JAMAL BECKUM

Samantha always believed the right kind of love could change the temperature of a room. Not the fake kind. Not the kind people posted online for likes. Real love. The kind that showed up with groceries when nobody asked. The kind that called twice when somebody said they were “fine.” The kind that noticed when a smile looked tired. That was Samantha. She was the person everybody leaned on without always realizing how much weight they were putting on her. That morning— sunlight pushed through the kitchen blinds while coffee brewed slowly. The house already felt alive. Warm. Safe. The kind of home people stayed longer than planned because peace lived there. Kennedy sat at the kitchen table coloring with serious focus, like every crayon decision mattered. Meanwhile— Lanie sat beside her humming loudly while swinging her legs. Too loudly. Too dramatically. And somehow— too early. “Lanie,” Samantha called from the stove. No answer. She smiled. “Don’t color on my table.” Lanie froze immediately. “How you know?” Samantha laughed. “Because I know everything.” Kennedy nodded seriously. “She really do.” Everybody laughed. Because somehow— kids believed Samantha could fix anything. And truthfully— most days she tried. She placed pancakes on the table while the girls immediately argued over syrup. “She got more!” “No I don’t!” “Yes you do!” Samantha sighed dramatically. “Every morning y’all got drama.” Lanie folded her arms. “She started it.” Kennedy gasped. “I did NOT!” Samantha shook her head smiling. Life loud. But good. The kind of loud she loved. Because outside these walls— life felt heavy lately. Bills. Stress. Dreams taking too long. Everybody she loved seemed tired. Trying. Searching. Still hoping. And quietly— that worried her. Then— her phone buzzed. Ihsan. She stared at the name for a second. Already knew. Her brother never called this early unless something heavy sat on his mind. She answered immediately. “Good morning superstar.” He laughed weakly. “Don’t start.” “No seriously,” she smiled. “You famous yet?” Silence. Then quietly— “Not even close.” “Yet,” Samantha said immediately. That word mattered. Yet. Because Samantha believed timing mattered. People quit too early. Too often. She stepped away from the girls. “What’s wrong?” Long pause. Then: “I feel stuck.” “With music?” “With everything.” That answer hit different. Because Samantha knew her brother. The quiet moments worried her most. The moments where doubt got loud. Dreams felt heavy when they weren’t moving. Especially dreams people laughed at. Especially music. “You still love it?” she asked softly. “What?” “The music.” Silence. Then quietly— “Yeah.” “Then it ain’t over.” He laughed softly. “You always make things sound simple.” “No,” Samantha said gently. “I make it sound possible.” That got quiet. Real quiet. Because deep down— he wanted to believe her. But bills louder than hope sometimes. Fear louder than faith. “You know what I think?” Samantha asked. “What?” “I think some people get built slower because what’s coming gotta last.” He stayed quiet. Reading those words inside himself. Then laughed softly. “You always know what to say.” “No,” Samantha smiled. “I just refuse to let you quit before your blessing show up.” Behind her— chaos started again. “She took my pancake!” “No I didn’t!” “Yes you did!” Samantha closed her eyes dramatically. “Hold on. Your nieces at war.” For the first time all morning— Ihsan laughed. A real laugh. And somehow— that mattered. Because Samantha didn’t fix everything. She reminded people they were still worth fighting for. ⸻ Later that afternoon— there was a knock at the door. Izeyah. Samantha opened it before he knocked twice. “You eat?” He laughed immediately. “Why that always your first question?” “Because hungry people make bad decisions.” He shook his head smiling. “You got food?” “Always.” Inside— Kennedy and Lanie ran toward him immediately. “UNCLE!” He hugged both girls. And for a second— the stress disappeared from his face. But Samantha noticed something. The quiet. The tired. The overthinking. Everybody she loved looked tired lately. Trying hard. Dreaming hard. Hurting quietly. That night— while washing dishes— Samantha looked out the kitchen window. And whispered a quiet prayer nobody heard: “Please let everybody make it.” Because love sometimes looked like carrying hope for people— until they found their own.

