a desk and chair for me to set up my music equipment.
I carefully unpack my guitar and laptop, setting them up on the desk by the window.
As I plug in all the cables and turn everything on, Chloe watches with interest.
"So you're going to make music here?" she asks, her eyes wide with excitement.
"Yeah," I reply with a smile.
"I love making music. It's one of my passions."
Chloe nods enthusiastically.
"I can't wait to hear what you create!"
With everything set up, I take a step back and survey my new space.
It's starting to feel like home already.
Chloe sits on the edge of the bed, her expression turning serious.
"Do you think you'll ever forgive your dad for what he did?" she asks softly.
I pause, considering her question, and then reply, "I don't know, Chloe. It's hard to forgive someone who kept such a big secret from me."
I sit on a sun lounger by Henry's pool, watching my friends splash and play in the water.
Henry joins me, and I gather my courage to ask him about my mom.
His eyes light up as he talks about her platinum albums and musical success.
I mention that I already know how to play all her songs, which visibly impresses him.
Maya calls out from the pool, challenging me to join them.
When I refuse, Chloe blurts out the truth about my mom's drowning.
The air grows heavy with the weight of unspoken memories.
I sink into Henry's plush leather couch, and he pulls out an old concert DVD from the shelf.
He handles the case delicately, like a precious artifact, before inserting the disc into the player.
The TV flickers to life, showing my mom in a sparkly blue dress on a massive Paris stage.
Her voice fills the room, crystal clear and powerful, as she performs "Why Can't I" to the screaming crowd.
I try to keep my expression neutral, but Henry studies my face intently.
The camera pans across thousands of waving arms and glowing phones.
Mom moves across the stage with practiced grace, completely in her element.
"She was incredible, wasn't she?" Henry says, his voice filled with admiration.
I nod, feeling a lump form in my throat.
"Do you think I could ever be like her?" I ask quietly, my eyes still glued to the screen.
Henry turns to face me, his expression serious.
"Absolutely," he says, his voice filled with conviction.
"I've seen you perform online, Mohamed. You have something special."
I stare at him, stunned by his words.
The concert footage continues to play in the background, my mom's voice filling the room.
But I can't tear my eyes away from Henry's face.
He believes in me?
"You've seen me perform online?"
I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Henry nods, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Yes, I have. Rachel told me about your streaming channel. I've watched some of your videos."
My heart races as I process his words.
"You...you watched me?"
Henry smiles softly.
"Yes, I did. And let me tell you, Mohamed, you have raw talent. Even Rachel didn't have that kind of talent at your age."
My hands grip the couch cushions tightly as I try to process what he's saying.
"But...but how did you know about my channel?"
Henry chuckles softly.
"Rachel kept an eye on everything you did online. She was so proud of you and wanted to share that with me."
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I think about how much my mom believed in me.
While we watch the concert DVD, I point out how mom and I share the same vocal glissando technique.
Henry pauses the video to examine this detail more closely.
As he leans forward, I catch a glimpse of movement outside the window.
Victor and Lisa are kissing by the pool, their bodies pressed together.
The doorbell interrupts us, and Henry gets up to answer it.
"It's probably for you," he says, his voice carrying from the hallway.
I follow him to the front door, where I find my dad standing on the porch.
He looks clear-headed for once, but his presence feels like an intrusion into this temporary escape.
"I'm taking you home," he says, his voice firm but controlled.
I follow him to his car, dragging my suitcases behind me.
The drive is tense and silent, the only sound the hum of the engine and the occasional passing car.
Finally, I break the silence.
"Dad, can we talk?"
He glances at me briefly before returning his focus to the road.
"About what?"
I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts.
"About Henry and Rachel. They're so different from us."
He snorts derisively.
"Oh, so now you're complaining about how we live? You used to complain about how your mom left us."
I feel a surge of frustration.
"That's not what I meant! It's just... they have so much. And mom used to be famous. Why did she leave it all behind?"
Dad shakes his head, his expression unreadable.
"You don't understand, Mohamed. You were just a kid when she left."
I press on, determined to get some answers.
"But why do we live like this? We could be rich like them."
He scoffs again.
"Oh, so now you want to be rich? You used to complain about how materialistic everyone was."
I feel my anger rising.
"That's not the point! The point is that we could have a better life if you would just use the money mom sends us!"
He slams his hand against the steering wheel, making me jump in my seat.
"You don't know what you're talking about!" he yells.
"You think it's that simple? Just take her money and live happily ever after?" I glare at him, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Yes! That's exactly what I think! You're just too stubborn and stupid to see it!"
