40

Doomed - Moses Sumney

February 26, 2026

The new year didn't feel new.

The chill outside bit through my coat like it had something to prove. The wind carried the last of the holiday lights down Georgia Avenue, and the trees were bare, black lines against a gray sky. I should've felt refreshed after Christmas, after all that warmth and laughter, but the second I stepped back into my apartment, something changed. Something weighed down my chest like wet laundry.

Winter break was over. And senior year—the part everyone looked forward to—suddenly felt like a countdown I didn't want to start.

I sat at my kitchen table with three highlighters, two pens, and a stack of LSAT prep books taller than my water bottle. I hadn't touched them in days. My planner was open to a list I didn't want to finish. I'd written out the top five law schools I dreamed of, including Howard's own and a few reach schools I barely said out loud. But instead of studying, I just kept staring at that list... like the names themselves would laugh at me.

Kamala wasn't there. She had faculty meetings all morning. She'd left early with a kiss to my forehead and a reminder to take care of myself, and I'd promised her I would. I'd lied.

I looked at the first question on the first practice test.

Then I flipped the page. And the next. And the next.

What if I don't pass this test? What if I don't get into any school? What if I've worked this hard just to disappoint myself?

My chest tightened. I closed the book.

I hated that my confidence was this easy to shake. I hated that I could walk across Howard's campus like I owned the place, smile at everyone who knew my name, ace papers and presentations—yet still freeze when I sat down alone with something that felt like it decided my future.

I didn't even hear the door open.

"Baby?"

Her voice warmed the whole apartment.

I turned slightly in my chair, trying to fake focus. "Hey," I mumbled.

She came in wearing her coat still, cheeks pink from the cold. "I brought you coffee. From that little spot you like off U Street."

I managed a small smile. "Thanks."

Kamala leaned in and kissed my cheek. She lingered. "You okay?"

I nodded automatically. But she stood there, watching me. She always knew when I was lying.

"Riah."

I sighed and leaned back. "I don't know," I admitted, softly. "I just... I feel like I'm drowning in everything. I keep thinking, what if I don't get in anywhere? What if I'm not good enough for law school? What if I disappoint you?"

Her coat was off in seconds, flung over the chair behind me. She knelt next to my seat and took my hands in hers, like she wanted to anchor me there.

"Don't you ever say that," she said. Her voice was gentle, but there was steel beneath it. "Mariah, you're one of the brightest minds I've ever known. You care deeply, you think critically, you lead with your heart and your head. Do you know how rare that is?"

I blinked, tears already forming.

"You're scared," she continued, "but fear doesn't mean you're not ready. It means you care. It means you want this badly enough that the thought of failing hurts. But I need you to remember who you are. You have fought your way through things people don't even know about. And you did it with grace."

"But what if I don't pass the LSAT?" I whispered. "What if I freeze, or second-guess every answer?"

"Then we try again," she said simply. "We study smarter. We re-strategize. We do what it takes. But you are not alone in this. I'm here, Riah. Every step of the way."

A tear slipped down my cheek. She wiped it with her thumb.

"I love you," she said, voice trembling just enough to make me believe she felt this too. "And I believe in you more than anything."

I nodded. "I just needed to hear that, I guess."

She kissed me softly, slowly. "You'll hear it every time you need it. I promise."

We sat like that for a while—me, curled in her arms, my doubts finally softening like thawing ice.

Later that evening, she helped me open the book again. This time, we went over one section together. She didn't hover or push. She just sat across from me, sipping her tea, offering to quiz me or walk through logic games whenever I needed.

The night ended with us curled up on the couch under a fleece blanket, her head resting on my shoulder while a documentary played in the background. For once, I didn't feel like I had to do it all alone. For once, the future didn't feel like a mountain I couldn't climb.

Because she was there. And because I was learning to trust myself again.