I stopped in spite of myself and laughed too, one hand flying to my chest.
“Thank you,” I called back.
“No, I’m serious,” she said. “Had to say it. Carry on, beautiful.”
I shook my head, smiling now, and lifted a hand before she rolled off into traffic, still laughing between themselves.
That little moment stayed with me all the way to the dry cleaner.
I didn’t need the compliment, but it felt good to be seen like that. Clocked and celebrated by another Black woman for no reason except she felt like telling the truth out loud.
By the time I stepped back outside with my blazer draped over one arm and lunch in the other, my phone buzzed.
I looked down expecting Kendra.
It was Micah.
An Instagram DM, sitting right beneath the story reply from the night before.
Micah: Hope work’s not wasting your good clothes today.
I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
Then looked around like the city itself might have seen that land where it did.
He sounded entirely too easy in the middle of a Tuesday.
My thumb hovered before I answered.
Me: Too late. I’ve already had to save two people from bad branding and one from a tragic email.
His reply came before I reached the corner.
Micah: Damn. You do community service too?
I laughed out loud, low and helpless enough that a man walking past looked over and smiled like he’d accidentally caught a good part of somebody else’s day.
I typed back without overthinking it.
Me: I’m carrying the city on my back, clearly.
Three dots appeared.
Then…
Micah: That sounds stressful.
That did something small and warm to me.
I looked up at the light changing over the intersection, then back down at his name glowing in my hand. The city moved around me. Lunch crowd. Car horns. Sun on glass. Somebody dragging a rolling suitcase over bad concrete.
And there I was, standing in the middle of all of it, smiling at Instagram like the kind of woman I usually promised myself I had grown out of being.
“Hmmmm,” I murmured, mostly to myself.
Then I put the phone away, adjusted the blazer over my arm, and kept walking.
By the time I got back upstairs, I had my face under control again.