His Soft Obsession

Chapter Two: You Remember Faces, Don’t You?

The rest of the day flew by, but my thoughts stayed stuck on him.

Zay.

I didn’t even know the man, but his stare hit different—like he saw straight through the hoodie, the attitude, the weight, the insecurities… all of it. Like he looked past what most people ignored.

I kept thinking maybe I imagined it. Maybe it was nothing.

But it didn’t feel like nothing.

After school, I waited for Janiyah to finish detention for mouthing off at our substitute. She swore it wasn’t her fault the man called her Jasmine. I told her to chill, but that girl lived for chaos.

“I’m tellin’ you, Lyric,” she said, slipping on her lashes like she was about to hit the damn club, “If Zay ever really talked to you… you might pass out.”

“Shut up,” I said, smirking. “He ain’t checking for me.”

“Oh, he checking. Whether he know it yet or not.”

We both laughed, but it didn’t ease the flutter in my stomach. Just talking about him made my heart act up.

By the time we hit the corner of 21st, the sky had already dimmed. Clouds rolled in thick, and the air smelled like wet pavement and cheap perfume from the hair store nearby.

“I’mma go get some hot chips before I head home,” Janiyah said, flipping her braid. “You good?”

“Yeah. I need the walk.”

We hugged, and I turned down the side street alone. Hoodie up. Head down. Music on low.

The streets were quiet, just the sound of my sneakers hitting the cracked pavement. I liked the quiet. It gave me time to breathe. Think.

But then I heard it.

That smooth hum of an engine.

I glanced to the side without turning my head fully.

There it was.

That all-black Benz, pulling up slow beside me like it belonged in a damn movie. Windows tinted like they had secrets behind them.

My chest tightened.

He was back.

The passenger window rolled down—smooth and silent like money.

Zay was in the driver’s seat. Hood up, jaw tight, that same unreadable look on his face. The only thing louder than the car was the tension sitting between us.

“You always walkin’ alone?” he asked, voice deep and low, like a song only I was supposed to hear.

I blinked.

Was he… talking to me?

I pulled my earbud out. “What?”

He didn’t repeat himself. Just stared at me like he had all the time in the world.

“I don’t like people,” I finally said, shifting my backpack higher on my shoulder.

Zay let out the faintest smirk—like my answer amused him.

“You don’t look like you scared of much,” he said, eyes scanning my face. “You remember faces, don’t you?”

I swallowed hard. “Only the ones worth remembering.”

He nodded slow, lips parting just slightly. “Good answer.”

We stared at each other for a second too long.

His voice had that calm dominance, like he didn’t have to raise it to be heard. And those eyes—stormy gray, lowkey glowing in the dim light—held me there like they had a grip on my spine.

“Get in,” he said finally, chin tilting toward the car door.

My stomach did a flip. “I don’t get in cars with strangers.”

“I ain’t no stranger.”

“That’s exactly what a stranger would say.”

He chuckled, deep and unbothered, like he wasn’t used to girls telling him no. I could feel it. He was the type people obeyed without question.

But I wasn’t most people.

“Appreciate the ride offer,” I said, “but I’m good walking.”

Zay nodded once, not mad. Just watching me like I was a puzzle he planned to solve.

“Aight then, Lyric.”

I froze.

He said my name.

How did he know my name?

My brows pulled together, but before I could ask, he rolled the window back up.

The Benz pulled off smooth, no sound but the rumble of power under the hood. It disappeared down the block like a shadow vanishing into the night.

I stood there, heart beating too loud in my ears.

He knew my name.

And I never told him.

That night, I sat in my room, lights off, hoodie still on. The house was quiet, but I didn’t trust it. Jamal had been in and out all evening, looking at me too long when Mama wasn’t around.

I kept my door locked.

My headphones were in, but the music wasn’t even playing.

All I could think about was Zay.

The way he spoke. The way he looked at me like I was a riddle he wanted to study. The way my name sounded in his mouth—like it belonged there.

I don’t know why, but I didn’t feel scared.

I felt… seen.

And that was scarier.