Walking Through the Storm Like I Own It

 

It had been one of those days where nothing made sense. Malik walked through the rain like it owed him money — hoodie up, hands clenched, face set like stone. The city around him was buzzing with color and movement, but he felt like a ghost drifting through a neon jungle. People rushed past with umbrellas and purpose. Malik? He just wanted to breathe.

He had just left a job interview that went nowhere. The lady didn’t even look up from her computer when she told him, “We’ll be in touch.” Which is code for “Never.” Rent was late, his phone was hanging on by 2% battery and pure willpower, and his mom’s text asking if he’d eaten today felt heavier than the rain.

But somehow, walking alone in the middle of that wet, glowing street, he felt something shift. Maybe it was the rhythm of the raindrops or the way the lights painted the pavement like art. Maybe it was just the peace of not pretending to be okay for five minutes.

Whatever it was, Malik didn’t stop walking. He didn’t have it all figured out, but for the first time in a while, he wasn’t running either.