"I felt him watching. And I hated that I didn't hate it."

- Ziya

My alarm went off at 6:12, but I was already awake. Laying there in the quiet, staring at the ceiling, palms pressed flat against the cool sheets. I didn't jump up. I gave myself a moment. My body needed a second to remember where I was. My mind was already working.

I sat up slow. Cracked my neck. Rolled my wrists. No part of me moved without intention. I didn't play about my mornings. They set the tone.

My apartment smelled like last night's lavender candle and a hint of coffee from the half-empty pot I didn't pour out. I walked barefoot across the hardwood. In the bathroom, I flipped the light, and the brightness hit too hard, but I didn't flinch. I stood in front of the mirror, bonnet still on, brushing my teeth while my eyes locked with my reflection.

I didn't talk to myself. But I checked in. My eyes weren't swollen. Skin was good. No ash. No fatigue. Just me. I washed my face with the cleanser that didn't strip my skin, and let the cold water snap me all the way into the present.

I turned on the shower, adjusted the temperature, and stripped down. Ten minutes under hot water. Washed every inch. Used my brown sugar scrub on my thighs and arms. Let the steam hit my back. Breathed through my nose, deep.

After drying off, I rubbed cocoa butter from my shoulders to my ankles, then layered it with almond oil. My skin glowed. I moisturized my face, laid my edges with a toothbrush I didn't use for brushing, and pulled my curls up into a puff. The sides were slick. My brows brushed up. A little concealer under my eyes. Clear gloss. Two spritzes of vanilla amber behind my ears.

I pulled on a burnt orange cropped tank and high-waist black slacks that hugged me just right. Cream jacket over it. Simple, clean. Gold hoops, two rings, a chain from my Aunt Mariah that said "Zya" in cursive. I stared at my reflection one more time. Didn't smile. Just nodded. I was ready.

In the kitchen, I toasted a bagel and poured the leftover coffee into a ceramic mug with a chip near the handle. I added oat milk and stirred with the same butter knife I used yesterday. I leaned on the counter, took a sip, and scrolled my phone. No texts I cared to respond to.

I packed a banana, a bottle of water, and a protein bar in my tote. Laptop, notebook, charger, keys. I locked the door behind me, earbuds in, and stepped into the day.

The city already had a rhythm. Vendors set up their tables-incense, waist beads, handmade soaps. A little boy rode his scooter too fast. A woman yelled into her Bluetooth headset about her cheating husband. Somewhere down the street, a horn blasted like someone dared to slow down in morning traffic.

I passed the corner store. They still hadn't fixed the flickering sign. The crate by the lamppost sat where it always did. That was my old spot. I used to sit there with my sketchpad and earbuds when I didn't know how to fix what was breaking in me. I didn't stop. Just nodded at it in passing like a friend I no longer needed to vent to.

Three blocks in, I was close to the gallery when it happened.

I bumped into someone-solid, warm, firm like a damn brick wall. My coffee jolted in my hand, nearly spilling.

"Damn," he said, his voice low, smooth. "My fault, ma. You good?"

I stepped back quick, chest rising. I looked up.

He was tall-solid in that way that said he worked with his hands, but kept it clean. Golden-brown skin that held onto the sunlight like it belonged there. That white tee hugged his chest like it didn't want to let go. Arms thick, tattoos bold and sharp, the kind that told stories you didn't ask about. Beard full, shaped, with just enough scruff at the edge to make you wonder how it'd feel between your thighs. He moved like he knew women stared, like he was used to it-and still didn't care. That kind of man didn't ask for attention. He walked in and you gave it up without thinking twice.

"You should watch where you're going," I said. My voice came out sharper than I meant, but I didn't take it back.

He looked me over. Not like a boy checking out a girl, but like a man assessing a moment.

"I see you now."

I didn't respond. Just walked past him. I felt his eyes on me the whole way to the door.

"Aight then, queen."

I didn't turn around. But that "queen" sat in my chest like he meant it.

The gallery was cool and quiet. Jazz played low from the Bluetooth speaker in the back. It smelled like lemon cleaner and oil paint. I kicked off my shoes, slid behind the front counter, and tied my apron. My canvas was dead center-layers of red, black, and graphite. Unfinished, but honest.

I picked up my brush and let the color bleed.

The door opened. I glanced up, already halfway to telling them we weren't open yet.

It was him.

He stepped in like he already owned something in the room. Shoulders broad. Eyes low. That same tee still clinging to his chest like sin. Arms hanging loose but heavy, like he didn't have to try hard to get what he wanted. I looked up, and everything in me paused. I wasn't looking for him-but he looked like something worth keeping close. My thighs pressed together before I could stop it. And when his eyes hit mine? He didn't blink. Didn't smile. Just stared like he already knew how I tasted.

He leaned against the doorframe like it was built for him.

"You again?" I said, not surprised.

He stepped inside, slow. "Cousin got a studio upstairs. Dropped some work. Saw the light on."

"And decided to walk in?"

He shrugged. "Didn't feel like knockin'."

His eyes scanned the gallery. They landed on my canvas.

"You did this?"

"All of them."

He nodded once, like he wasn't surprised.

"You paint like you been through some shit," he said. "But you didn't let it own you."

That hit.

I didn't answer. Just looked at him, then back at my work.

"What's your name?"

"Zya."

He stepped back, toward the door.

"Nahlej."

He didn't reach out. Didn't linger.

At the door, he paused. "That crate you passed earlier?" he said, eyes still on the door. "I've seen you sit there before."

Then he left.

I stood still for a second, brush in hand, heart doing something low and steady.

