Royal Outcast

Chapter 3

Seri's POV

"Who is it?" I inquired, my curiosity soaring at the sight of Annie's excitement.

"Well, Papa told me not to tell anyone until Mr. Adams officially announces it to everyone, but since you’re my best friend and all, I’ll let you in on the secret," she giggled, a playful gleam in her eyes.

Leaning in closer, Annie's breath brushed warm against my ear as she whispered with an excited grin, "You see, the important person coming tomorrow is—" Just as she was about to unveil the mystery, we were abruptly interrupted.

"Seri!" a voice called out from behind us.

One of the elders from the orphanage approached us, his expression serious yet kind.

"Mr. Adams is looking for you, kid," he informed me.

Annie and I exchanged disappointed glances, both feeling a sense of letdown from the sudden pause in our conversation.

"Shall we?" Annie suggested, a hint of disappointment lacing her voice, though she swiftly regained her composure.

I nodded in agreement, and together we headed back toward the orphanage, the mystery of the esteemed visitor still swirling in my mind, captivating my thoughts.

Once we entered, Annie drifted off to engage with the younger children, while I found myself making my way alone to Mr. Adams' office. My heart raced, and anticipation swelled within me with each step I took down the familiar hallway.

I knocked three times on the door, taking a brief pause as I awaited his reply.

"Come in," Mr. Adams called out from within, his voice warm and welcoming.

I hesitated for just a moment before pushing the door open and peeking my head inside.

"Mr. Adams?" I called out softly, my voice tinged with uncertainty.

"You were looking for me, sir?" I asked politely.

Mr. Adams turned from his desk, a broad smile breaking across his face as he gestured for me to come in.

"Come in, Seri," he said kindly.

I stepped inside and moved toward his desk, pondering why he had summoned me. His office always held an air of seriousness, a place where essential decisions were made; yet today, something felt more personal.

"Have a seat for a moment, kiddo," he instructed, patting the chair in front of him.

I nodded and settled into the chair, folding my hands nervously on my lap.

Mr. Adams reached beneath the desk and retrieved a rectangular box, placing it gently on the table before me.

"Open it, kiddo," he said, his voice soft yet filled with encouragement, a smile spreading across his face.

I stared at the box, intrigue mingling with reluctance in my heart.

"What is this, Mr. Adams?" I asked, curiosity dancing in my tone.

"You’ll see," he replied, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "Go ahead, open it."

I bit my lower lip, a mix of anticipation and hesitation bubbling inside me as I leaned forward, carefully untying the ribbon that adorned the box. My fingers trembled slightly as I lifted the lid, unsure of what I might discover inside.

As soon as I opened it, my breath hitched, and I gasped in disbelief, my jaw dropping in astonishment.

Nestled inside was a stunning ukulele, its sleek body crafted from rich mahogany wood, gleaming with an exquisite craftsmanship that took my breath away.

"Mr. Adams, this is..." I trailed off, struggling to find the words to encapsulate the overwhelming surprise and gratitude blooming within me.

"It's for you. A gift from me to you on this special day," he said, his voice kind and sincere. His eyes radiated warmth, making it clear he meant every word.

"But this must have cost you a fortune. I can't possibly accept it, sir," I insisted, guilt bubbling up inside me. A gift like this was far more than I had ever envisioned receiving.

"You must," Mr. Adams urged, his smile unwavering.

"It’s a gift—my gift to you." He leaned forward slightly, his demeanor turning serious.

"I’d be quite disappointed if you chose not to accept my birthday gift," he added, the lightness returning to his voice as he pretended to sigh.

I bit my lower lip, tears welling up in my eyes as I struggled to comprehend why he was doing this for me, why he believed I deserved something so precious.

With each glance at the ukulele, a swell of emotions filled my heart. I reached out, lightly brushing my fingers across the strings, tracing the smooth surface with a mixture of awe and hesitation.

"You can try to play it, Seri. Go ahead, give it a shot," Mr. Adams encouraged, his smile remaining steadfast as he watched me with kind eyes.

Looking up at him for reassurance, I found warmth in his expression, and his eyes brimmed with encouragement.

Taking a deep breath, I lifted the ukulele from the box, its wood feeling cool and smooth in my hands. My fingers hovered over the strings, uncertain of where to begin.

Then, summoning my courage, I strummed the first chord, and a flood of memories rushed back to me.

I was only three years old the first time I ever held an instrument. The sensation of the ukulele strings beneath my tiny fingers still lingered in my mind, along with the joy painted on my parents’ faces as they guided me in learning to play.

I recalled my dad strumming the guitar while my mom played the piano, the harmonious blend of our voices filling our home as we sang together—moments so joyful they seemed almost ethereal. I could visualize the sunlight streaming in through the windows of our living room, illuminating the scene we created together, laughter mingling with music as we embraced each other as a family.

