Prologue #2
I waited a few minutes before standing. Then, moving quietly, I made my way to the lamp on the bedside table.
My hand paused on the switch. I looked back at her—at the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest. Her breathing filled the quiet room like a lullaby.
Those days, it didn’t take long for her to fall asleep.
The days were growing shorter, and so too were her moments of wakefulness.
I stood there for a moment longer, absorbing the fragile beauty of her resting face against the pillow. My heart ached with the weight of reality, aching with the need to hold on… just a little longer.
Finally finding the courage to leave her in peace so she could rest, I wandered into my room, my mind swirling with thoughts heavy and bittersweet.
I collapsed onto my bed and reached for my portfolio.
Inside were images I’d captured on my own, the very ones I dreamt would one day launch my modeling career.
When I turned sixteen, Nana Li gifted me a high-quality camera.
She always said I was the most beautiful girl in the world and swore I had what it took to be the next Tyra Banks.
I used to laugh at that, brushing off her compliments as just the sweet talk of a biased grandmother.
But something about the way she said it made me want to believe it.
With each click of the shutter, I started to internalize her faith in me.
I began seeing what she saw—strength behind my eyes, elegance in my posture, something worth capturing.
By the time I turned seventeen, the compliments from strangers became more frequent, echoing the very things Nana Li had said all along.
And for the first time, I started to believe that maybe I did have a shot…
maybe I could actually make my mark in the modeling world; not just for me, but for her.
To prove she was right.
I traced my fingers over one of my favorite photos, a shot that captured the essence of everything I wanted to be.
My dream was clear: I wanted to be a runway model, walking the catwalk in high-fashion editorials, collaborating with top designers for exclusive campaigns.
I knew the criteria—agencies had their standards.
The age range for runway models typically fell between sixteen and twenty-one, and I was right in the sweet spot at nineteen.
At 5’9”, with a slim physique and a flawless espresso-toned complexion that looked like it had been kissed by warm sunlight.
I met the measurements agencies drooled over: a 36B bust, 26-inch waist, and 35-inch hips.
I wasn’t the tallest, but I knew some agencies were willing to bend the rules for the right face.
And mine? It turned heads in every room I walked into.
High cheekbones that could slice through silence, full lips with a natural pout that didn’t need gloss to shine, and almond-shaped eyes framed by thick lashes that gave just the right amount of mystery.
My jawline was sharp enough to be on the cover of every high-fashion magazine, and my brows had that perfect arch that made every makeup artist I’d ever worked with lose their minds.
With a beauty that mirrored Teyana Taylor’s —bold, edgy, and unforgettable—I was the kind of young lady that people stared at and whispered about, wondering where I came from and how I looked like that without trying.
Still, even with all that, doubts lingered.
Was I really ready? Was this the right time?
Feeling my tiredness creeping on, I gently set the portfolio aside and prepared myself for a much-needed good night's rest.
Lying in bed, enveloped by the darkness of my room, I stared up at the ceiling. My grandmother’s words about my future replayed in my mind, urging me to think about the possibilities that lay ahead.
A wave of uncertainty washed over me, and I couldn’t help but wonder, “What’s a girl to do?”
Three months later...
“O-Oh my God! I can’t believe this!” I whispered, my voice breaking as tears slipped down my cheeks.
A spasm gripped me, tugging me sideways, and the sentence shattered out of me in a burst I couldn’t cage. “Who left the confetti in my chest?!”
In my trembling hands was the letter I had dreamed of for months—a formal interview invitation from one of the most prestigious modeling agencies in the country. After endless rejections and nights wondering if I’d ever be seen beyond my tics, someone finally saw potential in me.
The day after that long, tear-filled conversation with Nana Li about chasing my dreams, I had taken a leap of faith. I sent out emails to every agency I could find—small, mid-tier, and the giants. Most ignored me, a few politely declined, but that one… that one responded .
