EZRA
I s t e p p e d o f f the plane into JFK, pulling my Beats headphones from my ears and letting them rest around my neck. Nas’s Illmatic faded away, leaving a ringing silence that matched the raw ache pulsing through my chest. The chilly ass New York air filled my lungs. The shit was thick, noisy and gritty. Different from Fall in East Hollis, but familiar in its hardness.
I breathed deep, trying to clear my head, but the argument with Yaya was still fresh, branded into my mind. Every second replayed: her phone lighting up, the shock that had shot through me when I saw that nigga’s name burning through her screen. The betrayal in her eyes when I left. The sick twist of pain when I slammed the door and heard her scream after me.
That shit hurt worse than anything. It haunted me, echoed in my head like a fucked-up melody I couldn’t shake. My heart still felt bruised. Still raw. But I’d made my choice. She wanted her perfect, uncomplicated life and I wasn’t it. I was the inked poet from the Southeast with scars and stories too messy for dinner parties and too rough for her Pops approval. Maybe that Jaylen nigga was exactly what she deserved.
The thought tightened my jaw. My stomach twisted bitterly. I swallowed it down, shoved my pride deeper, and moved forward. I had a job to do.
Outside the airport, a black SUV waited at the curb with Nina standing beside it with a professional smile. Her eyes hid behind dark designer shades but she lowered them slightly as I approached, looking me up and down.
“Ezra,” she greeted smoothly. “Glad you could make it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said evenly, gripping her hand firmly.
“You ready?”
I hesitated for half a second, then nodded. “Born ready.”
Inside the SUV, Nina filled me in again. Meridian Verse’s headquarters was downtown in a high-rise building. They were a boutique publishing house filled with poetry, urban lit, raw voices, and cultural authenticity. Everything she thought I embodied.
“Your poems struck them,” she said calmly, watching my face closely as the city blurred past the tinted windows. “Raw, gritty, emotional. Authentic. They want you bad.”
I stared straight ahead, heart still heavy, thoughts still lingering painfully back in East Hollis. “Good.”
She paused. “Everything okay, Ezra? You seem… off.”
I exhaled, trying to push Yaya from my mind. “Personal shit.”
“Can’t carry that into this meeting,” Nina advised seriously. “This is about your future. You ready for that?”
I glanced sideways, her words hitting deep. “I have to be.”
She nodded, satisfied. “Good.” The car pulled up in front of a glass building. I followed Nina inside, feeling eyes lingering on me, judging, assessing. The lobby was shiny, modern, and sterile. She guided me to an elevator, pressing a button marked twenty-two. “Relax,” she murmured as the doors shut. “They’re about to love you.”
Upstairs, the office suite was spacious and minimal with books and album plaques lining the walls, a polished black conference table dominating the center. Three people sat waiting: two black men, with sharp suits and assessing eyes, and one black woman with natural hair twisted into an intricate updo, eyes intense but welcoming.
“Ezra Lowe,” the woman greeted warmly, standing to shake my hand. “I’m Camilla Rhodes, Senior Editor at Meridian. We’re thrilled to finally meet you.”
I shook her hand firmly, trying to hide my nerves. “Pleasure’s mine.”
We sat, and Nina started introductions. “Ezra, this is Victor Reed, Head of Talent Development at Meridian Verse Records, and Malcolm Foster, CEO.”
Victor nodded thoughtfully while Malcolm’s gaze was curious and direct. I felt the weight of their stares, sizing me up, wondering if I matched the poetry they’d read. “We’ve reviewed your work,” Camilla began, voice gentle but firm. “It resonated deeply. Pain, vulnerability, raw emotion. It’s rare we come across voices as powerful and authentic as yours.”
Victor leaned forward, folding his hands. “Your stage presence is equally impressive. Nina sent us clips that were captivating and real. That can’t be taught.”
Malcolm, the CEO, finally spoke up, voice deep and assured. “Bottom line, Ezra, we want you. Meridian Verse sees potential in your poetry beyond just print. A publishing deal to start—a debut poetry collection, promoted heavily. Then, a developmental record deal. Spoken word album, shows, tours.”
My heart pounded in my chest, realization hitting hard. They weren’t offering scraps. Shit, they were offering everything.
“Your voice,” Camilla continued, eyes serious, “deserves this platform. Deserves this stage.”
I swallowed thickly, meeting her gaze. “And I control the creative?”
“One hundred percent,” Malcolm confirmed immediately. “Your truth, your way. No filters.”
