34

Godspeed - Frank Ocean

November 31, 2025

The cold wasn't sharp, not yet. It nipped at the edges of my coat and curled around my fingers, but it wasn't unbearable. Just enough to let me know the seasons were shifting. The trees that lined the Howard campus had begun to let go—orange, gold, and rust-colored leaves scattered the ground like blessings from the sky. It felt symbolic. Maybe it was.

I stood still for a moment on the worn steps of Founders Library, tugging my cap just a little tighter over my curls and adjusting the deep burgundy sash draped across my shoulders. My photographer—some girl Karina knew who did shoots for the yearbook—was setting up across the quad. I could hear her calling, "Just give me a minute to fix the lens!"

Karina, of course, was off to the side with her phone already out, giving me commentary like it was the Met Gala. "Okay, the melanin is melanining! Mariah, tilt your chin—yeah, like that. You look like Michelle Obama in that gown."

I rolled my eyes but smiled. It felt good to smile without faking it. Things weren't perfect, but at least they felt real again. After everything—Michelle, Kamala, that screaming match in my apartment and the way she'd shut me out after—I'd finally started to feel steady on my feet again.

Kamala wasn't here, though. She had a department meeting she couldn't miss, but she texted me earlier:

Kamala: I hope you wear that ivory dress I love. The one that hugs you like it was sewn onto your skin. I'm proud of you, baby. Can't wait to see every picture.

I hadn't responded right away. I didn't know how to say what I wanted to say in a text. I didn't want emojis or an "I love you" to cover it. I wanted her to see it in my eyes.

The photographer waved me over. "Let's get a few shots in front of the clock tower. That lighting's perfect right now."

I followed her to the spot, passing students bundled in jackets, laughing, talking, running to class. A few nodded in my direction when they noticed the gown. The cap. The stole that read Political Science, Class of 2026.

Senior year. I had really made it.

The camera clicked. I smiled. Soft at first, then wide. I thought about freshman-year Mariah—so unsure, so eager to prove herself. And now? I was still learning, still hurting sometimes, but I was also growing. Loving. Trying harder.

"You look like you belong in a brochure," the photographer teased. "Alright, now let's get one with the Howard sign."

As I posed again, Karina jogged over with a thermos in her hand. "Hot chocolate," she said, offering it like a peace offering. "No whipped cream because I forgot, but it's still fire."

I took it and sipped, the warmth blooming down my throat. "Thank you."

She stood beside me in silence for a moment, watching as I posed again, her phone occasionally snapping extra shots. Eventually, I glanced at her.

"I should've gotten on you sooner," I said, voice quiet but steady. "For giving Michelle my number without asking me. Especially when you knew I was with Kamala."

Karina's expression dropped. "I know. I was just... I thought she was cool. I didn't think it'd go left."

"It did," I said simply. "It hurt her. And it hurt me too."

She nodded, guilt heavy in her voice. "I'm sorry, Riah. I wasn't thinking. You're right."

I nodded. "I forgive you. But just... don't do that again. I'm trying to protect something real."

A long pause passed between us. Then, Karina smirked. "You know, this means I gotta approve your wedding photos one day, right?"

I laughed despite myself, shaking my head. "Get outta here."

She laughed too, the kind that made everything feel okay again.

When the photos wrapped, I looked at the preview on the photographer's camera. One shot—me standing under the arch, sun hitting my skin just right, eyes full of something deeper than pride—made my heart catch. That was the one. That was the one I'd send to Kamala.

But I didn't text it. I printed it. Got it framed in a black velvet border. The next morning, I stopped by her office.

She looked up when I walked in, glasses perched low on her nose, a pen between her fingers. "You're early," she said softly.

"I brought you something." I set the frame down in front of her.

She picked it up slowly, eyes scanning the photo.

Then she looked at me.

"That's the look of someone who finally feels free," she murmured.

I stepped closer, hand brushing hers. "That's the look of someone who knows she couldn't have done it without you."

Kamala leaned in and pressed her forehead to mine. "You did it, Mariah."

"We did."

And in that quiet office, under warm light and old books and so much history, I knew we were finally writing the next chapter.

Together.________

Time jump...