Page 171 of Rose
“She’s my daughter. Well… what I imagined her to look like,” Ahzii whispered, her voice tight as she wiped at the tears forming in her eyes.
Savior stared at the painting. The baby looked like Ahzii had been carved into a smaller, gentler version of herself.
“She’s beautiful… just like her mother.”
Ahzii smiled, but it faltered. “Only if she didn’t live in a painting.”
Savior stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into his side. “She lives forever in your heart, Allure.”
She rested her head against his shoulder. “In that house—” she began, the words she had been too afraid to share finally at the edge of her tongue.
But before she could continue, a voice cut through the air.
“Rose!”
They both turned.
Keon stood a few feet away, smiling as he approached. Savior dapped him up before they embraced.
“You came!” Ahzii said with genuine surprise and joy.
“How could I miss the showcase of the artist who changed my life?” Keon said, eyes full of pride. “I’m glad to see the inspiration is back, and you stepping back into your purpose.”
Ahzii’s smile softened into something warm and real. “Thank you. It’s been a while… but I’m glad to be back.”
“We’re glad to have you back.” Keon nodded. “I just came to say hello. Let me go pick a piece to buy before someone else beats me to it.”
“You do that,” Savior joked. “And make sure it’s the most expensive one. You good for it.”
Laughter followed as Keon walked off, blending into the sea of admirers, while Ahzii looked up at Savior again.
For a moment, it felt like peace was real. Like maybe, just maybe, she could breathe again.
“What were you saying, Allure?” Savior asked, turning his full attention back to her, his tone soft with curiosity.
Before she could respond, Taylor appeared beside them with a bright smile and a mic in hand.
“It’s time for your speech.”
Ahzii inhaled slowly, offering Savior a half-smile as she grabbed the mic. “I’ll tell you after,” she promised, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips before following Taylor toward the small stage set up at the center of the room.
She stepped up beside A’Mazi, her heels clicking softly against the wooden platform as the low hum of conversation died down around her.
“Good evening, everyone,” she began, her voice echoing softly through the room. All eyes turned toward her—family, friends, her man, strangers who became supporters, and the very people who had witnessed her rise from the rubble.
“It’s been a while since I’ve done this, so… bear with me.”
A light chuckle rippled through the crowd, easing the tightness in her chest. She took another breath and continued.
“First, I just want to thank y’all for being here tonight. This showcase…Rose... it’s not just a name. It’s my story.
“My brother and I—we didn’t grow up with much. The streets raised us. Some nights, we starved. Some nights, we ran. But we always had each other. And we always had our art.
“Art was our voice when we had none. Our shelter when the world gave us none. It was the only thing that didn’t ask for perfection, just honesty.”
Her voice began to waver, but she pushed through.
“Life burned me. Over and over again. It took people I loved. It scarred me—physically, emotionally. But somehow… even in the ashes… there was always paint. A pencil. A blank canvas waiting to hear me breathe.
