Jaylen sat alone in his room, the hum of the streetlight outside flickering through the blinds. In his hands was an envelope—aged, creased, but never opened. His mother's handwriting was still elegant despite the faded ink.
He'd found it tucked in an old photo album at Aunt Renee's place.
With a deep breath, he unfolded the letter.
> _"My Sweet Jaylen,"_
>
> _If you're reading this, it means I didn't get to tell you everything I wanted to. Life in the hood is hard, baby. Not because of who we are, but because of what we've been told we can't be._
>
> _You are more than these streets. You are more than what the world tries to label you. You're going to be a light, Jay. Even if I'm not there to see it._
>
> _Don't let your pain harden you. Let it shape you. Let it teach you. Use your words. Use your music. Use your heart._
>
> _Love your people. Protect your brother. Make your name mean something._
>
> _And never stop dreaming. Never, ever._
>
> _With all the love I have,_
> _Mom._
Jaylen closed his eyes, tears streaming down without shame. The pain of loss had lived inside him for so long, but now—this letter gave it peace.
He folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope, then tucked it into his hoodie pocket.
Downstairs, he could hear music from the center. Zion was spinning vinyl. Marcus was freestyling with the kids. The sound of their community breathing.
Jaylen walked down and joined them, the words from the letter echoing in his heart like a drumbeat.
*He was more.*
*They all were.*
And the letter he never sent became the voice that would carry him forward.