He wasn't just fine. He was dangerous with it. Moved like there were stories in his silence. And even though the door shut behind him, the room didn't feel the same.

Whatever that was? It wasn't nothing. And I wasn't gonna act like it was.

"I don't chase shit! I spot it, want it, Tag , you mine ."

- Nahlej

The name's Nahlej. N-A-H-L-E-J. Teachers used to fuck my name up like they ain't even tryin'. I let it slide once, but that was it. I ain't one of them quiet niggas-you gon' say my shit right or don't speak to me at all. I slide in, heads turn. I don't say shit-don't need to. My name speak for me, same way my walk do. I ain't loud, just known. That's me. It wasn't no damn typo.

I been through too much shit to sugarcoat anything. I talk how I talk, and if it don't sit right with you, you can keep it movin'. I don't explain myself no more. Not to nobody.

Woke up that morning before the sun cracked open. I didn't need no damn alarm. I been gettin' up early since I was sixteen, duckin' cops and makin' hand-to-hand plays before i even wiped the crust out my eyes most days. That kind of conditioning don't leave just 'cause you tryna go legit.

I sat up slow, bare chest cold against the sheets, my Glock sittin' right on the nightstand like a loyal bitch. I looked over at it, nodded, then stretched my arms till my back popped. My spot wasn't flashy, but it was clean. Spotless. Everything where it needed to be. I ain't do mess.

No calls, no texts. Perfect.

Got up, hit the bathroom. Looked myself in the mirror.

"You still him."

I ain't say it for an ego stroke. Just facts. I'm him. Even if I'm tryna move different, that switch still live inside me. Flip it wrong, and I go back to bein' the same grimy nigga that made everybody nervous in a room.

I got up for my shower. Water was hot-steamin' like I needed to sweat out everything I used to be. I scrubbed hard getting the back of the neck, behind the ears. I wasn't about tryna be too delicate -it's hygiene. Some of y'all walk around smellin' like stress and excuses. I ain't one of them.

After my shower, i dried off while sitting on this expensive bed. I wonder if i could get some money back from that heffa who said " Best sleep ever" Bullshit. I threw on a fresh white tee, black cargos,and i tucked my glock low but close. Not for show. Just in case. People love you until they don't, and I ain't letting no opp catch me in between tryna pray and play.

I always put on the gold rope chain my grandpops left me and brushed my beard down with the soft bristles, tapped some oil on the sides. I wasn't into designer, but you could still smell money when I walked through. Real money don't make noise. It leaves proof.

After all that shit, now here's where it got crazy.

I drop cousin Deontay's, D or Tay for short, shit off at his studio upstairs at the Edgewood building. Same art building I been side-eyein' for months. Not cause of him-but because of her.

Shorty with paint brushes

I don't know her name. Ain't asked. Ain't needed to.

But I been watching. Not on no weirdo time, either. Respectfully. She used to sit outside on this busted ass crate-sketchpad in her lap, curls tied up in a puff, them thick-ass thighs tucked under her like she was tryna hide 'em from the world. She ain't talk to nobody. Never looked up. Never smiled. Just zoned out, drawin' like that shit was her oxygen.

And me? I'd be across the street, leaned against somebody else's whip, smokin' a Black & Mild, tellin' myself to stay put. I was still in the dirt back then. Still runnin' plays I shoulda been retired from. I knew I ain't deserve her energy. I knew if I got too close, I'd drag her into some shit she ain't sign up for.

But this morning? Different. My heart felt cleaner. Not all the way, but enough.

I stepped out the building and saw her through the glass-inside the gallery now, dressin' that canvas like it owed her money. Head still down. Aura still loud.

I told myself if the moment came, I wasn't gon' miss it.

I caught her slippin'-not on purpose. I stepped out just as she turned that corner, headphones in, brows pulled tight like she had somethin' on her mind. One second I was thinkin' on how to play it cool, next thing I know, she right up on me-soft frame hittin' my chest like she was meant to land there. Coffee sloshed in her hand, her eyes flashin' up at me like I did somethin' wrong just by existin'. Felt like fate had a sense of humor.

"Damn," I said, catchin' her shoulder. "My fault, ma. You good?"

She pulled back quick, like I burned her.

"You should watch where you're going," she snapped.

I smirked. Looked her up and down-not nasty, but real. She was fine in that natural, I-don't-even-try type way. That kind of woman that don't need filters or fake giggles.

"I see you now."

She didn't say shit. Just walked past me, all hips and heat. I watched her the whole way till she hit the door.

"Aight then, queen," I called out.

She ain't turn around. But she heard me. I know she did.

Few minutes passed, I stepped inside the gallery like I belonged. Same slow walk. Same tee. Same locked-in stare.

"You again?" she said.

"Cousin got a studio upstairs. Dropped somethin' off. Saw the light on."

"And decided to walk in?"

"Didn't feel like knockin'."

Her spot smelled like lemon cleaner and oil paint. Jazz playin' low. Real cozy. Real... her.

I pointed at the canvas. "You did this?"

"All of them."

I nodded. "You paint like you been through hell... but made it out holdin' the flame."

She ain't say nothin', but I saw her chest rise. That hit. Truth always do.

"What's your name?" I asked.

She told me.

And lemme tell you-when that name hit my ears? It sat different. Sounded like somethin' meant to be whispered with reverence.

I headed toward the door. Paused.

