𝗟𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝟮 𝗠𝗬 𝗨𝗡𝗕𝗢𝗥𝗡 ━━━━━ 𝘁𝘂𝗽𝗮𝗰 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗸𝘂𝗿.

033.

' WED , SEPT 21st 1995. '
photoshoot ⸻
los angeles , california !

     THE PHOTOSHOOT DAY HAD FINALLY ARRIVED a day filled with excitement and nerves as I prepared to capture our family's first portrait in the grand setting of the studio. The makeup artist worked her magic, transforming me into someone polished and elegant, a reflection of the joy and love I felt inside.

"Almost done, Sanai," the makeup artist said with a smile, her hands deftly applying the final touches.

I nodded, glancing at myself in the mirror, feeling a rush of anticipation. This portrait was more than just a photograph; it was a symbol of our love, a testament to the life Tupac and I had created together.

"Tupac, we should do a family picture." I had said one lazy Sunday morning as we lounged in bed, Zahir kicking his legs at the baby mobile that dangled over him. Tupac raised an eyebrow, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "A family portrait, huh? Sounds real, fancy. But we gotta do it my way."

I laughed, knowing exactly what he meant. "Your way? And how is that, Mr. Shakur?"

A mischievous grin spread across his face as he pulled me closer. "We gotta make it real, Sanai. None of that stiff, boring stuff. I want us to be us, you know? Laughing, joking, being ourselves."

I chuckled, leaning into his warmth. "So, you want our portrait to look like chaos?"

Tupac pretended to think for a moment, his finger tapping against his chin. "Not chaos, baby. Love. Joy. Realness. I want anyone who looks at that picture to see the love we got, the life we live." I looked into his eyes, feeling my heart swell with love for this man who always knew how to make every moment special. "Okay, Pac. Let's do it your way."

The makeup artist steps back, her eyes proud with her work, giving a satisfied nod. I turn to face the full-length mirror, and there I am—transformed into a vision of elegance and grace.

The dress I wear is a beautiful masterpiece, its fabric cascading down in gentle waves of soft pastel color that fits my skin tone perfectly. It hugs my curves in all the right places, complimenting my figure with sophistication. The neckline dips slightly, revealing just a hint of collarbone, adding a touch of allure to the look.

"My sweet boy, Zahir," I coo as I turn to see my three-month-old son, dressed in his miniature suit, being held by my sister Jasmine. His eyes light up with excitement as he wiggles and squirms in Jasmine's arms.

"Look at mommy, Zahir," Jasmine says, turning him to face me.

Zahir lets out adorable squeals, his chubby arms waving in the air as if he's reaching out to me. My heart melts at the sight, and I can't resist the urge to scoop him up in my arms.

"Hey there, my little man," I murmur, pressing a kiss to his soft cheek. Zahir giggles, the sound like music to my ears. "He's excited to see mommy all dressed up," Jasmine says with a warm smile, her eyes shining with affection for her nephew.

Zahir continues to squeal and giggle, his tiny hands reaching out to grab at the fabric of my dress. I laugh, the sound mingling with his joyful noises, creating a symphony of happiness.

Just then, the atmosphere in the room seems to shift, an electric energy filling through the air. Tupac enters, his presence commanding attention and changing everything. The dressing room, once calm and serene, now crackles with his charisma.

He's dressed in a white sweatshirt that hugs his frame, the casual attire somehow still having an air of formality. The sleeves are pushed up to reveal strong, tattooed arms, decorated with a golden watch, and the white fabric contrasts sharply with the dark wash of his jeans. A gold chain glints around his neck, adding a touch of swagger to his ensemble.