The next morning, Gabriella tried to push Zay out of her mind. She scrubbed bathrooms, changed sheets, and polished mirrors, but her thoughts kept drifting back to his words.
"You got that look. Like you been through hell and you still standing. That's power."
No one had ever said anything like that to her before. She wasn't sure if she believed him, but the idea lingered like a spark trying to catch fire.
By her lunch break, her thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of her phone. She didn't get texts—no one had her number except her supervisor at the hotel and the shelter staff. Frowning, she pulled it from her pocket and stared at the screen.
Unknown Number:
Yo, it's Zay. Hope you didn't freeze walkin' home last night. You good?
Her chest tightened. How had he gotten her number?
Before she could think of a response, a second message came through:
Don't trip, the front desk lady gave it up. Told her I wanted to check on you. Ain't mean no harm.
Gabriella exhaled, half-annoyed and half-flattered. Zay clearly didn't understand boundaries, but he seemed sincere. Against her better judgment, she typed back:
I'm fine. Please don't bother me at work.
His reply came almost immediately:
Aight, I respect that. Just makin' sure you straight.
She shoved the phone back into her pocket, shaking her head.
That evening, Gabriella left work with a plan: avoid Zay, walk straight to the shelter, and stay focused on surviving. But as she turned the corner toward the bus stop, there he was again, leaning against his car with that same confident smirk.
"I told you not to bother me," she said, stopping in her tracks.
"I ain't at your job," Zay said, holding up his hands like he was innocent. "Just happen to be in the area."
"Yeah, right," she muttered, but she kept walking.
"Gabriella, wait," he called after her. She ignored him.
But Zay wasn't the type to give up easily. He jogged to catch up with her, falling into step beside her.
"Why you always actin' like I'm the bad guy?" he asked.
"Because I don't know you," she shot back.
"Then get to know me," he said, flashing a grin that was both cocky and disarming.
She stopped, glaring at him. "Why do you care? You don't even know me, and I'm not some charity case you can save."
Zay's smile faded, replaced by something more serious. "It ain't about savin' you, Gabby. I'm just tryna know you. You real. You different. And I don't meet a lotta people like that."
His words softened her resolve, but she wasn't ready to let him in. "People like you don't hang out with people like me," she said quietly.
"Who said that?" Zay countered, stepping closer. "You think 'cause I got money now, I'm too good? Nah. I came from nothin', just like you. I just made it out."
She looked up at him, her guard wavering. "And what? You think I can just make it out too? Like it's that easy?"
"No," he said, his voice steady. "It ain't easy. But it's possible. And you ain't gotta do it alone."
The sincerity in his tone made her chest tighten. For the first time, she let herself wonder if maybe she didn't have to face the world on her own.
But trust wasn't something she gave easily.
"I don't need your help," she said, turning away.
"Maybe not," Zay called after her. "But I'm here if you change your mind."
She didn't look back, but his words stayed with her long after she returned to the shelter.
That night, as Gabriella lay on the thin mattress in her shared room, her phone buzzed again.
Zay:
Night, Gabby. Hope you get some rest.
She stared at the screen for a long moment before replying:
Goodnight.
It wasn't much, but it was something.
And for the first time in a long while, Gabriella felt like maybe she wasn't entirely alone.
To Be Continued...