"That crate out front?" I said, not lookin' back. "Yeah, I seen you sittin' on it. Legs crossed, curls wild, drawin' like you ain't owe nobody shit. I was dirty back then-dirty like, if you looked too close, you might catch somethin' spiritual. I ain't speak, 'cause I ain't deserve to. But I used to pray. Not for you. For me. 'Cause I knew if I ever got right, I was comin' for you."

I left out that door feelin' like I touched destiny.

She don't know it yet, but I been watchin' her with God in my chest and the streets in my rearview. And now?

Now I know her name.

She locked in.

One way or another? She mine.

"I ain't wonderin' if I'ma take her I'm wonderin when"

-Nahlej

I ain't slept right since I bumped into that lil' short muhfucka. For real. I laid in this bed three different fuckin' ways-on my back, on my stomach, curled up like a bitch, flipped the pillow to the cold side like that shit was gon' erase her face out my skull. It didn't. Lil' mama still up there rent-free, stretchin' her thick-ass across my thoughts like she own 'em.

Ziya.

That name been fuckin' with me ever since. It slid in my ear and made itself comfortable. Sat in my chest like it paid rent early. Made me mad, horny, and humbled-all at once. That's the kind of name you hear once and know you gon' be dealin' with it the rest of your life. I cussed her out in my head, then replayed every word she said like it was scripture.

It's two days later, and I still ain't spent the block on her. Not 'cause I didn't want to-but 'cause I know me. I ain't gon' say the right shit. I might do somethin' wild. I'm that kinda muhfucka. And Ziya? She look like she deserve better. But that's the thing-I am better now. Better than I been.

Tay slidin' through tonight. That's what we do. Every couple nights we link, smoke, drink, lie about the dumb shit we done did and act like we gon' do better tomorrow. We don't.

Before he got there, I lit a wood, sprayed the couch with Febreze just enough to not smell like ass, and ordered wings. Lemon pepper wet. Extra crispy. Glock sittin' on the coffee table with a napkin under it like a guest.

When the knock hit the door, it wasn't no soft tap-it was Tay.

"Open this bitch up!"

I swung open the door. Tay walked in like he paid rent. Hoodie halfway off, fade under a skull cap, grill flashin' just from talkin' too loud.

"Damn, nigga," he said, sniffin'. "That lemon pepper? You already know I came hungry."

"Grab a plate and shut the fuck up."

We ate. Music low. Some old trap shit from Boosie and Dolph blendin' with the sound of chicken bones droppin' in the tray. But Tay peeped it. I was too quiet.

"Aye, bruh," he said, leanin' forward. "You been off since I came in. What's good?"

"Ziya. I finally approach her fine ass."

"Ohhh," he said, draggin' it out with a smirk. "Lil' mama from the gallery wit' the mean mug and fat ass?"

I nodded, hit the wood.

"She bumped into me. I caught her. Felt like a sign or some shit."

Tay busted out laughin'. "Nigga, not you soundin' like a Tyler Perry extra. You got your chest out behind one lil' brush-up?"

"It's deeper than that," I said. "Been thinkin' 'bout her nonstop. Her eyes. Her lips. How she ain't even smile at me. That shit fucked me up."

"You obsessed."

"Maybe."

Tay leaned back, mouth full of chicken. "You ain't even sniffed the pussy and she got you losin' sleep?"

I smirked. "Nigga, I been thinkin'..."

He pointed. "Here we go. Every time you say that dumb shit, some crazy ass plan come out yo mouth."

I raked my fingers through my beard slow.

"I think I'ma kidnap my future wife."

Tay dropped his wing. "Bitch, what?"

"You heard me."

"Nah, say it again so I know you dumb for real."

"I'm thinkin' about takin' her. Not on no creepy shit. Just... keepin' her still long enough so she see me."

"You can't DM the bitch? Take her to brunch or somethin'? You go straight to felony?"

"DMs don't hit the same. I need her attention. Real, undivided, fuck-the-world attention."

"You need therapy, nigga."

"You always say that shit when I get inspired."

"I say that 'cause you always get like this when you see a fresh piece of ass. Remember what happened last time?"

"That was different."

"No, nigga, it wasn't."

"I'm tellin' you, this time it's real. She was paintin' like she was battlin' demons inside her, and I feel that shit. I wanna be the one who help her win."

Tay looked at me sideways. "You think that sound sane?"

"Nope," I said, crackin' a grin. "But love ain't sane. And neither am I."

He shook his head, but he was smilin'. "Aight then, psychotic ass nigga. What's the plan?"

I leaned back, took a drag, exhaled real slow. "Still cookin'. But she gon' see me. Soon. Real soon. "

Ziya

I was sittin' in my apartment, incense burnin' low and the jazz station playin' soft through my Bluetooth speaker. The good playlist, too-the one with the sax that hit deep, like somebody kissin' your collarbone from the back. I was halfway through twistin' up my hair, satin scarf slid halfway off my edges, when I caught myself starin' at the same brushstroke on my wall for the third time in ten minutes.

It had been two days since that man walked in my gallery-and I still hadn't recovered. I wasn't tryna admit it out loud, but I felt it. That shift. That undercurrent. Like the air got heavy but sweet, like brown sugar weighin' down my lungs.

I reached for my remote, flipped the jazz to something softer, but it ain't help the way my body felt warm just thinkin' about him. The way he stood there, eyes locked like he already owned the room-and maybe me, too. I hadn't had nobody get up in my head like that in years. Hell, maybe ever.

I was just about to get up and finish twistin' when I heard the front door jiggle, keys clinkin' before it swung open.

"I ain't heard from yo Black ass in two days, bitch!"

Micaiah.

