His last lesson on love

CHAPTER SIX: LITTLE SUNBEAMS

Kuria’s POV

Saturday mornings are usually for laundry, long showers, and peanut butter breakfasts. But today is for something better. My sneakers crunch over gravel as I pass through the gate, the crooked-letter sign of the Little One’s Resource Centre swinging in the breeze like a lopsided smile.

Inside the compound, the main building stands ahead—bright and busy, the place for learning, crafts, and all things creative. To the far right, a two-story block rose behind a half-fence gate, set apart as the orphanage living area, with their rooms and the kitchen tucked inside.

It is already 12:30 when I push open the double doors. The familiar scent of crayons, floor polish, and distant laughter wraps around me like an old friend. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and head straight for the sign-in desk.

“Hey, Kuria—welcome back!” Smith, the center’s volunteer receptionist, greets warmly from behind the counter. His glasses sit a little crooked on his nose, but his smile is perfectly straight.

“Hiya, Smith. I promise I’m only thirty minutes late because time and I had a falling out this morning.”

He chuckles. “You and time are always fighting.”

I grin sheepishly, picking up the pen to scrawl my name onto the volunteer sheet. Before I could even put it down—

“MISS KURIAAAA!”

Something small and fast wraps around my calves. Then another. Then a third. I wobble on my feet.

Three tiny humans cling to me, eyes sparkling and grins wide enough to melt the hardest heart. Two girls—Sophie, with her messy bun, and Jazz, with a pink ribbon holding her hair hostage—and a boy with mismatched socks and the shyest smile alive: Tommy.

I gasp dramatically, clutching my chest. “Oh no! Somebody save me! Three scary monsters are attacking me!”

Tommy bursts into giggles.

Jazz squeezes tighter around me. “We don’t bite! We give hugs!”

“Ahhh, I see,” I said, squinting my eyes with fake seriousness. “Hug monsters. The most dangerous kind.”

All three erupt in laughter, and I crouch down to their level, giving each one a proper hug back.

“I missed you last week,” Tommy whispers, poking my cheek. He’d always been shy since he first arrived at the center six months ago. But thanks to Sophie and Jazz, his boldness has begun to bloom.

FLASHBACK TO 6 MONTHS AGO

I am sitting in the creativity room, watching the kids play games and doodle, when I notice Tommy sitting alone in the corner, clutching the strap of his little backpack like it is his best friend. I am about to approach him when Jazz and Sophie skip over first, giggling like they were on a secret mission.

“Hi,” they chime together, and Tommy gave a tiny, awkward wave. When they ask why he is alone, he murmurs, “I don’t know how to play with people. I always just play with my parents at home.”

“That’s awesome,” Jazz says with a grin.

Tommy shakes his head. “No, it’s not.”

Then Sophie tilts her head, shrugs, and says smiling , “It is—because we’re orphans.”

Tommy frowns, tilting his head. “What are orphans?”

Sophie’s voice softens, though her smile stays brave. “It means we don’t have a mommy and daddy.”

The words make my chest tighten, and I almost step in—but before I could, Tommy shuffles closer, cheeks pink, and wraps both girls in a clumsy little hug.

He whispers something that makes them giggle through the squeeze, and then Sophie breaks away, grabs his hand, and declares, “Come on, you’re with us now.”

By the time they reach the craft table, all three are laughing like they’d known each other forever. From that moment, they were inseparable.

END OF FLASHBACK

“I missed you too, baby boy,” I say softly, brushing my hand across the girl’s cheeks. My chest tightens. I couldn’t believe anyone would willingly give up such wonderful children.

Sophie had been found in front of the orphanage seven years ago, and Jazz five years ago. Then came Tommy—and the three clicked instantly, inseparable ever since.

They giggle, their joy bubbling up and spilling into mine, and for a moment, the world outside didn’t exist. No stress, no awkwardness, no heavy thoughts. Just me and three little sunbeams who have decided I am their favorite tree to climb.

Children really are the best.

“Alright, my little hug monsters,” I say, finally setting the pen down. “Let’s head inside. Today is write-your-own-story day!”

All three shout different answers at once, their voices tangling together into the sweetest kind of chaos.

And I thought, Yeah. This is exactly where I need to be right now.

A few hours later, I’m out in the compound, still laughing with the kids as they chase each other in circles. The sun is leaning toward the late afternoon, warm rays pressing against my skin, and my voice has grown scratchy from too many games of “monster tag.”

“Okay, okay—time out,” I say, holding up my hands. “Miss Kuria is officially old and tired. I need five minutes to recharge my batteries before I turn into a grumpy grandma.”

The children groan, but then one of the children points to the wooden bench under the almond tree. “Go sit down, Miss Kuria! We’ll keep playing till you’re ready again.”

I laugh and ruffle her messy bun. “Deal.”

Collapsing onto the bench, I lean back and close my eyes. The cool shade slips over me, and for the first time that day, I let silence fill the edges of my mind.

But then I hear a familiar voice.My eyes snap open. Tenten.

He is standing near the entrance, tall and calm as ever, speaking with someone I couldn’t quite see. My heart jumps, and before I could stop myself, I call out, “Tenten!”

The biggest smile spread across my face, wide and unstoppable, the kind that hurt my cheeks but felt lighter than air.

He turns his head, just slightly, enough for me to wave. Relief rose in my chest, but it didn’t last long. His eyes sweep over me once, unreadable, before he looks away and carries on talking as if I hadn’t been there at all.

A sharp pang strikes deep in my chest. Why is he ignoring me?

I push myself off the bench, my sneakers scraping the dusty ground. My pulse races as I head toward him, but by the time I reach the doorway, he's already gone. I hurry forward, but when I step through the door, the hallway is empty.

“Where…?” My voice falls flat against the quiet walls.

Then my phone buzzes.

A new notification lit up my screen from the center’s management app: CODE WHITE! —Report to the manager’s office immediately.

My stomach twists.

Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I break into a run, my footsteps pounding the corridor as fast as my heart.

Straight to the manager’s office.