He takes a deep breath, his voice dropping to a low growl.
"You know nothing about your mother or our relationship. Don't pretend like you do."
I cross my arms, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
"I know enough," I say quietly.
"I know that you're jealous of her success. I know that you hate her for leaving us. And I know that you're keeping us from having a better life because of your stupid pride!"
He pulls the car over to the side of the road, and we both get out.
We stand by a lake, the same one where he used to swim with mom.
He turns to face me, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and anger.
"Listen, Mohamed," he says, his voice low and even.
"I didn't bring you here to fight. I just needed to get out of the house for a while."
He looks out over the lake, his expression distant.
"I used to come here when I was stressed. I'd scream at the top of my lungs and feel better."
I stare at him, shocked by his admission.
"You're crazy," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
He shrugs, his eyes still fixed on the lake.
"I know. But it helps."
We sit in the car, looking out at the lake.
The tension between us is palpable after our argument.
He glances at me, his eyes filled with regret.
"I know this sounds bad, but I didn't think about you when those checks from your mom came. I just couldn't accept them. It felt like blood money."
I stare at the water, trying to process his words.
"And I'm not jealous of mom," he continues quietly.
"I'm just scared of you leaving me, Mohamed."
I turn to look at him, his face illuminated by the moonlight.
He looks so lost and broken.
I take a deep breath before speaking.
"I will do the tribute concert for mom," I say finally, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Let's make it something she'll be proud of."
After returning home with my suitcases, I meet Lisa at the arcade the next evening.
We play a few rounds of video games, and I tell her about the drama with my family.
But she's distracted by texts from Victor.
When we step outside, I hug her tightly.
Then, on a whim, I kiss her.
She pulls away, reminding me that she's with Victor now.
I confront her about not telling me sooner, and she explains they kept it quiet while I was mourning my mom.
I admit I kissed her because I needed her attention.
But she denies it, saying I need attention in general, not specifically from her.
I storm out of the arcade parking lot, tears blurring my vision as I walk home.
Each step is fueled by anger and hurt.
How could Lisa and Victor do this to me?
I slam the front door behind me, the sound echoing through the empty house.
My dad's probably still at work, but I don't care.
I head straight to my room, throwing my backpack onto the bed.
I collapse into my chair, staring blankly at the wall.
My phone buzzes with notifications, but I ignore it.
I pick up my guitar and start strumming aimlessly, the chords mirroring my chaotic emotions.
Finally, I set it down and wipe away my tears.
I realize that the only way forward is to create my own path, one note at a time.
I enter the concert venue's backstage area, my guitar case in hand.
Henry greets me with a smile.
"You're here," he says, his voice filled with encouragement.
I nod, my heart pounding in my chest.
A woman with bright pink hair approaches us, her eyes fixed on me.
"Hi, you must be Mohamed," she says, her voice bubbly.
"I'm Mia. I'm the event coordinator."
She extends her hand, and I shake it awkwardly.
"It's nice to meet you," I say, trying to sound confident.
Mia looks me up and down, her expression scrutinizing.
"So, you're Rachel's son," she says, her voice filled with awe.
"I can't believe it. I was such a huge fan of hers growing up."
I nod, used to this reaction by now.
"Yeah, I get that a lot," I say dryly.
Mia smiles apologetically.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to fangirl. It's just... your mom was an icon."
I shrug, feeling a mix of emotions.
"Yeah, I know."
Mia leads me to a private dressing room, gesturing for me to enter first.
"Make yourself at home," she says.
"There are refreshments in the fridge if you want anything."
I nod my thanks and step inside the room.
It's spacious and well-lit, with a large mirror and a comfortable couch. I set my guitar case down on the couch and look around the room.
There's a knock on the door before I can fully take it all in.
"Come in," I call out.
The door opens and a man enters the room.
He's tall and slender, with slicked-back black hair and a sharp jawline.
He smiles at me, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
"Hi Mohamed," he says, extending his hand.
"I'm Jay. I work for your mom's old record label."
I shake his hand warily, unsure of what to make of him.
"Nice to meet you," I say politely.
Jay nods enthusiastically.
"Yeah, same here. We've actually met before. You were ten years old at the time."
I furrow my brow, trying to remember.
"I don't recall," I say honestly.
Jay chuckles softly.
"Yeah, you were pretty young. It was at one of your mom's concerts. She brought you backstage and introduced us."
I shrug, still unable to remember the encounter.
"Oh, okay," I say.
Jay looks at me expectantly.
"So, have you decided on a song yet?" he asks.