She didn't knock. Didn't announce herself. Just popped that lock like she paid bills and stepped in like she was the damn landlord.

She had on some high-waisted dark jeans that hugged every damn curve, paired with a cropped white tee that read "Soft But Dangerous" in rhinestones. Her gold hoops caught the light when she flipped her hair, nails red and pointed like she was born to scratch a man's ego.

"You dropped that lil' bomb on me and then ghosted like I'm some random hoe off your block list!"

I blinked slow. "You got a key, not a warrant."

She dropped her purse on the floor and flopped on my couch like she paid rent and kept a toothbrush in the bathroom.

"Mm-mm. So you really let that man leave with your common sense, your pussy pulse, and your good fuckin' judgment? Ziya, you in here hummin' around like your nipples still remember what his voice sound like. Girl, I seen you. You been floatin'-floatin'. Like he hit you with some invisible dick and said, 'I'll be back for the rest later.' And don't get me started on how fine he is. That ain't no regular fine-that's put my name on the lease, change my number, and let him fuck the attitude outta me kinda fine. That nigga look like he bite thighs and pay bills early. The type that pull you in by the jaw and say, 'Don't run now, you wanted this.'"

She didn't stop there. Naw. Micaiah was just gettin' warmed up.

"Bitch, I ain't even seen him yet and I saw the vision. That man got that whole 'I lift you up and drop yo ass right on this dick in the name of Jesus' look. And you gon' sit here like you wasn't starin' at his lips like they owed you somethin'? Like that nigga ain't built like his stroke game A1 deep? Girl, please. He probably got good credit, bad intentions, and a dick like redemption."

I damn near choked on my own spit.

She leaned forward, eyes wild. "And I bet you peeped his print, bitch. Uh huh. Don't act like you ain't see it. That man ain't got no business walkin' around like that unless he tryna start a family. Today."

I held up my hand to cut her off, laughin' into my palm. "Kaia, you wasn't even there and think you know me. "

She rolled her eyes so hard I thought she saw her own brain. "Bitch, I don't need to be there. You talkin' slow and breathin' hard, bitch. He got a grill and tattoos? Oh nah, that man fine for real. I bet he got back dimples too-mothafuckas that say, 'Come here and ruin your peace.' I knew I felt my coochie do a somersault that day for a reason."

She wasn't done. Not even close.

"Z, you over here actin' like you above dick, like your spirit too elevated to ride a face. Girl, please. That man look like he eat pussy with one hand on your thigh and the other on a pistol. I bet he fuck like he tryna leave his name on your cervix."

I laughed so hard I had to throw a pillow at her.

She dodged it with a smirk. "Keep playin' like you don't know what's goin' on, and that mothafucka gon' pop up and kidnap yo ass."

And lowkey? I wasn't sure if I'd even fight it.

Chapter 4

"Some people come with peace. Others come to flip it."
- Ziya

Two weeks later

Life has been quiet, but not the good kind. I have been in my studio most days, pushing paint around and pretending like the blank space on my canvas was not the same one I had been feeling in my chest. I told myself it was just life catching up with me - bills, routines, running my gallery - but if I am honest, that night with Nahlej has been camping out in the back of my mind like it paid rent.

I kept working, kept showing up, even started a new piece that fought me every time I touched it. And still, every time the gallery doorbell jingled, I found myself glancing up, hoping it might be him. It never was.

It was Saturday afternoon, sun pouring through my blinds, and I was sitting at my vanity like I had all day to do nothing. My hair was half-done, one lash was on, and my robe was still tied loose.

That was when my phone lit up across the vanity, shaking my desk like it was irritated with me.

"Ho what?" I answered, deadpan, snatching it up.

Kaia sucked her teeth so hard, my speaker popped. "Heffa! Hold on, don't be mad at me. Don't start with me. You knew I was on the way, so you need to be ready. And put on them gold heels make your calves look blessed. You not finna embarrass me showin' up lookin' like you just got done paying bills."

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my legs slow. "Kaia, I'm not mad, I'm just... a little nervous."

"Nervous for what? Girl, you in the house too much. You rest like a grandma with a heating pad and a robe from Family Dollar. Get up. I'm tryna introduce you to my boy Malik. He's cool, Z. Real cool. Paid, got sense, smell like Dior and a man who keep his shit together. The type got a credit score over seven-fifty and know how to act in public. You need somebody normal to get your mind off that crazy-ass Nahlej before he slide back in here and flip your peace like a mattress."

I smirked, shaking my head. "Ain't nobody thinkin' 'bout Nahlej."

"Mmhm," she sang, all fake and dramatic. "You ain't gotta think about him. He thinkin' about you. And you know that man too damn reckless to sit still. Blink too long, you gon' wake up with him leaned in your fridge like he payin' the light bill."

"Girl, goodbye."

"Twenty minutes, Z. I'm outside layin' on the horn if you not ready. And I don't care what you say - you puttin' on them heels." She hung up before I could clap back.

I sighed, tossed my phone on the vanity, and started pulling myself together. My hair went up in a messy-but-cute bun, with a few curls loose to frame my face. My gold hoops slid in, my makeup stayed soft glam. I slid into a fitted, off-the-shoulder cream top and high-waisted dark jeans that hugged me like they were custom-made. Those gold heels she swore by? Yes, they went on last, even though I rolled my eyes putting them on.

A horn tapped twice outside. I grabbed my clutch and stepped out, locking the door just as Kaia rolled down her window.

"Damn, you fine!" she hollered from behind the wheel, her locs pulled up into a high ponytail, baby hairs slicked and shimmering under the sun. She had on a black ruched mini dress, layered gold chains, and nails long enough to make a point even without talking.

