Southside didn't change overnight.
But it started *feeling* different.
More eyes greeted one another instead of darting away. Laughter from the community center spilled into the streets. Murals told stories of resilience instead of sorrow.
But smoke always finds its way back through the cracks.
One Friday evening, during the after-school jam session, Jaylen was helping Malik lay down a beat when the front doors burst open.
In came Rico.
Not with a weapon—but with *intent*. Eyes locked on Tyrell, who was still moving slow from the gunshot wound.
Jaylen stepped in. "Nah. Not here."
Rico smirked. "Ain't here for trouble. Just wanted to see the fairy tale everyone talkin' about."
Kids went quiet.
"You think spray paint and poetry gonna fix Southside?" Rico said, pacing slowly. "You think *love* stops bullets?"
Ty stood, wincing. "It's stopping *you*, ain't it?"
Rico's jaw clenched.
"I used to believe in this place too," he muttered. "Till it forgot about me."
Jaylen walked forward. "It didn't forget you. You just stopped looking."
There was a long silence. The kind that could tilt either way.
Then, without a word, Rico turned and walked out.
Not peace.
But not war.
Just…smoke.
That night, the block was lit by bonfires—an impromptu celebration for the center's one-year anniversary. They had music, food, and a short film project created by the kids. Jaylen stood beside Ty, arms crossed, proud.
"Think he'll come back?" Ty asked.
Jaylen nodded. "Maybe. But next time, we'll be ready with something stronger than fear."
A firework popped overhead, painting the sky in red and gold.
And in that moment, Southside didn't feel forgotten.
It felt alive.