Fire and Rain [🗸]

5. colors of pride

today's episode is guest-starring kieRUN + my sleep deprivation 😌

also the cameo of another hlu couple 👁

IT'S DIFFICULT TO AVOID NOTICING ZAHRA AZIZ in white eyeliner, black cargo pants and a cropped dress shirt.

She's always had this way of carrying herself which a bold amount of masculinity or androgyny whenever she saw fit. Even when we were fifteen and she was grilled about why she rarely ever wore feminine clothing, she'd always say that clothing belonged to everyone, and she felt right in that type of clothing.

And she's only gotten more dauntless since then. She doesn't hesitate anymore, doesn't re-evaluate, doesn't feel like she owes anyone femininity or androgyny or masculinity. She just comes as she is from her winged eyeliner to her scuffed sneakers.

It's an art.

So, when I do see her inhaling her reflection, fingers adjusting her loose curls, I can't help but be hit with a shit-ton of memories. It's almost as though she's grown so much in this time, yet I'm still the same Luciana I've always been.

I still have nothing to say to my mom when she presses me about a boyfriend, nor do I have any dauntlessness when I walk down the street. 

Shaking my head out of my thoughts, I internally curse as Zahra's eyes meet mine in the mirror.

She stares at me for a few seconds. It's something she's been doing more often lately. It's not a judgmental look as it is an analytical look, as though she's trying to put all the puzzle pieces of me together but not about to ask for the instruction manual.

I'm ready to look away, but she doesn't. Zaha Aziz never glances away. She holds your stare until you glance away. "You ready for Pride?" she asks. She's using lip gloss that's a shade of soft red. I barely register she's talking to me until my eyes meet her expectant ones in the mirror again.

Pride. It was worked into our New York trip with ease. After all, it's fucking New York—New York of Stonewall, of Marsha P. Johnson of Sylvia Rivera of queer people of color and the birth of gay rights in America.

So, it's more than just greedy corporations trying to exploit the community. It's more than ally flags or cute deals at diners—it's about this huge, overwhelming thing that I can't even begin to grasp.

"I don't know," I finally reply. It's honest. After all, I've never gone to Pride before. It's always been this idea in my head—this event that I would likely never go to, but I would appreciate the flags as I walked through the city.

Zahra nods. She's running her hand through her curls, and her eyes stay focused and intent on her reflection that stares back at her. "It's overwhelming." She cocks her head to the side, lets her short curls fall. A slow half-grin. "There's a thrill to it, though."

Before I can say anything in response, a knock outside of the door cuts through the moment.

"Can we come in?" I can hear Elliot's voice from the other end. "We look weird as shit standing in the hallway decked out in a shit-ton of colors."