The day continued normally, feeling like it was finally beginning to settle into something routine. Classes ended, which was a relief for most as they met back up with their peers. On the other hand, I was still in class—finally being known for my smart, kind personality instead of the rumors about me knocking out Mr. Alexander.
I watched Zion, the guy I now called friend, finally launch his coding. His smile widened when his character moved across the screen.
"Good Day, I am Zion… your personal assistant. What can I assist you with today?" the AI‑sounding voice boomed from his speakers.
Zion jumped to his feet in a victory dance.
"YAAAAAYYY… YESSSS!!!! HELLL YEEEAAAAHHH!!" he yelled, while the few remaining students whistled and beat on their desks excitedly.
Some shook me by the shoulders, throwing out compliments as they launched their own coding one by one after following my instructions. True victory bubbled in my soul—this felt like real accomplishment.
"You should really be a co‑teacher to Professor Gumpy Pants. You're a natural," one student said.
"Yeah, I'm really glad… I could not handle this being graded," another spoke happily.
"She's a life saver," another jumped up, sitting on the desk in front of me.
"Wooah wooah wooah, hands off Tommy. She was mine first. Go find your own coding genius," Zion warned, pushing Tommy off the desk and replacing him in the same spot.
"Guys, I know I'm charming, but you don't need to fight," I teased, gathering my notes and belongings. Pinching Zion's cheeks playfully, I poked Tommy's nose as well.
"You guys be nice… bye," I said sweetly, heading to the exit and glancing at my professor.
"Have a wonderful day, and good job today. I really appreciate your teamwork," he commended.
"Thanks," I replied happily, walking to the door. I stopped, looking back at my classmates being teased.
"OOOOhhh, Zion is in looovee," Tommy mocked.
"No I'm not," Zion defended, glancing over the chaotic group before looking me dead in the eyes, smiling.
Finally, I pushed the door open and walked over to Renae's class, hoping she would still be there even though class had ended about half an hour ago.
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The studio air was thick with fatigue, graphite dust clinging to the fluorescent hum. Students slumped over their tables, groaning like soldiers after battle. Professor Abolo had drilled us mercilessly, wringing every ounce of focus until our brains felt scorched.
Renae was studying her drafts, Mr. Abolo already gone to his office, leaving us to wait on Lady Amara.
At three sharp, the door opened. Lady Amara entered with a stride that silenced the room. Her heels clicked against the polished floor, each step deliberate, commanding. She wore a tailored charcoal suit, sharp lines echoing everything she preached, but her silk scarf—deep crimson—hinted at something softer, a spark of individuality beneath the hardness she was showing us right now. Her hair was pinned neatly, not a strand out of place, and her gaze swept the studio with quiet authority.
She carried no chalk, no ruler—only a leather folio tucked under her arm. When she spoke, her voice was smooth, resonant, the kind that didn't need to rise to be heard.
"Good afternoon," she said, pausing just long enough for the silence to settle. "I am Lady Amara Reid, and I will be hosting your workshop today ..I hear Professor Abolo has already drilled your brain cells into dust… or rather tested your limits today"
A boy muttered under his breath, "Tested? He murdered us."
Renae groaned, dropping her head onto her drafting table.
"My brain's fried. If this is architecture, I'm doomed."Another student blurted out
A ripple of groans answered back. "More like burned it alive," she muttered, forehead pressed to the table.
A boy near the back added, half pleading, "If this is more math, ma'am, I swear my head will explode."
Laughter rippled weakly through the room. Lady Amara chuckled, shaking her head.
"That's exactly what we will be doing today," she responded sternly.
"I'm fully dead now, like there is absolutely no recovery from this… tell my mom I exploded from brain overload, and scatter my ashes over the vending machine so at least someone gets a snack," a student shouted, finally reaching their limit.
The room erupted in laughter, rolling like waves that refused to die down. Even Lady Amara, who had entered with all the poise of a queen, pressed her lips together, fighting a smile.
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing playfully. "Exploded from brain overload, ashes scattered over the vending machine?" she repeated, her tone dry but amused. "That is the most dramatic resignation from learning I've ever heard."
The laughter swelled again. She let it ride for a moment, then raised her hand, and the room quieted almost instantly.
Her smile lingered, soft but knowing. "Good. If you can laugh, you can learn. Humor means your brain is still alive, no matter how much you claim otherwise. Now—let's see if we can keep it alive through the next exercise."
The students groaned theatrically, but the atmosphere had broken. Even Renae lifted her head, grinning despite herself. Clapping her hands together, she laughed to herself, confusing us a little.
