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ⁿᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸⁱⁿᵍ
𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 & 𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬
𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 , 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐫
The night had no mercy. Every sound echoed sharper in the dark — sirens in the distance, the rattle of cans rolling down the alley, the shuffle of someone’s footsteps that made Maya’s chest seize until they passed.
She didn’t sleep much. Her body gave out in fits, her head dropping against the cold brick wall, but every few minutes some noise yanked her awake again. When morning came, her bones ached like she’d aged ten years overnight.
Her stomach growled. The twenty from Keisha was already down to twelve.
She wandered aimlessly, the city’s rhythm swallowing her whole. She kept her hood up, tried to look invisible. But invisible wasn’t working, because everywhere she went, Jax’s name followed her.
At the bodega, two guys stood near the counter, whispering.
“Word is Jax skipped town. Cops on his ass heavy.”
“Or he got locked. My cousin swore he seen his name on paperwork.”
At the bus stop, two girls side-eyed her and giggled.
“Ain’t that the girl he used to mess with?”
“She look lost as hell without him.”
On the corner, she swore she saw a mural half-finished — spray paint strokes of a face she knew too well. Jax’s jawline, Jax’s eyes. Somebody immortalizing him in color while he was still breathing, like they already knew his legend was bigger than life itself.
Everywhere she turned, his ghost brushed against her.
That afternoon, she ducked into the library. Not because she wanted books — because it was warm, and nobody would ask questions if she sat quietly. She curled into a chair, her backpack clutched close.
When she opened her sketchbook, her pencil moved on its own. Line after line. His face again. But this time it wasn’t the sharp, confident Jax she remembered. It was softer. Broken. Shadows under his eyes, lips pressed tight like he was carrying too much.
Her chest tightened. She hated him for leaving. For disappearing when she needed him most. But her hands kept sketching like she was trying to pull him back to life.
“Damn, that’s good.”
The voice snapped her out of it. A boy her age leaned over the table, peering at her drawing. His hoodie was faded, his sneakers scuffed, his smile quick and curious.
Maya snapped the sketchbook shut. “Mind your business.”
He chuckled, holding up his hands. “Relax. Just saying, you got talent. That him?”
Her stomach dropped. “Who?”
“𝐉𝐚𝐱.” He said it like everybody knew, like the name itself was currency. “I seen him around. Used to run with my brother. Crazy dude, but… respected. He don’t really let people close, so if you was with him—”
“I wasn’t with him,” Maya cut in fast, her voice sharper than she meant.
The boy raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “Aight. My bad.” He lingered a second longer, then walked off.
Maya sat frozen, heart racing. Even here, even with strangers, Jax’s shadow loomed. She couldn’t outrun it.
That night, back on the street, Maya found herself staring at her dead phone. She hadn’t charged it in days. Didn’t even know if she wanted to.
But when she scraped together coins for a charger at the corner store and finally plugged it into an outlet by a laundromat, her notifications flooded in.
Missed calls. From Keisha. From unknown numbers. And one message that made her whole body go cold.
From: Unknown
𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝’𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞. 𝐖𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤.
Her thumb hovered over the screen, her chest tight. She wanted to throw the phone, smash it against the ground. She wanted to demand answers.
Instead, she whispered into the night, her hand clutching her stomach.
“𝐉𝐚𝐱… where the hell are you?”
Because even gone, even unreachable, he was everywhere.
And if that message was from him… then maybe he wasn’t gone at all.
𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐚 sits beneath the laundromat’s buzzing neon sign, phone glowing in her hand, stomach twisting. The city hums around her, but all she can see is that one message.
Her tears blur the screen as she whispers:
“𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐞. 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤.”
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