“Nana Li!” I shouted, joy bursting from my chest as I jumped to my feet. “They—they said yes!”
I ran toward her room on instinct, heart racing, still gripping the letter in my hand like a lifeline. But the second I reached her door, my body stopped moving. The silence on the other side hit like a wall.
My breath caught in my throat… and reality crashed in behind it.
Nana Li wasn’t there, and she hadn’t been for two weeks.
My grandmother was gone. There was no funeral or ceremony—just her wish to be cremated and a handful of distant relatives who stopped by to give me condolences and had already faded back into their own lives. That day, the joy of opportunity clashed with the deepest sorrow I had ever known.
That room—the one that used to hum with gospel music, the smell of lavender oil, and her voice telling me I could be anything—was empty now. And it felt colder than it ever had. Seeing her bed empty brought back vivid memories of the day she left me.
My body tensed, my chest tightened, and then came the inevitable, “ Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! ” I screamed out, my voice harsh and ragged, a burst of frustration that felt as though it was coming from somewhere deep within.
“ God damnit! ” I hissed, my legs jerking beneath me, the outburst tearing through the quiet space as if the grief itself was manifesting through my tics.
In the days following my grandmother’s passing, I struggled. My tics became more frequent, more intense—episodes of jerking, twitching, and vocal outbursts that would leave me exhausted and confused. It baffled me at first.
During moments like those, she would always be there. But now, in her absence, with no one to anchor me, I felt lost and disoriented.
Without Nana Li’s voice, without her hands holding mine or whispering, “you’re okay, baby,” I was adrift in the noise of my own body.
Grieving her was hard enough, but learning how to exist without her? That was something else entirely. Still, I made her a promise. I told her I would become somebody , and no matter how hard it got, that was a promise I intended to keep.
My interview was scheduled for the following week.
I was excited, nervous, and grateful. The only downside?
It was in Manhattan, New York—a world away from my quiet hometown in Mississippi.
Luckily, I had about twenty thousand dollars left from her life insurance policy.
It wasn’t a fortune, but it was enough to get me to New York, pay for a hotel for a few days, and cover any emergency expenses.
There was a silver lining, too—if I got the job, the contract stated that I’d be housed in a modeling house almost immediately. That possibility thrilled me… but it also came with a tough decision.
What would I do about our home?
The house I had grown up in. The one filled with the laughter of holidays, porch stories at sunset, and love tucked in every corner.
I could already hear Nana Li and Grandpa in my head, as clear as day, telling me, “Don’t rent it out and don’t you dare sell it!
” So I made a decision: I’d leave it untouched.
One day—if I made it big—I’d come back and restore it, brick by brick, into everything it used to be.
When the day finally arrived for me to leave, I stood outside that familiar brick house, my heart caught in a tug-of-war between nostalgia and anticipation.
The once-bright red exterior had faded to a soft, rusted hue. The porch still held our old rocking chairs, their wood worn smooth from years of use. The fence creaked when the wind blew, its splintered pickets whispering stories of time, weather and patience.
I stood there in silence, letting the memories wash over me.
Nana Li left me a recording inside a teddy bear—something she'd arranged to be given to me through her lawyer after she passed.
Her lawyer reassured me there was no bad news on it, but that my grandmother instructed me to listen to it whenever I felt overwhelmed, confused, or just needed to hear her voice.
Today was one of those days.
I reached into my bag and pulled it out, the soft brown fur already worn from the times I’d clutched it without pressing play.
But this time was different… this time, I needed her voice.
I took a seat in the car and held the bear in my lap for a moment, staring at the small heart stitched into its chest with my thumb hovered over the button.
I sighed deeply, then pressed the button. A soft static played for a second, then her voice—warm, familiar, strong—filled the car.
Naji,
If you’re listening to this, it means life is doing what it does best—being loud, heavy, and unpredictable. And that’s okay, baby. That’s why I made this for you.