I glanced at Nina. She nodded subtly, reassuringly. “I want it,” I said finally, voice steadier now. “Both deals.”
Victor smiled, leaning back satisfied. “Then let’s make it happen.”
Malcolm extended a hand again, smile professional but warm. “Welcome to Meridian, Ezra.”
I shook firmly, heart thudding, adrenaline coursing. “Thank you. I won’t disappoint y’all.”
After paperwork was exchanged, handshakes and promises made, Nina walked me out, eyes bright with satisfaction. The elevator ride down felt surreal, my future shifting before my eyes. Outside, she paused, turning to face me directly. “Proud of you, Ezra. You made the right decision.”
I nodded slowly, reality settling heavily. “Yeah.”
“Whatever you left in East Hollis,” she said seriously, reading my expression, “let it stay there. Your future’s here now. Enjoy your complimentary hotel stay and I’ll call you in the morning.”
As the SUV pulled away, leaving me alone on a busy New York sidewalk, I felt the weight of those words. Nina was right. My future had arrived but standing there, watching cars rush by, people moving forward without hesitation, my heart ached sharply.
I reached into my pocket, pulling out my phone, my thumb hovering over Yaya’s contact. My pride screamed at me to leave it alone, to let the silence remain. But my soul demanded closure. I had to hear her voice one last time, had to make peace somehow, even if it hurt.
Before I could dial, my phone vibrated sharply in my palm and her name flashed across the screen like fate itself had stepped in. For a second, I stared at it, heart hammering, unsure whether to answer or let it ring. Finally, I pressed accept and lifted the phone to my ear with my heart lodged in my throat.
“Yo,” I answered quietly, voice rough, cautious.
There was a pause, tense and heavy before her voice came through. It was soft, strained, carrying a sadness I knew too well. “Hey,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Ezra, I... I wasn’t sure you’d answer.”
“I almost didn’t,” I admitted honestly, exhaling slowly. “But maybe the universe knew we both needed this call, huh?”
“Yeah,” she breathed shakily, the emotion clear even through the phone. “Maybe.” Silence stretched painfully, both of us searching for words that felt just beyond our reach. Then finally, she broke the quiet. “I just… I wanted to say sorry again,” she said softly, voice cracking just a little. “About everything. How it went down. How we ended things. That wasn’t how I wanted it.”
“Me either,” I admitted roughly. “But maybe it had to happen like that. Shit had been buildin’ up.”
“I know,” she whispered sadly. “But it still hurts.”
“Yeah,” I sighed, chest tight. “It does.”
Another silence, softer, more bittersweet, settled between us, until she spoke again, voice cautious. “How’d New York go?”
I swallowed, emotions twisting sharply. “Good. Really good, actually. Just left the meetin'. Signed a deal for my poetry collection and a developmental record deal. Meridian Verse is goin’ all in. I’m, uh... I'm movin’ to New York.”
She inhaled softly, and I heard pride mixed with pain in her voice. “Ezra, that’s amazing. Seriously. I’m proud of you.”
Hearing her say it nearly broke me right there. “‘Ppreciate that, Yaya. That means a lot.”
“You deserve it,” she said quietly. “The world needs to hear you.”
I paused, fighting the knot in my throat. “And you? Ya exam and the interview at Hollis Medical…?”
“The exam went good this morning. Better than I thought. The interview, though, I’m actually in the elevator now,” she said softly, a faint smile audible. “I’m ready. Nervous, but ready.”
“You got it,” I said, voice sincere. “You 'bout to kill that shit.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, voice tender. “Ezra, for what it’s worth, you really did change me. In good ways. Beautiful ways.”
“Same here,” I admitted gently, meaning every word. “You woke me up.”
There was silence again. That shit was heavy. “So… I guess this is it?” she asked softly, sadness coloring every word.
“Yeah,” I said, voice rough with the weight of goodbye. “I guess it is.”
“I wish you the best, Ezra,” she whispered gently. “You deserve everything beautiful this life can give.”
My heart squeezed painfully. “You too, Yaya. Don’t settle for less.”
She exhaled shakily. “Goodbye.”
“Take care.”
The line went quiet, and I stood there on that crowded New York sidewalk, staring at the phone as if it held all the answers to the emptiness suddenly opening in my chest. After a long moment, I slid it back into my pocket, pulling my Beats headphones back onto my head, letting the heavy bass drown out the ache.
I stepped forward, deeper into the city, deeper into the future. But even as my feet moved forward, my heart stayed behind, tangled with hers.