My parents had been everything to me—their unwavering love and support had offered me a sanctuary, their presence a refuge steeped in warmth and safety. Those moments with them had been filled with happiness, surrounded by their love and the music that tied us together.

As I played the chords, the tears began to fall—one tear, then another, cascading down my cheeks until my face became awash in sorrow. I could no longer contain the surge of emotions within me, the grief I had buried deep for so long bursting forth uncontrollably.

The song I was playing was ours; the song my parents had cherished, the one we would play together and harmonize in perfect unison.

I bit my lower lip, striving to stifle the sobs threatening to break free as I continued to play, allowing the music to carry my emotions.

"Seri..." Mr. Adams whispered, his voice laced with concern.

Through blurry eyes, I glanced up at him, tears streaming down my cheeks, yet I could not bring myself to stop playing. I was unable to cease.

Mr. Adams understood the significance of music to me. He had discovered my passion for the ukulele two years after I had come to the orphanage, having caught me playing his own instrument.

Since that moment, he had always permitted me to borrow the ukulele whenever I wished to practice, and I had cherished that privilege deeply.

Playing the ukulele had become one of the last remaining ties to my parents, a precious fragment of their love that I could hold onto, a reminder that would never fade, regardless of how much time passed.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally ceased playing. My fingers lingered over the strings, but I wiped away the tears that had fallen, feeling the immense weight of my emotions pressing down on me.

I cradled the ukulele closely to my chest, its presence bringing both comfort and pain. Locking eyes with Mr. Adams, I whispered, "Thank you, sir. Thank you so much."

Mr. Adams smiled warmly, and without uttering another word, he rose from behind his desk and moved beside me. He enveloped me in a gentle embrace, his arms strong and reassuring.

I sobbed into his shoulder, the grief of my past unraveling before me, yet within that sorrow, I felt an abundance of comfort. Mr. Adams held me, granting me the freedom to cry as long as I needed.

Eventually, I calmed down, though the tears still flowed in small waves, my heart heavy with the weight of all the love and loss I had endured.

After a while, Mr. Adams pulled back, carefully retrieving the ukulele from my grasp and gently placing it back in its box. He then embraced me again, allowing me to shed a few more tears before finally parting.

"I’m so happy you like it," he said softly, his voice filled with understanding.

Nodding in response, I felt both overwhelmed and immensely grateful. Despite the tears wetting my cheeks, happiness began to blossom within me. The ukulele was not just an instrument; it was a tangible connection to my parents, a symbol that bridged the gap between their memory and my present.

After some gentle persuasion, I finally accepted the gift.

I carried it back to the sleeping quarters, setting it carefully beneath my bed, a smile blooming on my face. I couldn’t wait to play it every day, to practice and keep alive the rhythm of love and music that had once filled my life.

Later, I found Annie playing on the playground with the younger kids, and I called out to her, my voice light and cheerful.

"Annie!" I shouted, my heart feeling a little fuller now.

She turned to look at me, her smile brightening at first, but it quickly faded as she registered something in my expression, something she recognized as not quite right.

"Ri, are you okay?" she asked, concern threading through her voice as she rushed over, taking my shoulders in her grasp.

"Of course I am," I replied with a smile, attempting to reassure her.

But Annie wasn't convinced. She gently took my face in her hands, looking deeply into my eyes, searching for the truth within my heart.

"Then why do your eyes look like you've been crying? What happened, Seri?" she asked, her voice soft yet laden with worry.

"I'm okay, Annie," I asserted, my voice trembling slightly.

"I just got a bit emotional, that’s all," I explained, trying to ease her concern.

Annie regarded me thoughtfully, still filled with concern.

"Why? What happened with Mr. Adams?" she pressed, her eyes alight with curiosity.

"He gave me a gift," I murmured softly.

Annie let out a relieved sigh, nodding in understanding as comprehension washed over her.

"Thank goodness. I thought you got scolded or something," she said with a laugh, relief evident on her face.

With a radiant smile, she gave my face a gentle squeeze.

"You must have been really happy to cry because of a gift," she teased lightly.

"Well… it was a gift that reminded me of my childhood," I admitted with a small smile, my voice quiet.

Annie's expression softened, and without a moment’s hesitation, she pulled me into a warm embrace, enveloping me with comfort.

In silence, she caressed my back gently as I embraced her in return.

I buried my face in her neck, the tears threatening to escape once more.

"God, I miss my parents so much," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion and heartache.

Annie tightened her embrace, holding me in a way that offered me safety, even amid my pain.

It still hurt—so much.