Ahmir
Monday mornings usually meant clarity. I liked that about them — the order, the rhythm, the predictability of chaos arranged in neat columns and numbers. You woke up, suited up, devoured whatever tried to stand in front of you, and by noon you’d reminded the world who it answers to. But this one came with a weight I couldn’t name.
The city stretched beyond the glass of my office, skyscrapers washed in a pale, indifferent light. I’d been sitting there too long, staring through the reflection of my own face, pretending to work. My laptop glowed in front of me — projections half-finished, emails flagged, deals waiting for approval — but my mind kept circling back to her.
Imani, barefoot in her kitchen, laughing under her breath as she threatened to burn whoever touched her brownie p
