IN BETWEEN

THE NIGHT ON THE ROOF

New York hummed like a living thing.

Even at night, it breathed—in honking horns, muffled music, and sirens that weaved through the veins of the city like a warning and a lullaby at once.

Raina sat cross-legged on the narrow rooftop of their apartment building, a worn quilt around her shoulders, her hair tied up in a loose bun. The city stretched in front of her, a skyline of jagged lights and moving shadows.

Imani emerged behind her, holding two steaming mugs of dollar-store cocoa.

“I almost tripped on the last stair,” she said, plopping down beside her. “This building is trying to kill me.”

Raina chuckled softly. “At least it waited till after orientation.”

They clinked their mugs like wine glasses.

Below them, the streetlights painted Harlem 145th Street in soft pools of gold. The corner deli was still open, men hanging by the awning laughing. A woman pushed a stroller. A couple argued in hushed tones by the curb. The city didn’t pause, not for them, not for anyone.

“I thought it would feel more like a movie,” Raina said. “But it’s not… magical. It’s hard. Loud. Cold.”

Imani took a sip of her cocoa. “It’s real, like one of those documentaries we had to watch in social“…studies, remember? The gritty ones where the kids make it in the end.”

Raina smiled. “I always hated those—too much struggle.”

“Yeah,” Imani agreed. “But that’s the good part. Means when you win, you know you earned it.”

They sat in silence for a while.

Wind tugged at their blankets.

Somewhere in the distance, a saxophone played—raw and beautiful and off-beat. A city lullaby.

“I miss Mama,” Raina said suddenly.

Imani’s voice softened. “Me too. Mine cried after we left. Like, really cried. I didn’t know she had that in her.”

“She’s proud of you,” Raina said. “So is mine. I could see it. Even if her hands were shaking when she hugged me goodbye.”

“I saw your Mama watching us when we left. Like she was memorizing your back.”

Raina’s throat tightened. “I feel guilty.”

Imani looked at her, serious now. “Don’t. We’re doing this for them. For everyone who couldn’t.”

A beat.

“Do you think we’ll change?” Raina asked quietly.

Imani smirked. “Girl, I hope so. If we’re still the same in a year, something went wrong.”

They laughed. Not because it was funny—but because it felt brave.

The wind picked up. The city breathed again.

Raina looked out at the lights, letting the hum settle into her bones.

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

Imani nudged her. “Good. Means you care.”

And just like that, the fear didn’t leave—

but it became something she could carry.

Like her dreams.

Like the weight of home.