"Well, architecture is not hard or is it easy—but I promise I had no intention to kill you anymore. I just really wanted to hear y'all's reaction, and it was actually fun. But I'm not here to torture you further. Today, we breathe."
She walked around our desks, her personality more cheerful now.
"Professor Abolo has shown you the unforgiving side of architecture—numbers, angles, precision. But today is about vision. You've been drilled on precision—now I want to see imagination. I want you to remember why you chose this path. I need to see something that makes someone stop in their tracks. Forget the formulas for now. Show me something bold, something alive. You will design not a balcony, but something else: a staircase, a doorway, a pavilion, a window, a bridge, or a courtyard. Choose one. Make it bold. Make it yours. Surprise me."
Renae groaned again, half‑amused, half‑terrified, but relief flashed across her face like the rest of the students as they exchanged glances. "So after Abolo's torture, now you want us to be artists?"
Lady Amara's gaze swept the studio, sharp but steady. "Exactly. Architecture is not just numbers. It is vision. Discipline is your spine, but imagination is your soul. Without both, you are nothing but draftsmen. With both, you are architects. Now—show me your love and why you want to become future architects."
The room shifted—students straightened, pencils lifted, exhaustion cracking just enough for curiosity to seep through.
Lady Amara went to her desk and finally set her folio down, pulling out a sheet of tracing paper and handing it out as she continued her lecture.
"Being an architect is both. Without it, you're just engineers with rulers. And if you cannot survive both, you will not survive this field."
Her words hung in the air, heavy but electrifying. For the first time that day, the groans faded into murmurs of anticipation. Pencils rose, and the studio—once suffocated by fatigue—breathed again under Lady Amara's command.
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I barely made it across the hall toward Renae's class when Travis cut me off, his face storm‑dark, jaw locked, eyes burning with fury.
"You think this is funny?" he snapped, voice low but sharp, chest heaving with restrained anger. "Dragging Kevon off the pavement like that—my brother. You humiliated him in front of everyone. What the hell gave you the right?"
His words were heavy, dripping with betrayal.
I stiffened, pulse racing. "I didn't mean to humiliate him. He startled me—covered Renae's mouth, whispered in my ear. I panicked. I thought—" My voice cracked, defensive, desperate. "I didn't know it was him."
Travis stepped closer, eyes narrowing, his anger rose. "You don't get it. He wasn't attacking you. And even if you didn't know who it was… are you stupid?"
My fists clenched, heat rising in my chest. "I reacted. I didn't plan it, I didn't want it, but I wasn't going to stand there frozen. And don't you dare twist it like I wanted this."
His glare was unrelenting, his voice harsh. "You don't get to play victim when you're the one throwing fists."
"You know what, Travis? Fuck off. Kevon and I already made peace, so whatever you think of this situation, I honestly could care less," I barked, feeling the anger bursting through my veins.
"You should be lucky you're a woman," he snapped back, stepping dangerously close to my face, his fist already formed.
I leaned in, eyes stripped of emotion, voice firm, unyielding.
"Don't make me being a woman stop you. Swing, asshole. And make sure I'm knocked the hell out, because if I'm not, I'll rip your heart from its seating place and feed it to the dogs. That's not words—it's a promise. So think very carefully before you act."
Travis's lip curled, his voice dripping with venom.
"I don't need to think. People like you are easy. You look sweet, play innocent, make everyone believe you're good—but all you are is a mistake that should never have been born. Garbage. Easy to burn, easy to walk away from. And I wouldn't even have to get my hands dirty."
I stepped closer, my face inches from his, my eyes stripped of emotion, cold enough to scorch the air. My voice came out low, steady, dangerous.
"Then burn me, Travis. Burn me and watch how fast the fire turns back on you. Because I don't vanish. I'll make sure you choke on the ashes."
His jaw started to tightened, his fist trembling at his side, rage spilling from every pore.
"You're nothing but a curse. Every time you show up, someone pays for it. You're a walking disaster."
I leaned in, my breath brushing his face, my tone sharp enough to cut.
"Better a disaster than a coward who hides behind his brother's pride. At least I stand by my actions. You? You spit venom because you're too weak to face the truth."
Travis's nostrils flared, his voice a growl.
"You're a stain that needs to be erased."
I didn't blink, didn't flinch. My words were molten, each syllable a blade.
"Erase me then. Swing. But if you miss, Travis, I'll carve your name into regret so deep it'll echo every time you breathe. You think I'm a mistake? Then watch how that mistake destroys you."
The silence between us was suffocating, the air thick with fury. His fist hovered, mine curled tighter, and for a moment it felt like the world itself was holding its breath—waiting to see which one of us would ignite first.