The next morning, Maya was up before the sun.


She stood at the kitchen table surrounded by tiny boxes, holographic stickers, pink bubble mailers, and her signature line of glosses. The newest one—“Legacy”—was inspired by her grandmother, who once said, “A woman ain’t ever broke if she can still make something with her hands.”


Maya's fingers moved fast. Label, seal, package. Label, seal, package. She had orders to drop off by ten. Only seven sales, but seven was more than zero. Seven was proof.


Her phone buzzed again.


Tia:

Bout to pull up. We takin my car. You ready?


Maya smiled for the first time all day.


Maya:

Come on then. Door unlocked.


Two minutes later, Tia Monroe walked in like a storm in heels. Leopard print jacket. Gold hoops. Hair in a short purple bob that screamed unbothered. She held up a caramel macchiato like a trophy.


“Good morning, CEO,” she said, handing it to Maya. “Your delivery ride has arrived.”


“You still a whole mood,” Maya laughed.


“I know,” Tia said, surveying the table. “Look at this. Boss girl stuff. You got names for all these?”


“Of course.” Maya handed her a few. “This one’s called No Apologies. And this one’s Afterglow. Trying to get into Ulta one day.”


Tia whistled. “And when you do, I better be in the commercial. Hair done. Lips poppin’.”


They both laughed. For a moment, the weight lifted. It always did when Tia came around.


But Maya noticed the slight bruising on Tia’s wrist as she reached for the last bubble mailer.


She didn’t ask. Tia didn’t offer.


Instead, Maya said softly, “He do that again?”


Tia’s smile cracked for a second. Just a blink. Then she rolled her eyes and said, “Girl, you know Malik ain’t that dumb.”


Maya nodded. “But he was last week.”


Silence.


Tia shrugged it off. “Let’s get these orders dropped. Then we’ll hit that spot on Kedzie. I heard they looking for vendors for the block party next month. Might be your first booth.”


That lit a fire in Maya’s chest. “For real?”


Tia winked. “I got you.”


As they packed the boxes into the trunk, Maya looked at her best friend and saw her own reflection — same pain, different packaging. They were both trying to bloom in a world that kept stepping on them.


But today, they were moving. Forward. Together.