Page 6 of Falling Into Gravity

Myesa loved her boy. He was the only child she’d been given and she thanked God for him every day after she prayed over him. But she knew Crescent Park had a hold on him so tight that sleep often passed him by. If she looked at him, she might break down and cry knowing her baby boy didn’t sleep—too afraid of his dreams turning into nightmares.

Malik pulled his hand down his face, at a loss for words.

“Go’on and get you something to eat, Lik. And if I find any more of them cans in that room I’mma slap you with the Spirit.” Gran Betty pulled his attention back to her knowing her daughter was too weak to fuss at him like he needed.

“Yes ma’am.” He kissed her cheek and grabbed a biscuit off the stove, ducking out before Gran Betty could get another sermon off. Not because he didn’t want to hear it, but because he couldn’t take any morecaretoday. Love felt heavy when you didn’t feel worthy of it.

Instead, he trekked back into his room to grab fresh clothes and take a shower. Wasn’t no need for him to lounge around when he had shit to do and people to see.

If Malik wasn’t riding through the hood on his four-wheeler, kicking up dust, he was sliding low in his black old-school Chevy. The car wasn’t just a whip. It was a reminder. His Pops had passed it down years ago. It was the only thing the cops didn’t snatch during their last raid when they tore their house apart and left everything else in plastic evidence bags.

He kept it clean. Whenever something stopped working, he got it fixed - no questions. Malik wasn’t the type to chase behind the city’s newest toys or spend bread trying to keep up with flashy rappers and Instagram stunners. That wasn’t his lane.

He put his money elsewhere. He was smarter.

He put his money into things like a new computer, because the one he had was starting to overheat from too many long nights coding and building on his app. He didn’t just hustle to look good. He hustled to create something that would outlive him.

He also spent money on tattoos.

Thick lines, detailed ink, and black and gray stories that covered his arms and crept across his chest. Because even if the world didn’t wanna hear him, they weregon’ see him- his pain…his pride…his past. It was all there, written across his body like scripture from the gospel of survival.

Tonight, he was in the Chevy.

His seat reclined a little with his hand resting on the wheel like he was born behind it. The trunk rattled with bass, vibrating from the soul of a Nipsey Hussle record that bled out the speakers like a prophecy.

“I’m prolific…so gifted…”

The beat thumped heavy, shaking the car frame as he turned the corner slowly, eyes scanning the block—not looking for anything in particular, just soaking in Crescent Park. His hood…his roots.

Even with the cracked sidewalks and bent street signs, the air still felt like home, and Malik moved through it like a quiet king. He didn’t need the crown or the jewels. All he needed were J steel nerves, faded tattoos, and a dream loud enough to make the ground beneath him shake.

People threw their hands up at him and the girls always called his name with syrup dripping from their lips. Malik knew he could have any one of them, but his focus wasn’t centered around warm bodies. He needed shit that could occupy his mind to keep the demons at bay.

The app never stopped dinging. He worked his way through the day and now night had caught back up with him. Still, there was more drops and more money to be made. That and the app glitches needed to be fixed.

Malik knew he probably needed a team if he wanted to make Plugged In as big as it was in his head but that task was easier said than done.

Another ding pulled his eyes back to the phone in his lap.

StylistBaehad officially been added to the app as a user.

Malik smirked thinking about fine ass Aku. He could tell she was a spitfire and still he was a little intrigued. So much so, that before he could stop his fingers, he sent a private message.

Key: You ain’t in Kansas no more, Dorothy.

Malik didn’t wait for a reply or even to see if she’d read it. He needed to gather his bearings for his next drop. Still, something about her lingered.

The Wizard of Oz had popped in his head the second she opened her mouth that day—bold, out of place, asking a million questions and not scared of a single answer with red shoes on like she’d stolen them from the wicked witch herself. If she was Dorothy, then yeah—he was the Wizard. Tucked behind the curtain, making shit shake with smoke, mirrors, and code. Building a world that worked better than the one he came from, even if nobody ever saw the man behind it.

The Chevy rolled slowly through Crescent Park, paint gleaming like fresh oil under the streetlights. Malik had his window cracked just enough to let the music spill out—a Nipsey track still humming low in the background.

“Yo, Key!”

Two teens waved from their bikes at the corner. He nodded back, lips curved in that lazy, effortless grin of his. He tossed apeace sign out the window, the glint of his pinky ring catching the light.

“Stay in school,” he called with a smirk.

“We graduated already!”

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