Her car - a glossy black Dodge Charger sitting low on big rims - purred like it was flirting with the block. Music thumped low from the speakers, some old-school R&B chopped up with bass.

I slid in, buckled up. "You doin' the most for a 'chill' party."

She grinned, pulling off. "Baby, I am the most. Now, Malik... girl, he's my new best friend. Fine, tall, smells like money. He gon' love you. And you gon' thank me for finally gettin' your mind off that knockoff Tubi Romeo who look like he know how to ruin your life and fuck up your whole vibe."

I laughed, shaking my head, watching the city roll by.

We had not even stopped the car yet and I already knew Kaia lied.

We hit the corner, and I damn near laughed out loud. This was not any "little, laid-back afternoon thing" like she swore it was. Baby, the bass was in my chest before we even turned on Malik's street. Cars lined up both sides like the city threw a block party. Somebody's cousin had a grill smokin' heavy, the air thick with hickory, lighter fluid, and whatever meat they had been slow-cookin' all morning.

It wasn't just music - it was loud, unapologetic hood R&B hittin' off two big black speakers parked dead in the grass. The beat was so strong it made the cans stacked on the table outside shake. Niggas posted up in fresh fits, cups in hand, talkin' with their whole bodies like they ain't seen each other in years. Girls slidin' through in sundresses, knotless braids swayin' down their backs, waist beads peeking when they laughed too hard.

Kaia's already cheesin' behind the wheel like she brought me to paradise. "See? Told you it was chill."

"Chill where?" I side-eyed her. "Kaia... this is a whole function."

She just smirked, unbothered. "Z, loosen up. We gon' be fine. Malik gon' be hype to see me... and you."

The music and the crowd hit me harder than I expected. After two weeks of nothing but paint and silence, the voices felt too loud, the bass too heavy. My chest tightened like I was out of place, like I did not belong here no matter how good Kaia swore I looked. I adjusted my clutch, my heels clicking against the concrete just to remind myself I was still steady.

I looked out the window and spotted the man himself - Malik - holdin' court on the porch like he paid the mortgage twice this month. Tall, skin like cinnamon, smile just disrespectful. Even from the car, I could tell he was one of them men who smelled like a cologne you can't find in stores. He wore a black tee crisp enough to cut paper, dark jeans, fresh Forces, and a gold chain that caught every stray beam of sunlight.

Kaia parked like we were VIP and killed the engine. "Alright, bitch, we here. Get your pretty ass out this car before I drag you."

I grabbed my clutch slow, still watchin' the scene. My heels hit the concrete, and heat rolled up off it like the ground itself was in on the party. Somebody yelled "Shoooot!" from the spades table, a little girl zoomed past with a red freeze cup in her hand, and Malik finally spotted us. That smile got even wider.

"Kaiaaa! Damn, girl, you brought company?"

Kaia grinned like she had been waitin' all week for this. "You already know I did."

And just like that, I knew she was up to somethin'.

Kaia did not even give me a beat to breathe before she had me front and center in front of some man leaning against the porch rail like his hips were too heavy for him to stand up straight.

"Z, this my boy Malik," she said, flashing that smile that always meant trouble. "Malik, my cousin Ziya. The one I told you about."

I gave him my polite smile, that closed-mouth, don't-read-too-much-into-it one.

"Nice to meet you," I said, letting my hand meet his. Warm. Firm grip. A little squeeze at the end that told me he liked what he saw.

"You too," he said, giving me a grin. "Kaia told me you runnin' a gallery? That's solid. Not everybody got the nerve to build somethin' from scratch. That's boss moves right there."

Before I could answer, she was already walking away. "Y'all talk. I'ma go make my rounds." No explanation, no rescue plan. That was Kaia.

Out loud, I kept it light-"Yeah, I run a gallery. Do a little bit of everything."
Inside, though, I was clocking him. Clean lineup. Designer sneakers. Watch gleaming under the porch light. He smelled faintly like spice and money. But his eyes? They didn't stay still. He kept looking past me like I was holding him up from something better.

And then-just like that-that strange buzz rolled through me. Not nervous. Not excited. Just... that pull.

I glanced away from Malik, like my body was already looking for the reason.

And then I saw him.

Nahlej.

Draped in that chair like it was a throne. One big hand loose on his thigh, the other wrapped around a red cup. His locs were tied back, neat except for two that hung low against his cheek, brushing the edge of his beard. That beard-low, lined sharp, framing a mouth that sat somewhere between bored and ready to ruin someone's night in the best way.

White tee stretched across his chest like it had been tailored for him. Black sweats hanging low enough to make my mind wander where it had no business going. Skin deep brown and glowing under the porch light, like the whole damn world was shining for him.

His eyes... slow. Heavy-lidded. High. I could tell. It gave everything about him this lazy, deliberate edge, like he was moving through honey and enjoying every damn step.

And then he looked at me.

Not quick-he let his gaze roll my way, unhurried, like he was already sure I had been staring. And I had.

The smirk started in one corner of his mouth and dragged across slow, like he was tasting me from the inside out without laying a hand on me.

Then he winked.

I swear my knees got lighter.

He leaned forward, big palm pressing against his knee like he was about to stand.

And for a split second, I forgot Malik was even there.

Okay y'all 👀... if Nahlej was leaning on the wall in front of YOU, would you fold or fight? Drop your answer in the comments. Don't forget to hit Vote + Add to Library so you don't miss next week's chapter.

"Baby, can't you, hear my call?"

