"Mani, you really my peace."
?*??───?*??
Imani don't do rappers.
Not when attention come before intention, and every smile hide a secret. But when a late night studio session her best friend forces her to go to, puts her in the path of Messiah Jam...
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Imani was laid up in bed, one leg kicked out from under the covers, watching Another Cinderella Story on Disney plus with the volume turned low, and the ceiling fan spinning slow above her.
The kind of chill, no-pressure afternoon that didn't come often—but when it did, she soaked it up.
She'd already gone to work, handled her day, and now she was back in her room, just existing.
No makeup, hair tied up, phone in hand.
She wasn't even thinking about Messiah... or at least that's what she told herself.
But when she opened Instagram, his name was right there at the top of her feed. New post.
She tapped it.
It was a photo from a shoot he'd done earlier that day. One of those clean, off-guard film shots that made you stop scrolling.
He had on a black wife beater, a black hat with the clothing brand's logo stitched across the front, his chain glinting just slightly in the light.
He was looking down at his phone, side profile catching the light just right. You could see the cross tattoo on his face clear as day.
It was a nice shot.
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Imani stared at it for a second, then locked her phone and laid it on her chest.
She wasn't upset. Not anymore. They talked it out. She believed what he said.
Still, moments like this reminded her of how different their worlds were.
The Messiah that the world saw—cool, composed, always moving, always surrounded by flash.
Versus— the one she was starting to get to know... that was two different versions.
Both real. Both him. But she wasn't sure where she fit in yet.
And that was the part that had her quiet.
She turned back to the TV, even though her mind wasn't really on the movie no more.