I nod, feeling a surge of confidence.
"Yeah, I think I'm going to do 'Why Can't I' and 'Favorite Person'."
Jay raises an eyebrow, his expression intrigued.
"Interesting choices," he says.
I storm out of the dressing room, my heart pounding in my chest.
Jay's words echo in my mind like a mantra.
"Favorite Person" isn't about me.
It's about Henry.
I can't believe I was so blind.
I walk through the venue, my anger simmering just below the surface.
I see Henry talking to someone backstage and make my way towards him.
As I approach, he turns to face me, his expression concerned.
"Hey Mohamed, what's wrong?"
I glare at him, my voice shaking with rage.
"You lied to me," I accuse.
Henry furrows his brow, clearly confused.
"What are you talking about?"
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down.
"I'm talking about 'Favorite Person'," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Mom told me it was about me. But Jay just told me it's about you."
Henry looks at me calmly, his eyes filled with understanding.
"Rachel told every man she dated that 'Favorite Person' was about them," he says softly.
"It was her way of making them feel special."
I feel a wave of betrayal wash over me as his words sink in. "So it wasn't about me," I say, my voice cracking with emotion.
Henry shakes his head gently.
"No, it wasn't," he admits softly.
"But that doesn't mean you're not special to me."
I look at him, my heart heavy with disappointment and hurt.
"I can't do this," I say finally, turning away from him.
"I can't perform at the tribute concert."
Henry reaches out to grab my arm but I shake him off angrily.
"Don't touch me," I hiss before storming offstage and out of the venue altogether.
The cool night air hits me like a slap in the face as I emerge from the venue.
I clutch my guitar case tightly in my hand, feeling lost and alone. I look up at the concert poster plastered on the side of the building and feel a surge of anger and betrayal towards everyone involved in this tribute concert.
I can't believe they would lie to me like this. As I stand there staring at the poster, a group of people walk by laughing and chatting excitedly about the upcoming concert.
I enter the house, guitar case in hand, tears streaming down my face.
Dad looks up from his chair, his expression concerned.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
I take a deep breath before answering.
"Nothing," I say, my voice shaking.
"It's just... I found out something about mom."
He nods, his eyes filled with understanding.
"What is it?" he asks gently.
I take another deep breath before speaking.
"'Favorite Person' wasn't about me," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
Dad nods again, his expression sympathetic.
"I'm sorry Mohamed," he says softly.
"I know how much that song meant to you."
I nod, feeling a lump form in my throat.
"You were right about mom," I say finally, my voice cracking with emotion.
"She didn't care about me. I believed her over you and I'm sorry dad."
He gets up from his chair and pulls me into a tight hug.
"It's okay," he says softly.
"I'll always be here for you. I love you, my son Mohamed."
I hug him back tightly, feeling a mix of relief and sadness wash over me.
"I love you too dad," I whisper before pulling away and heading to my bedroom.
I sit in the green room at the Staples Center, my guitar in hand.
I strum a few chords, trying to tune it, but my hands are shaking too much.
I set the guitar down and look around the room.
The other performers are all doing their sound checks, and I can see them on the monitors that line the walls.
The crowd is starting to fill in, and I can hear them chanting "Rachel" over and over again.
I stand up and walk over to the mirror that hangs on the wall.
I adjust my black button-down shirt and run a hand through my hair.
I look nervous, but I'm trying not to let it show.
There's a knock at the door, and I turn to see Lisa standing there.
She gives me a small wave, and I return it.
"Hey," she says softly.
"Hey," I reply, trying to sound casual.
We stand there for a moment, looking at each other.
It's been a few days since we kissed, and things have been awkward between us ever since.
"So," she says finally, breaking the silence.
"I guess we should talk about what happened."
I nod, feeling my stomach twist with nerves. "Yeah," I say quietly.
"I'm sorry about what happened," she says softly.
"I didn't mean to hurt you."
I shake my head, feeling a lump form in my throat.
"It's okay," I say finally.
"I know you didn't mean anything by it."
She nods, looking relieved.
"So we're good?" she asks hopefully.
"Yeah," I say slowly.
"We're good."
Lisa smiles and walks over to me.
She wraps her arms around me in a tight hug, and I hug her back just as tightly.
"Thank you," she whispers into my ear.
"For being such an amazing friend."
I pull away from her and smile weakly.
"No problem," I say softly.
"Now let's get this concert started."
I step out onto the stage, my guitar in hand.
The crowd is cheering loudly, and I can feel their anticipation building.
I walk up to the microphone and adjust it to fit my height.