By the time evening came, the house felt quieter. Not bad quiet. Just thoughtful. The kind of quiet that sat in the air after everybody had been carrying too much for too long. The kitchen lights glowed softly while rain tapped lightly against the window. Ihsan sat at Samantha’s kitchen table staring at his phone while an old beat played softly through one earbud. Delete. Re-record. Rewrite. Repeat. That had become his life. Years of trying. Years of hearing: “You talented.” But talent didn’t always pay bills. Talent didn’t stop doubt from showing up at night. It definitely didn’t stop fear from whispering when things moved slower than expected. “You thinking too loud again,” Samantha said. Ihsan looked up slowly. “What that mean?” Samantha placed two plates on the table and shrugged. “It mean your face doing all the stressing.” He laughed quietly. Barely. “Just tired.” Samantha sat across from him. The kind of tired in his voice worried her. Not sleepy tired. Heavy tired. Dream tired. The kind people carried when life wasn’t moving the way they hoped. “Music?” she asked softly. Ihsan looked down. “Life.” That answer hit different. Because Samantha knew her brother carried things he rarely said out loud. Dreams felt heavy when they weren’t moving fast enough. Especially music. Especially passion. Especially something people didn’t always understand. He rubbed his face. Then quietly said: “You know what I realized?” “What?” He looked down at the table. “Every loss stay with you.” The room got still. Not uncomfortable still. Heavy still. Samantha listened. Because sometimes people didn’t need answers first. Sometimes they just needed space to say the hard stuff. “People switching up,” he continued quietly. “Missed opportunities. Money problems.” He laughed bitterly. “Feeling like I’m falling behind.” His voice softened. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m losing.” Samantha shook her head immediately. “No.” He frowned. “How you know?” She leaned forward. “Because losses teach.” “Teach what?” “How strong you are.” He looked unconvinced. Because struggle never felt educational while you inside it. It just felt painful. So Samantha asked: “You think pain mean stop?” “No.” “You think struggle mean failure?” “No.” “Then why you treating every setback like the ending?” That sat with him. Because deep down— he knew she might be right. Still— it didn’t stop disappointment from hurting. Didn’t stop watching other artists move faster. Didn’t stop watching people win while he still felt stuck. Across the room— Kennedy and Lanie danced badly to one of Ihsan unfinished songs playing quietly through the speaker. Lanie pointed proudly. “That my uncle!” Kennedy nodded dramatically. “You gon’ be famous.” Ihsan laughed. A real laugh this time. “From y’all mouth to God ears.” Kennedy kept dancing. Lanie somehow danced worse. And for the first time all week— Ihsan smiled for real. Because somehow— kids made life lighter. Even when grown people forgot how. Maybe… every loss wasn’t punishment. Maybe— it really was preparation. ⸻ Later that evening— there was a knock at the door. Izeyah. Samantha opened it before he knocked twice. “You eat?” He laughed immediately. “Why that always your first question?” “Because hungry people make dumb decisions.” He shook his head smiling. “You got food?” “Always.” Inside— Kennedy and Lanie ran toward him immediately. “UNCLE!” He hugged them both. And for a second— the stress left his face. But Samantha still noticed it. The quiet. The tired. The weight. Something felt off. Later— after everybody settled down— she finally asked. “You okay?” “Yeah.” She gave him the look. The sibling look. The: Don’t lie to me. “The real yeah?” He sighed. Looked away. Then quietly said: “I just feel stuck.” Samantha sat beside him. “Compared to who?” He shrugged. “Everybody.” That answer made her sad. Because too many people carried that feeling. Especially now. Social media. Success. Comparison. Everybody online looking rich. Happy. Winning. Meanwhile— real life looked slower. Messier. Harder. Samantha leaned against the counter. “Social media got people thinking life a race.” He stayed quiet. Because truthfully— he had spent weeks watching everybody else look successful. Money. Cars. Trips. Wins. Meanwhile— he still felt like he was figuring things out. “You not behind,” Samantha said softly. “Feel like it.” “That don’t make it true.” She pointed toward the living room where Kennedy and Lanie laughed loudly. “You think them girls care who got money?” He smiled a little. “No.” “You think they care who famous?” “No.” “They care who show up.” That sat with him. Because maybe— he had been measuring success wrong. Maybe— being present mattered too. ⸻ Later that night— Ihsan sat inside his car outside his apartment. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t think straight. The city felt loud. Even in silence. His mind replayed every missed opportunity. Every rejection. Every “almost.” Every moment somebody told him: “You got talent.” But somehow— talent never seemed enough. Then his phone buzzed. Samantha. Of course. She somehow always knew. “You still up?” He smiled weakly. “Yeah.” Her message came quick: “Stop thinking yourself into sadness.” He laughed quietly. Then another message came: “Your story bigger than this chapter.” He stared at it. Read it again. Then again. And somehow— for the first time that night— hope got louder than doubt. Because maybe— every loss really was teaching something. Maybe— life wasn’t saying no. Maybe— it was saying: Not yet. And maybe— his story wasn’t over after all.