-"ClearIntentions" SAYJOHN2X

Last night was stupid. Tay had me out 'til damn near sunrise, half the bottle was gone before we even left his spot. We decided to stop by Malik's and hang with him. The room stayed hazy with smoke, hookah clouds mixing with the stank of spilled liquor and cheap perfume. There was women everywhere - some loud, some drunk, some the kinda fine that only lasted until they opened they damn mouths. Tay didn't care. Tay will stand dead in a room full of men and pull the wildest one in arm's reach just for the sport of it, like he collecting trophies nobody else want.

He was on demon time from the jump. First one he locked on was this lil' yellow-bone in a too-short skirt, lashes so long they kept sweeping through the Henny in her hand every time she leaned forward laughing. Teeth big as hell - like she could bite through a license plate if she needed to. I leaned over, told him straight: "Boy, she look like she chew bricks for a livin'." He laughed, still whispered in her ear like I hadn't just described her jawline like construction equipment.

Second one was worse. Tall, knees knockin' like she had maracas in 'em. Wig tilted to the side, tryna escape into her drink like it was beggin' for asylum. Dress so tight it looked like it was stitched straight onto her skin, seams hollerin' for help. When she leaned in, the smell hit first - not perfume, not lotion - but like she gargled Newports for breakfast and rinsed with bottom-shelf vodka. I damn near coughed. Tay shook his head and said, "She got potential." I side-eyed him and muttered back, "Nah, you just a fuckin ho."

The one he actually left with? Lord, have mercy. Little dusty chick in Fashion Nova, knock-off red bottoms clickin' like they was beggin' for retirement. Lace front slid so far back it looked like it was tryin' to clock out early. Whole aura screamed fraud. Cheap-ass perfume fightin' with the loud she'd been smokin', breath hot enough to kill a houseplant. I shook my head, told him: "She look like the type to steal soap outta somebody's bathroom." Tay grinned, proud like he found treasure, and walked her right to his car. I was done for the night after that and took my ass home.

Mornings hit different. My first thought? "Damn, I made it."

Second thought? "Ain' never drinkin' with that nigga again."

My head felt like a drumline set up behind my eyes. My mouth was drier than dirt, tongue rough like carpet. Dick stuck to my thigh, tacky from sweat and sleep. " I gotta start wearin' draws to bed man" as I adjusted my self in my night shorts. I rolled slow, palm draggin' down my face. My bedroom stayed dark as a coffin - blackout curtains closed tight, walls bare except for a flat-screen mounted high, remote on the dresser. Queen bed dressed in black sheets, two pillows dented from use, Glock sittin' pretty on the nightstand with my chain coiled next to it. The closet door stood open, racks neat, tees folded by color, jeans stacked sharp, sneakers lined like Foot Locker on display. No clutter, no mess. That's how I keep it.

My phone buzzed. I squinted at the glow. Malik's name. I groaned, voice scratchy. "What the hell this nigga want now?"

Nappyhead Leek : Slide through tonight. Whole block gon' be there. I sucked my teeth. "Yeah, aight. I'll hear this asshole later." Tossed the phone right back onto the sheets.

Before I could move a muslce, phone buzzed again. I grabbed it harder this time. "Damn, "must be piss a nigga off "in this bitch this morning ?" My screen showed Tay's voice note. I hit play, his laugh damn near loud enough to split my skull.

"Nigga, don't act like you ain't comin'. Kaia said it's already lit and they still settin' up."

Figures. Tay met Kaia years back. He used to mess with her, thought he was slick. Cheated like it was part of his job description until she got tired, dumped his ass flat. He stayed at my place for almost a month until I got sick of him and kicked his ass out. Any other woman would've cut him off forever, but not Kaia. They still cool, still cuss each other out, still slide around each other's orbit. Hell, half the time he still sneaks in her bed when she let him. Whole thing messy, but that's Tay.

Feet hitting the floor heavy as I sat a second, rubbed my temples, then pushed up. This automatic bathroom light came on bright enough to burn. I stared at my reflection. Eyes red-rimmed, locs wild, beard uneven from sleep. "Nigga, you look half-dead," I muttered. Starting my typical routine , I pick up my toothbrush, the paste and proceeded. Thoughts rushed back to my "Lil Light" as i started calling her while the shower steamed behind me. Getting out of my shorts , the water ran hot, beating against the tile like rain. I stepped in, heat hitting my back first, then sliding over inked shoulders, arms, chest. I scrubbed hard - chest, arms, under the tats, every line of me raw. Body wash smelled like cedar and smoke, whole room thick with steam.

I stayed in a little longer than usual contemplating my next move when it comes to miss Ziya. Turning the shower head off, I came out and wrapped in a towel, steam trailing me. Loco sat right outside the door like a security guard, ears up, tail beating the floor slow. Cream-colored Frenchie, stocky and solid, chest wide enough to block a doorway. Nose wet, eyes guilty. I narrowed mine. "Whatcho thievin' ass do Loc?"

He tilted his head. I looked past him, saw one of my Forces chewed to death in the corner, heel ripped up like it owed money. I picked it up, dangled it. "Oh, so this how you thank me, huh? Chew my shit?" He barked once, tongue lollin' like he ain't do a thing. I sighed, tossed it down. "You lucky you cute." He wagged his tail harder like he won. And I don't abuse animals. I stepped into my closet scanning it for some shit to wear. I honestly don't know why in the hell I do this shit everyday knowing imma wear the same fit: black cargos from MarvG, white Pro Club crisp out the pack, and brand new shoes. It didn't stop there. Turning around to my glass jeweler case, I got the usual suspects. I had my 20 " gold chain heavy on my chest, ring slid on my finger, watch clasped tight. I picked up the habit of having to smell good from my old man , my grandpops. I had an extensive collection that couldn't be bought int he states. I sprayed cologne, then tapped it in wrists and neck, light but sharp enough to stick in the air.

