Chapter 2: Grease and Glory
514 Words
Chapter 2: Grease and Glory
The southern side of the city was a different universe—one where graffiti painted the truth on crumbling bricks and laughter echoed louder than sirens. It was here, in a modest garage tucked between a liquor store and a laundromat, that Malik lived his truth.
Wrench in hand, he crouched under the hood of a rusting Honda, arms slick with oil and sweat. The radio played an old-school hip-hop track, and the scent of motor grease mixed with burnt rubber filled the air.
Then a sleek black SUV pulled up outside, tires crunching gravel. Malik stood, wiping his hands on a rag, expecting a suit or a lost executive.
Instead, Zariah Cole stepped out.
She wore no heels this time—just white sneakers, ripped jeans, and a cropped hoodie. Her hair was pulled into a bun, and she looked… human.
“What’s wrong with it?” Malik asked, nodding toward her car.
“Engine stutters. Weird clicking sound. Like it’s choking on something expensive.”
He smirked. “You sound like you’ve been watching tutorials.”
“I googled enough to sound mildly impressive.”
Malik popped the hood, already scanning the engine. “You sure this isn’t an excuse to see me again?”
Zariah leaned against the wall, folding her arms. “If it is, you should be flattered.”
“I am. But I charge double for ego boosts.”
She grinned. “Put it on my tab.”
Inside the garage, the air shifted. With each minute, the conversation grew less guarded. Malik explained how combustion worked, and Zariah asked questions—not to impress, but to learn. She listened. Genuinely.
“You’re not what I expected,” Malik said as he checked the spark plugs.
“And what did you expect?”
“Some spoiled heiress with a calendar full of fundraisers and photoshoots.”
She shrugged. “I am. Sometimes.”
“And now?”
She looked at him, serious for a moment. “Now I’m just a girl wondering how someone like you keeps his hands clean in a world like this.”
Malik leaned on the hood. “I don’t. I just choose what dirt’s worth it.”
After two hours and three cups of cheap coffee, the car was fixed. But Zariah didn’t leave.
“You ever think about leaving this place?” she asked.
“All the time.”
“So why don’t you?”
Malik looked around. “Because not everyone’s born with keys to the world. Some of us have to build the door first.”
Zariah bit her lip. “And some of us are locked inside gold cages.”
Their eyes met.
Different worlds. Same ache.
The sun had dipped by the time she drove off, engine humming smoothly. Malik watched her disappear into the city haze, the scent of her perfume lingering in the air.
She wasn’t supposed to matter. But she did.
And somewhere deep inside, a warning echoed.
Don’t fall.
She doesn’t belong here.
But it was already too late.
- Writer