Nobody tells you how loud life gets at 4 in the morning. The regrets louder. The fear louder. The dreams louder. That night— Ihsan couldn’t sleep. Again. The apartment felt too quiet. Too still. Clock glowing. 4:08 AM Bills spread across the table. Music software still open on the laptop. Coffee cold. Headphones hanging around his neck. Same unfinished dream. He pressed play. Stopped it. Started over. Deleted a verse. Cursed quietly. Nothing felt finished. Nothing felt good enough. Nothing felt close. And slowly— his thoughts started turning against him. Maybe this music thing over. Maybe I waited too long. Maybe this just ain’t my season. He leaned back in the chair staring at the ceiling. Years. That’s what people didn’t understand. Years of trying. Years of posting music nobody heard. Years of hearing: “You next.” But never feeling close. His phone buzzed suddenly. Johnny. “You awake?” Ihsan laughed quietly. At four in the morning? He answered anyway. “You serious?” Johnny sighed. “Can’t sleep.” “What’s wrong?” Silence. Then: “You ever scared your dream ain’t gon’ happen?” That got quiet. Because somehow— that question felt too honest. Too familiar. Ihsan rubbed his face. “Every day.” Johnny laughed weakly. “Yeah…” Then quietly— he added: “Still… don’t quit.” “What?” “You heard me.” Silence. Then Johnny continued: “Bro… you inspire people more than you know.” That hit harder than expected. Because truthfully— Ihsan barely inspired himself lately. “Half the time I feel lost,” Ihsan admitted. “Everybody do,” Johnny said. “But not everybody keep going.” That stayed with him. Because maybe— surviving counted too. ⸻ After hanging up— another call came. Samantha. Of course. She always somehow knew. “How you know I’m awake?” he asked. “You my brother,” she said. “Plus… I had a feeling.” He smiled tiredly. For some reason— her voice always made heavy things feel lighter. “I almost quit tonight,” he admitted. “No you didn’t.” “Yes I did.” “No,” Samantha said calmly. “You almost got emotional.” He laughed despite himself. “You always got an answer.” “No,” Samantha said softly. “I just know your story bigger than this chapter.” That sentence sat deep. Because lately— everything felt heavy. Music. Bills. Fear. Watching everybody online winning. Feeling stuck. Feeling late. “What if I missed my moment?” he asked quietly. Samantha paused. Then softly said: “You know what I think?” “What?” “I think some people bloom late because they built to last.” Silence. Real silence. Because deep down— he wanted to believe that. But doubt had been louder lately. “What if I fail?” he whispered. Samantha didn’t even hesitate. “Then fail forward.” He frowned. “What that mean?” “It mean don’t stop.” She sat up in bed. Half asleep— still showing up. “You know how many people quit right before life change?” He stayed quiet. “Too many.” Then softly— she said something that almost made him emotional: “Brother… you owe yourself the chance to see what happen if you don’t give up.” That landed somewhere deep. Because truthfully— he had been tired. Not lazy tired. Soul tired. Dream tired. The kind of tired that made people question hope. Then suddenly— he heard noise in the background. “What’s that?” Samantha laughed. “Lanie sleep talking.” “What she saying?” “She talking about pancakes.” He laughed hard for the first time all night. Real laugh. Unforced. “See?” Samantha smiled. “Life still funny even when it hard.” ⸻ Meanwhile— Izeyah couldn’t sleep either. Different reason. Mind racing. Scrolling social media too long. Watching everybody else look successful. Money. Cars. Trips. Jewelry. Smiles. Perfect lives. And somehow— it made him feel worse. Like everybody moving— except him. Then suddenly— he stopped scrolling. Because something felt fake. Not fake fake. Just incomplete. Nobody posted struggle. Nobody posted fear. Nobody posted nights crying quietly. Then he remembered something Samantha said earlier: “You not behind. You just growing different.” He stared at the ceiling. Then finally— for the first time in weeks— he put the phone down. And slept. Peacefully. ⸻ Back in the studio— Ihsan reopened the laptop. Pressed play. Started writing again. Not perfect. Not polished. But honest. And somehow— honesty felt better than perfection. Outside— the sky slowly changed. Night turning into morning. And sitting there— tired but hopeful— Ihsan quietly whispered: “Aight… one more try.” Because maybe— 4AM wasn’t proof things were falling apart. Maybe— it was proof something inside him still refused to quit.