First, let me say this: there is nothing wrong with you for feeling overwhelmed. The world moves fast, people come with their own mess, and sometimes it feels like everything is asking something from you while giving you nothing in return. But listen to me… you can handle this. I promise.
Don’t you ever stop being a good person because of bad people. What they hate in you is just what’s missing in them. They see your light, and it blinds them. Let it. Keep shining anyway.
There will be days when your heart will feel like it’s breaking in places you didn’t even know existed. Some moments will shatter your world in a matter of minutes. And it’ll hurt, baby… it will hurt. But let it. Let the pain shape you, not harden you. Let it teach you, not silence you.
Cry. Scream. Break something cheap if you need to.
But when you’re done, pick up those pieces, straighten out that crown I know you’re still wearing, and keep moving forward.
Because this world still needs what only you can give.
You almost had it before, but you stopped.
Don’t let that be a permanent part of your story.
Pick it back up, even if your hands are shaking.
There are some other things I want you to always remember. You had a purpose long before anyone ever formed an opinion about you.
If a room makes you uncomfortable, it’s probably because you were never meant to stay there. Learn how to survive alone —people change. One day, you might be their whole world, and the next, you’re a stranger to their memory. So stay solid, even if you’re standing by yourself.
Last, but not least, we’re not here forever; we’re here for a good and purposeful time, not a long one.
So trust your journey—the messy, confusing, 'what-the-hell-is-happening' parts, even the ones that don’t make sense right now. One day, they will. And you’ll see they matter just as much as the wins… sometimes more.
And Naji, if you decide to go the modeling route, which I hope, child, please do me a favor and eat first. Don’t be out here fainting in somebody’s photoshoot trying to serve face with low blood sugar.
You hear me? Don’t let them fashion people trick you into starving for a picture.
Take your beautiful, sweet self and let them work around you. "
She paused, then added softly, “Stay, my sweet Naji. Gentle, but not weak. Strong, but not hard. And above all, don’t let this cruel world convince you that being soft is a flaw.
It’s your power. It’s how you love. It’s how you lead.
I love you more than you could ever imagine, and I am so proud of you.
Even on your worst day, you’re doing better than you think.
I’ll always be with you—watching, praying, cheering.
Now go do what God put you here to do. I’ll be watching.
The recording ended, but her voice lingered. My throat tightened, and I didn’t even try to stop the tears that time.
I wrapped both arms around the teddy bear and squeezed it tight, pressing it into the space just under my chin like I was hugging her. I believed if I held it close enough, I could pull her out of it, breathe her in, and possibly feel her heartbeat against mine again.
My shoulders trembled as the tears came harder. I looked up at the wide, open sky.
“N-Nana Li…” My voice cracked, thick with emotion.
My lips tightened as I fought the rising tension crawling up my throat. I blinked with slow precision, trying to steady the pressure that always came before the storm.
“I—I p-promise to make you proud… you and Grandpa. And—and and—” My head jerked slightly to the side as the words caught, and my hand flexed once involuntarily. “shh—shine like you said,” I finished.
A breeze brushed against my cheek, gentle and warm, like a kiss from the heavens. And in that quiet, sacred second, I swore I felt them smiling.
With her words heavy in my heart but somehow giving me strength, I gently placed the teddy bear in the passenger seat—like I was buckling in Nana Li herself. For a second, it really did feel like she was about to take one last ride with me.
My grandmother had left me her car—a simple sedan. It wasn’t flashy, but it was reliable and steady… just like her. It had carried us through every out-of-town appointment, every grocery run, every errand… just the two of us.
Now… it was just me.
I started the engine, the familiar hum sparking a hundred memories at once.
I took one last look at the house that shaped me and held every version of who I’d been. It stood silent in the rearview mirror—worn by time, but still standing tall, and holding strong… just like I planned to.
“It’s time,” I murmured. “I’m ready for my new story to begin.”
Manhattan, here I come.