Chapter 3: If You Want Me Say That
489 Words
Darius didn’t waste time.
The very next day, he texted her.
Darius 📝
“I saw a flyer for that open mic Thursday. You going? Or wanna go with me?”
She stared at the screen, smiling.
Not because she was pressed.
But because… finally. A man with clear intentions.
Jasmyne 💬
“Sure. Pick me up at 7?”
Darius 📝
“Say less. You like flowers or no?”
“Boy…” she whispered, lowkey blushing.
She didn’t answer that part.
Meanwhile…
Chris was in his room, scrolling her story like it wasn’t the first time he checked it that day.
She posted a boomerang of her iced coffee with a caption:
“Big Thursday energy.”
The kind of post that meant she was going somewhere.
Looking like something.
He clicked her profile.
No new posts.
But her close friends?
He wasn’t on there anymore.
He slammed his phone down.
Lexi was on his bed watching TikToks, legs kicked up behind her.
“You okay?”
He lied. “Yeah.”
6:57 PM
Darius pulled up clean.
Crewneck. Smelled good. A little nervous, but still smooth.
“Damn,” he said when Jasmyne opened the door.
Her outfit was soft and bad bitchy at the same time — long sleeve crop top, sweats hanging just low enough, gloss popping. Hair freshly done.
“You look dangerous.”
She smirked. “You’re not the first to say that.”
The open mic was vibey. Candle-lit. Real artsy. Poets snapping, music playing between sets.
Darius held her chair. Ordered her drink. Stayed off his phone the whole time.
She actually felt seen.
And maybe… kinda safe.
But right around the third act?
She glanced up at the door.
And there he was.
Chris.
Back against the wall.
Hood pulled low.
No Lexi.
Just him.
Watching.
She didn’t blink.
Didn’t flinch.
Just leaned a little closer to Darius and whispered something in his ear that made him laugh.
She saw Chris’s jaw tighten.
Good.
After the show, Darius walked her back.
“Wanna come in?” she asked, casual.
“I mean… yeah,” he said, laughing nervously. “Unless that was a fake invite.”
“It’s real.”
Chris didn’t sleep that night.
Not ‘cause he knew for sure.
But because he didn’t.
And that silence?
Was louder than anything.
He opened his messages.
Started typing.
Deleted it.
Started again.
Chris 😤💭
“You really went out with that poetry n***a?”
Backspace.
Backspace.
Backspace.
Don’t be weak.
Instead he sent:
Chris 😤💭
“You left your notebook in the laundry room btw. I got it.”
Cap.
She read the message.
Didn’t reply.
But when she walked past him the next day?
She paused.
Looked him dead in the eye and said:
“Oh yeah? What page you on?”
Then kept walking.
And he knew.
This girl?
Was not about to make this easy.
- Writer
