AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Mila was waiting at the entrance, a sheaf of papers clutched in her hand. The sunlight caught in her hair, igniting amber and gold highlights that hadn’t been visible under the hotel’s harsh fluorescents. She glanced up, her expression an impeccable mask of professionalism.
“Mr. Portman, thank you for coming,” she greeted, extending her hand.
I took it, allowing my fingers to linger just a moment too long. “Please, call me Cass.”
She withdrew smoothly. “We have a lot to cover today.”
I followed her into the center, suppressing a smirk as I conjured up my most innocent look of curiosity. “Lead the way.”
The corridors echoed with the laughter of children and the shuffling feet of volunteers. Mila spoke passionately about each program, from after-school tutoring to adult education classes. Her words painted vivid pictures, and I found myself genuinely listening despite my initial intentions.
In a classroom filled with vibrant artwork and handmade crafts, I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “You know, Mila, there’s something about you that’s hard to forget.”
Her cheeks colored slightly, but she stayed on task. “These are some of the projects our kids work on,” she said, ignoring my comment and gesturing towards the colorful chaos.
We moved from room to room, each space alive with activity. In one corner, teenagers huddled around computers, tutoring each other on homework assignments. Their laughter bubbled over when someone cracked a joke about algebraic formulas—of all things.
Mila nudged me gently. “They’re not just getting academic help here,” she murmured. “They’re building friendships… networks that’ll support them beyond these walls.”
In the garden out back, I watched an elderly man teaching a group of children how to plant seeds. Their small hands were covered in soil, but their eyes shone with pride as they looked up at their mentor for approval.
“These gardens provide more than just fresh produce for the neighborhood,” Mila explained. “They teach responsibility and give a sense of accomplishment.”
Amidst rows of budding plants, I tried again. “It’s impressive what you’ve done here… almost as impressive as how stunning you looked at the ball.”
Mila paused mid-sentence about crop rotation and fixed me with a look that would freeze boiling water. “Mr. Portman, this center is more than just an afterthought to its neighborhood; it’s a lifeline.”
I raised an eyebrow but held back any further attempts at flirtation… for now.
We moved through the center like pieces in a complex game of chess; me advancing ever so slightly only to be met by her steadfast defense. Her determination was both infuriating and intoxicating.
The warmth of the community center’s gymnasium hit me as soon as I walked through the double doors, Mila ahead of me. Kids dribbling basketballs, their laughter echoing off the walls. She moved among them like a conductor, her presence pulling a different kind of music from each child she interacted with.
“Hey, Mr. Daniels,” she called to an older man in a worn armchair, “you need another blanket?”
He shook his head, his eyes crinkling with a smile beneath thick glasses. “No, dear. I’m fine. Who’s your friend?”
She glanced back at me, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes before turning back to Mr. Daniels. “This is Cassius Portman. He’s… interested in what we do here.”
I extended my hand to Mr. Daniels, trying to convey sincerity I was still trying to fully grasp myself. “Pleased to meet you.”
Mila drifted away, leaving me to follow her.
“Is he now?” Mr. Daniels mused once Mila was out of earshot. “You got your work cut out for you, young man.”
I watched Mila crouch beside a young girl struggling with her shoelaces. She didn’t just tie them for her; she taught her how to do it herself. The patience in her touch, the gentle encouragement in her voice—it wasn’t just kindness. It was empowerment.
We moved from room to room, each one revealing more layers of the center’s heartbeat—Mila’s heartbeat. A tutoring session here, a food pantry there, every space thrummed with life and purpose.
“This place,” Mila said, pausing in the threshold of the art room where kids smeared paint on canvases with abandon, “is more than walls and programs. It’s where we help children discover themselves.”
Her words lingered between us as I absorbed the vibrancy around me—colors and voices melding into a mural of community.
I watched her lean over a canvas, guiding a little boy’s hand as he added strokes to his painting. “You’re creating your world here,” she whispered to him.
It struck me then—this wasn’t just Mila’s job or her cause; it was an extension of herself.
We walked through a door into an alley where a group of teenagers worked on a mural—a kaleidoscope of images telling the story of their neighborhood.
