Verse 12

The fan hummed gently above me, casting soft shadows on the walls.

I hadn’t turned on the main light. Just the little lamp on the desk, glowing gold and warm like a memory I couldn’t quite touch.

I sat back on the bed again, staring at the folded monologue lying on the pillow beside me. My phone buzzed once—some school group chat update. Malik must have added me. Probably about the Open Mic.

I didn’t open it.

Instead, I picked up my pen and started to doodle. Not words. Not drawings. Just spirals and boxes and shapes with no meaning.

Maybe that’s what I felt like right now. A shape with no meaning.

*****

The Open Mic Event

Elena sat cross-legged near the stage, her hair tied up in a loose bun, wearing one of those oversized hoodies girls made look cool.
She had a front-row view. Not because she was eager.
But because maybe… she was hoping someone would see her.

The room buzzed with life—laughter, chatter, the occasional clink of beer bottles. Strings of fairy lights crisscrossed the ceiling, and someone had painted a cardboard sign: “Speak Your Truth.”

She smiled politely as the performer read a heartfelt poem about city lights and missed opportunities. Everyone snapped their fingers in response to the poem.

But her gaze kept flicking to the side. To the entrance.

Still nothing.

She reached for her juice—still the same one from earlier. Barely touched.

Malik finally showed up with his Bluetooth speaker tucked under his arm, grinning like he just landed a record deal. “Yo, sorry I’m late. Had to go back and get my speaker.”

She perked up a bit. “Hey, that seat is reserved.”

He gave her a sideways look. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, then hesitated. “Is Davis coming?”
Malik shrugged. “Said he might. He’s probably still in the room. Want me to call him?”
Her fingers curled around the cup. “No… it’s fine.”

******

I could hear the music through the wall —just faint enough to tease.

I lay down, phone on my chest, earbuds still in. Music was playing, but I wasn’t really listening.

Elena’s voice kept replaying instead.

“It’s not really about being good. It’s about being heard…”

Was that what she was hoping for tonight? To be heard?

Malik’s speaker must’ve left the room with him. The silence now was heavier. I picked up the monologue again, flipping it back and forth between my fingers.

For a second, I sat up. Maybe I could still make it. Maybe—
I dropped the script back onto the bed.

No.

It’s not like anyone was waiting for me anyway. Tomorrow the sun shall rise like it does every other morning.

Then I reached over and turned off the desk lamp.

Total darkness.

I closed my eyes.

******

Elena leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm again as someone sang an acoustic version of I’d Rather by Lunder Vandross. The crowd swayed gently to the rhythm; phones held up with soft lights glowing.

The host cracked jokes.

A girl sang a cover of some old pop song.

A guy tried his hand at slam poetry and forgot his lines halfway. Earning supportive snaps.

But every now and then, Elena glanced at the empty space beside her.

Every time the door creaked open, she found herself glancing up. Just in case.

Maybe she should stop looking. Stop hoping.

Malik leaned closer. “Don’t tell me you reserved the seat for him?”

She snorted. “No.”

“I know you better than anyone, you know that, right?”

She didn’t answer. Just folded her arms across her chest.

“Okay, you can ignore me, little sis, but I know you really wanted him to come tonight.”

“Shut up, Malik. And I’m older… by one minute.”

“Doesn’t count,” Malik said, laughing.