Title: Between Two Worlds

Promises Made

Chy's POV

The sound of rain tapping against the window is the only comfort I have right now. I sit on my bed, staring out at the darkening skies of Port of Spain, my heart heavy, my thoughts even heavier. Trinidad is supposed to feel like home by now, but it doesn't. It never has. I miss Jamaica-the smell of the sea, the familiar rhythms of dancehall in the streets, the warmth of the people. I miss everything. But most of all, I miss the time when my father and I got along, before everything changed.

Since we moved here three years ago, my father's anger seems to grow every day. It's like I can't do anything right in his eyes. I'm not Jamaican enough, not Trinidadian enough. Not enough. It's always about what I'm doing wrong. Every time I try to talk to him, it turns into a fight. Today was no different.

"Yuh just can't listen, can yuh?" his voice echoed in my mind as I replay the conversation. "Every day I tell yuh, focus on school! Is what yuh plan to do with yuh life, huh? Fail?"

I didn't even get the chance to explain myself. I wanted to tell him about the art project I was working on, something I'm actually proud of for once, but he shut me down. Again. I don't know if he's mad at me or mad at life. All I know is it hurts.

The door creaks open, and I look up to see Mafia standing there. She doesn't even have to ask. She knows the look on my face.

"I brought doubles," she says, her voice light, trying to cheer me up.

I try to smile, but my heart isn't in it. "Thanks," I mumble, accepting the paper bag she hands me. Mafia has always been the one person who makes living in Trinidad bearable. She understands me in a way no one else does, not even my father.

"Same thing?" she asks, sitting on the edge of my bed.

"Same thing," I confirm, pulling the spicy snack out of the bag. "Another argument. I swear he hates me sometimes."

Mafia's eyes soften as she leans forward. "Chy, he doesn't hate you. He's just... dealing with his own stuff."

"Maybe," I sigh. "But it feels like he's taking it out on me."

"You're not alone, yuh know? I'm here," she says, giving me a nudge. "Forget him for now. Eat yuh doubles and talk to me. Tell me about that art thing you were doing. I bet it's fire."

I smile for real this time. Mafia always knows how to distract me when I need it. For a moment, I let myself forget about my father and focus on the friend who always has my back.

---

Mafia's POV

Watching Chy break down a little more every time she talks about her dad makes my heart hurt. She's too good, too talented, too full of life to let his anger drag her down. But I get it-living in a new place, trying to fit in, trying to figure out where yuh stand, especially when yuh don't even feel like yuh belong anywhere... it's rough.

I'm from here. I know what it's like to feel stuck in a place where people look at you sideways if yuh act even a little different. But Chy? She's special, even if she doesn't see it.

I wish her dad could see it, too. But I've heard the stories. Every time she tells me about their fights, I feel this tightness in my chest, like I'm angry for her. If I could fix it for her, I would. But all I can do is listen and try to make her laugh, try to remind her that she's more than his expectations.

"So tell me, what are you working on?" I ask, pushing aside the bag of doubles.

Chy's face lights up a little, and that's all I need to know I'm doing something right. "It's this mural I've been sketching. I want to mix Jamaican and Trinidadian culture, show how both places shaped me, you know?"

I nod, genuinely impressed. "That's dope, Chy. Yuh have to show me when it's done."

"Maybe," she says, but I can tell the idea makes her happy.

It kills me that her father doesn't support her, that he doesn't see how much she's trying. I mean, I don't know what's going on in his head, but it's clear to anyone with eyes that Chy's just trying to find her way.

"I know he's hard on you," I say, my voice softening. "But he doesn't define you, okay? You're doing amazing."

She gives me a small smile. "Thanks, Maf."

That's all I need. As long as she keeps pushing forward, I'll keep standing by her side. One day, her father will realize what a blessing she is. I just hope it doesn't take too long.

---

Father's POV

I lean against the kitchen counter, rubbing my hands over my face. The house is quiet now, but my mind is not. The argument with Chy plays over and over again, and I hate it. I hate that we keep butting heads like this. She's my daughter, but lately, it feels like we're strangers in the same house.

I don't want to be this way. I didn't want this life. When I brought Chy to Trinidad, I thought it would be a fresh start for us. But everything feels like it's falling apart.

Maybe I'm too hard on her. But the world is hard. I'm just trying to prepare her for that.

She doesn't understand the pressure I'm under, how I worry about her future. All I want is for her to succeed, to be focused on school, on making something of herself. But every time I see her with her art, I feel like she's drifting further from what matters. What if it doesn't work out? What if she struggles like I did?

I exhale, pacing the room. Maybe I shouldn't have raised my voice today. Maybe I should have listened more. But how do I show her that I care when everything I say comes out wrong?

The guilt weighs heavy on my chest, but I don't know how to fix it. I just want to protect her from the world, from the mistakes I made. But instead, I'm pushing her away. And that's the last thing I want.