The living room stayed open and minimal. The black leather couch stretched wide across the space, the glass coffee table in front of it carrying an ashtray dead in the center. Last night's roach curled in the tray like it had been waiting on me. I sparked it again, smoke spilling heavy into the air. ELHAE's voice slid low out the speakers, the bass pushing steady enough to hum through my chest.

The kitchen gleamed across the open space. Black granite counters with gold flecks caught the light from the blinds, half cracked to let the morning through. A stainless steel fridge leaned against the wall, magnets holding Polaroids of block nights, old faces, and numbers from women I never cared to save. The sink was clear, the stove wiped clean except for the skillet sitting cold on the burner. Last night's fried chicken still lived in the air, grease and seasoning clinging to the walls.

My stomach pulled me forward. I cracked eggs into a glass bowl, whipped them smooth, and slid bacon into the skillet. Grease popped and snapped up against my wrist while I turned the strips slow. Toast browned in the slot while butter softened in the dish. The plate came together thick - eggs, bacon, toast dripping butter. I ate at the counter, blunt between my fingers, smoke swirling above the food while the music pressed the silence into rhythm.

Loco padded in from the hall, heavy head bumping my leg. Cream coat brushed against me, nails clacking on the hardwood, chest wide like a damn linebacker. I looked down at him, caught one of my sneakers near the wall with the laces wet. "I still cant believe ya ass chewed my show Loc. Ain't no way you drooled in my shoe, too bruh. You wild as hell." He wagged his tail slow, proud of his mess.

I leaned back into the couch after, plate clean, smoke curling from the blunt still burning between my fingers. My eyes closed halfway, but my mind refused to rest. Ziya stayed there. That woman had only given me a handful of words, but they stuck like scripture.

My grin stretched, but it wasn't joy. It was hunger.

"If she at this party tonight..." I let it slip out, voice low, like it was meant for God and the devil at the same time. "...I ain't just watchin'. I'm collectin'. Every blink. Every sip. Every tight-lipped smile she try to hide. Who she stand close to. Who she back away from. I'ma know it all. Study her like scripture. By the time I touch her, she gon' swear I been in her dreams takin' notes."

Smoke slid past my lips, heavy, curling around the words. My eyes narrowed, grin sharpening into something damn near feral.

"She gon' feel me in her skin before I even open my mouth. And when I do?" I tapped ash into the tray, leaning forward, tone dipping darker. "Ain't no retreat. Ain't no run. She mine already. She just ain't signed the papers yet."

Loco huffed, tail tapping once against the floor. I smirked, dragging deep.

"Yeah... homework start tonight. And when I'm done, Ziya gon' know exactly what it feel like to belong to a man who don't let go."

Driveway lights cut across the hood as I eased the car into the line of whips stacked outside Malik's spot. Black Escalades, old-school Chevys sittin' on chrome, a couple beat-up Hondas squeezed in between like they got lost. My Charger sat low, black paint clean enough to catch the porch lights, rims still shining from the wash I gave it earlier. Inside smelled like cologne and smoke, leather seats warm under me.

Loco sat in the passenger side, chest wide, nose pressed to the crack I left in the window. His breath fogged the glass while his ears twitched at the bass thumpin' from inside the house. I glanced at him, lips pulling into a smirk.

"Don't start actin' like you payin' bills, Loc. You stayin' right here. I cracked the window, you got air. Don't bark at nobody 'less they stupid enough to touch my shit."

He tilted his head like he understood every word, tail thumpin' against the seat. I shook mine, snorted, and grabbed the blunt out the ashtray. Smoke hit my chest, steadying me while I sat there watching people move in and out the door.

Niggas posted on the porch, cups in hand, hollerin' like they tryna prove who had the loudest lungs in Ethereal. Girls stumbling in heels they couldn't handle, dresses short enough to make you wonder if they was sold separate. Music leaked out the house heavy, bass rattling the glass even with the doors closed.

I killed the blunt, dropped it in the tray, then pushed the door open slow. Air hit me - fried food, weed, perfume too sweet for its own good. Voices carried, laughter high, somebody already arguing near the curb.

"Here the fuck I go," I muttered, stepping out, sneakers catching the gravel with a crunch. Chain lay heavy on my chest, watch face catching the streetlight as I shut the door. I glanced back at Loco once more. "Guard the whip, bruh. Anybody even breathe wrong near it, tear they ass up."

I adjusted my stance, eyes sweeping the porch, the people, the whole vibe, every move already under a microscope. Tonight wasn't for blending in. Tonight was about collecting.

Front yard stayed loud, porch stacked with niggas talkin' over each other, cups tilting, smoke spilling out the door like the house itself was rollin' up. Music pushed through the walls, bass hittin' my chest before I even stepped inside. I walked slow, eyes cutting across the block, catchin' faces I half-knew, niggas throwin' their hands up at me.

"Nahlej! Nigga finally came out!" somebody hollered from the porch. I smirked, tipped my chin up. I wasn't finna dap everybody.

House smelled like fried food, liquor, and too much perfume the moment I stepped in. Lights low, neon strips running along the ceiling, couches packed with people who wasn't even supposed to be sittin' down at a party like this. Women leaned on the walls, dresses short, laughs loud, eyes quick to measure me as I walked through. I clocked every detail, kept it movin'.