Everybody wanted success. Fast. Money. Recognition. Peace. But nobody talked enough about the pressure of trying to figure life out while watching everybody else look successful online. For Izeyah, social media had started feeling like torture. Everybody looked rich. Everybody looked happy. Everybody looked ahead. Meanwhile— he still felt stuck. Still figuring things out. Still trying to understand where his life was even supposed to go. That morning— he sat at Samantha’s kitchen table scrolling through his phone too hard. Luxury cars. Trips to islands. Designer clothes. People his age buying houses. People celebrating wins. Everybody smiling. Everybody looking ahead. He tossed the phone on the table. “This annoying.” Samantha looked up while making breakfast. “What?” “Everybody winning.” She laughed immediately. “No they not.” “Yes they are.” He grabbed the phone again. “Look!” He started scrolling. “This dude younger than me got a Benz.” “Okay.” “This girl bought a house.” “Okay.” “This one traveling every month.” Samantha placed pancakes on the table. “You hungry?” He frowned. “You not listening.” “No,” she smiled. “You not listening.” That stopped him. She sat down across from him. “You comparing your real life to somebody highlight reel.” He stayed quiet. Because truthfully— she might’ve been right. “You know what social media don’t post?” Samantha continued. “What?” “Debt.” Pause. “Depression.” Pause. “Fear.” Pause. “People struggling quietly.” That sat with him. Because suddenly— everything online looked different. Maybe everybody wasn’t actually okay. Maybe people just edited life better. ⸻ Across the room— Kennedy and Lanie were arguing again. “She used too much milk!” “No I didn’t!” “Yes you did!” Lanie folded her arms dramatically. “She lying!” Kennedy gasped. “I am NOT!” Samantha shook her head laughing. “How y’all arguing before breakfast?” Kennedy pointed accusingly. “She disrespectful.” Lanie pointed back. “She started it!” Izeyah laughed harder than he expected. Because somehow— those little moments made heavy thoughts lighter. Kids didn’t care about money. Didn’t care about status. They just cared who showed up. And somehow— that mattered. ⸻ Meanwhile— Kenya sat parked outside a small office building. Hands gripping the steering wheel. Nervous. Scared. Thinking too much. She had spent months talking about starting her nursing business. Talking. Planning. Dreaming. But now— it was getting real. And real dreams scared people. Because dreaming safe. Trying? Trying meant risking failure. “What if nobody support me?” she whispered. Then suddenly— Samantha words popped into her head: “What if they do?” Kenya laughed quietly to herself. Because somehow— Samantha always found a way into people thoughts. Still— fear sat heavy. But maybe fear just meant something mattered. ⸻ Across town— Johnny, Renee, and Tracy stood outside an old empty storefront. Dusty windows. Scuffed floors. Needs work. A lot of work. But somehow— they already saw the vision. Clothes hanging. People shopping. Music playing. Their name on the front. Ownership. Something they built. Johnny smiled. “This could really happen.” Renee folded her arms. “You sure?” “No.” Everybody laughed. “But I know I’m tired of just talking.” That got quiet. Because dreaming without moving eventually became painful. Tracy looked around again. Then softly said: “Maybe this our season.” Nobody said anything. But secretly— everybody hoped she was right. ⸻ Meanwhile— Ihsan sat in the studio again. Trying. Still trying. Some days confidence came easy. Some days doubt screamed louder. Today— doubt winning. He played the song. Stopped it. Started over. Frustrated. Then suddenly— his phone buzzed. Samantha. Of course. “You eat?” she asked immediately. He laughed. “Why that always your first question?” “Because hungry people dramatic.” He laughed harder. Then got quiet. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Just feel behind.” “With music?” “With life.” She paused. Then softly said: “You know what I noticed?” “What?” “Everybody in our generation think life got a deadline.” That hit. Because it felt true. Social media made thirty feel old. Made struggle feel embarrassing. Made patience feel failure. “You not late,” Samantha continued. “Your path just different.” He stayed quiet. Then she added: “Don’t let the internet rush your purpose.” That sentence sat deep. Because lately— he had been treating slow progress like failure. Maybe— slow didn’t mean losing. Maybe— it just meant building. ⸻ That evening— the whole family somehow ended up together again. Food. Music. Laughter. Chaos. Kennedy and Lanie running around too fast. Johnny talking business ideas. Kenya nervous but hopeful. Ihsan quieter than usual. Izeyah thinking. Samantha smiling. Watching everybody. Because deep down— she believed something: Everybody season was coming. Just not all at once. And maybe— that was okay. Because maybe— life wasn’t a race. Maybe— people just bloomed differently. And somehow— that thought gave everybody peace.