I take a deep breath before speaking.
"Hello everyone," I say, my voice echoing through the venue.
"I'm Mohamed, Rachel's son."
The crowd cheers again, and I smile nervously.
"Thank you all for coming tonight," I continue.
"It means a lot to me."
I strum a few chords on my guitar before starting to sing.
"Why Can't I," I begin, my voice echoing through the venue.
Each word feels like a tribute to mom, and I pour my heart into every note.
As I finish the song, I glance out into the crowd and see Henry smiling at me from the front row.
I look away quickly, focusing on the next song instead.
"Favorite Person" is just as emotional as the first, but this time I know that it's not about me.
As I finish, I look out into the crowd again and see Henry's smile falter for a moment before he recovers.
I start playing my final song, "Delicate."
It's one of my own creations, and I feel a surge of pride as I sing it. The crowd seems to enjoy it too, clapping along to the beat.
When I finish, they erupt into cheers once more.
I bow my head humbly before speaking again.
"Thank you all for listening," I say gratefully.
"It means a lot to me."
I pause for a moment before continuing.
"My final song is called 'Space of My Own'," I explain.
"It's about finding your own place in the world, even when you're living in someone else's shadow."
Chloe beams at me from the front row, while dad nods his head in approval from his seat next to her.
My friends cheer loudly from their spots scattered throughout the audience.
I stand center stage, the bright lights shining down on me.
I place my fingers on the guitar strings and begin to play.
The melody flows easily from my fingertips, and I start to sing.
The words pour out of me like a river, each one filled with emotion.
As I sing about breaking free from mom's legacy and finding my own voice, I can feel the crowd responding.
I glance out into the audience and see Chloe bouncing up and down in her seat, her eyes shining with excitement.
Henry is nodding his head along to the beat, a small smile playing on his lips.
Dad is watching me intently from his spot in the back of the room, his eyes filled with pride.
Even Lisa, Victor, and Sasha are swaying to the music, their faces filled with joy.
As I hit the final note and let it fade away, the crowd erupts into thunderous applause.
I step back from the microphone, overwhelmed by the response.
Chloe rushes up to me as I leave the stage, her eyes wide with excitement.
"Mohamed, that was incredible!" she exclaims, wrapping me in a tight hug.
I walk down the dimly lit corridor, my guitar case bumping against my leg.
The sound of the crowd still echoes in my ears, and I can feel the energy of the performance buzzing through my veins.
As I round the corner, I see a group of people waiting for me.
Sasha, Lisa, Victor, Chloe, Dad, and Henry are all standing there, their faces beaming with pride.
"Congratulations," Sasha says first, stepping forward to give me a hug.
"You were amazing up there."
Lisa nods in agreement, wrapping her arms around me next.
"I can't believe you wrote that song," she whispers into my ear.
"It was so good."
Victor claps me on the back, grinning from ear to ear.
"Dude, you totally killed it out there," he says.
"I'm so proud of you."
Chloe pulls me into another tight hug before letting go and looking up at me with shining eyes.
"You were incredible," she says softly.
"I'm so happy for you."
Dad steps forward last, his eyes filled with emotion.
"I'm so proud of you, Mohamed," he says quietly, clapping me on the shoulder.
"You did a great job tonight."
Henry nods in agreement beside him.
"You were fantastic," he says with a small smile.
"Thank you," I reply gratefully, feeling a mix of relief and happiness wash over me. We stand there for a moment longer before Chloe speaks up again.
"So what do you want to do now?" she asks excitedly.
"Do you want to celebrate?"
I shake my head, feeling suddenly exhausted.
"I think I just want to go home and rest," I say softly.
"Okay," she replies understandingly.
"We can celebrate another time."
We all say our goodbyes and head out of the venue together.
As we walk through the parking lot towards our cars, I can't help but feel grateful for these people who have supported me through everything.
They've been my rock when things got tough, and I don't know what I would do without them.
We reach our cars and climb inside, ready to head home and relax after a long night of music and celebration. Dad pulls out of the parking lot first, followed closely by Henry's car.
I climb into the backseat of dad's car, my guitar case propped up beside me on the floor.
As we drive away from the venue, I lean back against the seat and let out a deep sigh of relief.
It's finally over, I think to myself as we pull onto the highway heading home.
As the car hums along the highway, Dad glances at me in the rearview mirror.
"You did your mom proud tonight, Mohamed," he says, his voice warm with sincerity.
I nod, a small smile tugging at my lips. "Thanks, Dad. I think I finally understand what she was trying to teach me."