Tay was dead center of the living room, leaned back on the couch like he owned the spot, Juju sittin' right next to him. Tay's mouth stayed runnin', hands flyin' all over while Juju just laughed and shook his head. Typical.

I walked up and cracked Tay upside the back of his head, open palm sharp enough to pop. "Nigga, you still fuckin' with chicken heads, I see."

He jerked forward, turned quick. "Aye, watch the locs, bruh!" He grinned wide, eyes low from already drinkin'. "Don't be mad 'cause you left me with the leftovers."

"Leftovers?" I raised a brow, side-eyein' Juju. "Bruh walked out with a bitch lookin' like her wig was signin' eviction papers. That ain't leftovers. That's hazardous material."

Juju damn near spit his drink, laughin'. "Man, y'all too fuckin' much."

Tay grinned, unfazed. "Hazardous or not, she still left with me, didn't she?"

I shook my head, slid into the seat across from them, stretchin' out. "Nigga, you'd fuck a gremlin if it giggled at you twice."

Juju leaned forward, pointin' his cup. "Facts."

Before Tay could fire back, Kaia appeared like she been summoned. She stormed over, voice already raised, curls bouncing, jeans painted on.

"Deontay! You got me fucked up! You really blocked my number, and then pop up here like you wasn't just bangin' on my damn doot?" She jabbed a finger in his chest before throwin' her hands up. "Oh, but you always pop out when Juju, Malik or Nahlej around. You think I don't see you?"

Tay just leaned back, laughin', eyes half-shut. "Here she go, y'all."

She spun, pointing at Juju. "And you-don't you encourage him! He ain't shit!"

Juju threw his hands up. "Aye, I'm innocent tonight. Leave me outta this."

She kept goin', rantin' fast like only Kaia could, sprinkling curses with compliments, throwing shade with love. "I swear, y'all the reason I don't trust men with facial hair. Can't never tell if you prayin' over me or plottin' on me."

Tay howled, clappin' his hands. "Kaia, you need a show. I swear, Netflix waitin' on yo ass."

I sat back, half-smilin', but my eyes were already movin'. That's when I caught her.

Ziya.

She stood across the room, half-turned in conversation with somebody, one hand holding a drink, curls catching the light. Everything else in the room faded like the music cut off.

"Bingo," I muttered under my breath, low but sure. "I got action."

I tapped Kaia's arm. "Aye, Kaia. You know Shorty right there?"

She followed my line of sight, eyes widening. "Ohhh, that's my cousin, for real! My blood cousin. And she don't even be out like that, so you better be respectful, Nahlej. Don't come with yo usual bullshit. 'Cause Ziya is sweet, she artsy, she mind her business. She don't need no nigga tryna play philosopher with her-"

I cut her off with a smirk, leaning closer. "Introduce me."

Her jaw dropped. "Boy, hell nah. You got that look in your eye."

"Kaia," I said slow, tone dropping darker. "Introduce me."

She stared, then groaned, throwing her hands up. "See? This why my life messy. God, why you send me cousins and cousins' friends that stress me out? Fine. Come on."

Kaia's nails dug into my wrist as she yanked me through the backyard, talkin' loud the whole way like she was narratin' a damn parade. Heads turned, eyes cut our way, whispers followed. I felt it - the shift. Any space I walked into, it bent. This one wasn't no different.

Malik sat leaned back, one arm draped across the couch on the patio, talkin' low into Ziya's ear. She laughed polite, but her eyes flicked everywhere like she was tryna find an exit. That's when Kaia pulled me up right behind him. He didn't even know I was standin' there yet, but I saw Ziya feel it. Her body stiffened, her fingers tightening around her glass before she even turned her head.

Malik looked up finally, grinning wide when he saw me. "Oh, hell nah. Look who decided to show up. What's good, bruh?"

I clasped his hand, firm, quick, chain brushing as I leaned down. "You know me. Had to see what all this noise was about." My voice dropped just enough, eyes sliding back to Ziya.

She turned slow, and when her gaze landed on me, her breath caught. I saw it. Little things, they tell you the most - the way her throat worked when she swallowed, the way her lashes stalled mid-blink. My grin stretched. Hunger, not joy.

Before I could say a word, Malik laughed, sittin' up. "Ohhh, bro i wan you to meet lil shorty, Ziya"

My smirk grew wider . He didn't know I already knew who " my wife" was.

" Nice seeing you again, Lil Light" I say lowly looking into her eyes.

Catching the hint from my face "Oooh shit my bad , bro . This you?" Captain Obvious says.

Ziya blinked, confusion flashing across her face. "Excuse me?"

Kaia threw her hands up. "Excuse the fuck outta you, Leek! This is not that. I'm just introducin' my cousin and my boy. Well... reintroducin', anyway."

Ziya's eyes snapped to Kaia, then back to me. Polite mask slid back into place, but she couldn't hide the way her fingers tapped her glass too fast.

I leaned closer, voice low but clear. "Nah, she right. This ain't that. Yet."

Kaia groaned, dragging her palm down her face. "Lord, here you go."

Malik chuckled, shaking his head like he already knew I was about to make shit complicated. Ziya stood frozen, caught between her cousin's chaos, Malik's laughter, and me staring at her like I had already decided how the night was ending.

In my head, one word stayed steady.

Bingo.

I had action.

And now that she was this close, now that I had her name engraved in my mental, I wasn't lettin' up. Not tonight. Not ever.

Be real-if somebody claimed you as theirs before you even agreed, is that love... or is that possession?