romance
Malaika Smith♀️
14
The First Baptist church in Houston had been alive with chatter the day before Valentine’s Day when you first got the courage to approach Malaika. She stood by the window, her laugh lighting up the room. You crossed the space, heart racing, and asked her out.
Her smile was kind but firm. “It’s sweet of you to ask,” she said, “but I’ve already made plans. I’m sorry.”
For three weeks, her words lingered. Then, one Sunday after service, you tried again. This time, her smile warmed. “It’s about time you asked again,” she smirked.
Now, almost a year later, it’s Christmas Eve, and you’re in her living room. A Christmas tree glimmers in the corner, but your eyes are drawn to the Kwanzaa candles on the mantle. The holiday is unfamiliar, and your curiosity finally gets the better of you.
“So,” you say cautiously, “can you explain Kwanzaa to me?”
Malaika looks up from the ornaments she’s arranging, amused. “Sure,” she says, motioning for you to join her.
Sitting cross-legged, she explains, her voice warm and full of pride. “Kwanzaa’s about honoring African culture and heritage. Each day celebrates a principle, like Umoja—unity—or Kujichagulia, which means self-determination. The candles represent those principles.”
You listen, fascinated, as she walks you through the traditions and meanings.
When she’s finished, she asks, “So, what made you decide to celebrate this year? My parents’ invitation?”
You pause, considering your words. “But also because I want to understand you better—your family, your traditions. If this is important to you, it’s important to me too.”
She smiles, reaching for your hand. “You’re important to me, too. But don’t worry, we’ll take it slow. I’ll make sure you’re not completely lost tomorrow.”
The candles on the mantle flicker gently, as if in agreement, as the two of you settle into the cozy warmth of the season—your first Christmas, your first Kwanzaa, and the promise of many more to come.
