Clouded

Chapter 2: Crossroads Under the Moon

The park is a different world at night, cloaked in a mix of shadows and silence that even the city's chaos can't pierce. Alani shoves her hands into the pockets of her old denim jacket, its frayed sleeves brushing against her skin. The cold stings her fingertips, but she likes the sensation—it reminds her she's still here, still breathing. The streetlamp flickers, casting her shadow long and lean across the cracked pavement. She sits down on the old bench, its paint chipped and worn by the years, and pulls out a blunt she rolled earlier.

Lighting up, she inhales deep, feeling the familiar heat seep into her chest and spread to her limbs. The tight coil in her stomach loosens just a bit, enough for her to lean back and stare up at the night sky. It's clearer than usual, the stars glimmering like a secret only she's been let in on. Here, surrounded by the dark, she can almost forget the day's noise—the arguments two floors down, Jamal's cough that's been getting worse, and Mama's tired eyes.

Alani closes her eyes, letting the smoke trail out of her lips slowly, savoring the moment of quiet before reality creeps back in. Memories push at the edge of her mind, uninvited. She can see his face, clear as day: Jaylen, all laughter and light. He'd been her first real friend, the boy who'd taught her how to ride a bike and who once climbed a tree to rescue a kitten just because she cried when she thought it was stuck. That was before bullets stole him from their block, before she learned that joy was something to guard like a secret.

The sudden crunch of gravel makes her eyes snap open. Instinctively, her body tenses, fingers clenching around the blunt until it's on the verge of crumbling. She's used to the way the streets shift at night, how the darkness can hide more than just shadows. But when she looks up, it's not danger she sees—it's a boy, maybe her age, stepping out from behind the jagged silhouette of the old jungle gym.

He's tall, with locs that catch the streetlamp's light, making them glow almost bronze. His clothes hang loose but clean, a stark contrast to the roughness of the park. He stands there for a moment, still as the air, eyes locked on hers. Alani's instinct is to look away, but something in his gaze keeps her from moving. There's a quiet intensity to him, something unreadable that sets her pulse drumming in her chest.

"Didn't mean to startle you," he finally says, voice low and rough like he hasn't used it in days.

Alani shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "You didn't."

He looks at her for another beat, then at the smoke swirling lazily between them. Without asking, he nods toward her hand. "Mind if I join?"

She hesitates, eyes narrowing as she weighs him up. He doesn't move, just waits with the kind of patience that makes her uneasy. There's something about him that doesn't match the usual boys around here. He doesn't have Trey's bravado or Malik's wide, easy grin. This boy seems wrapped in silence, an enigma wrapped in shadows.

Alani shifts on the bench, finally gesturing for him to sit. He does, keeping a respectable distance, but close enough that she catches a hint of cologne—something sharp and clean that doesn't fit this park at all. He takes the blunt from her fingers, his own brushing hers for just a second, and it's enough to send a shiver down her spine. He smokes quietly, eyes fixed on a spot in the distance, as if he's seeing a different world layered over this one.

"You don't come here much," Alani says after a minute, breaking the silence that feels too heavy now. It's not a question, just an observation, but he answers anyway.

"Not anymore." His voice is rougher this time, clipped like he's not used to talking. The silence stretches between them again, comfortable in its way, until he passes the blunt back to her.

She takes it, fingers brushing his again, and pretends it doesn't make her heart beat faster. "What brought you here tonight, then?"

He turns to her, eyes dark and unreadable. Up close, she notices the faint scar cutting through his left eyebrow, a story untold. "Couldn't sleep," he admits.

Alani snorts softly. "Yeah. I know the feeling." She looks away, eyes tracing the worn path that leads deeper into the park, toward the broken fountain where the older kids used to hang out before things got too dangerous. The memory tightens something in her chest, and she smokes again to push it down.

They pass the blunt back and forth a few more times, the silence between them morphing from tense to almost companionable. She doesn't even know his name, and yet sitting here feels less lonely than it has in weeks.

"Alani," she finally offers, breaking the quiet with her own name. It feels like a risk, saying it out loud, giving him a piece of herself.

He looks at her, something shifting in his expression, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "Nice to meet you, Alani," he replies, voice still low but softer now. "I'm Zaire."

The name fits him—solid, unique. They sit in silence as the blunt burns down to nothing, the cold seeping into their bones but neither making a move to leave. The stars above them seem to burn brighter, like they're bearing witness to something new being forged in the quiet of the night. And for the first time in a long time, Alani feels a tiny spark of warmth, something that doesn't come from smoke or memories.

It's not peace—not yet—but it's enough for now.