When we walked in together, it felt like university all over again.
That same wave of attention—the double takes, the half-whispered comments, the heads turning just long enough to make it obvious.
Back then, it was because Val was Val.
Now, it was because she looked like this—standing beside me in a soft cream blouse tucked into dark jeans, her hair loose, her chin tilted just slightly up, every step measured like she owned the place.
Maybe she didn't care about the stares. Maybe she did.
But if I had to guess, she was enjoying every second of it—not because she needed the attention, but because she wanted to make a point.
To Tasha.
And knowing Val… she never had to raise her voice to win a fight.
Sometimes, she just had to walk into the room.
I noticed Derrick before she did, leaning against the reception counter, trying (and failing) to look smooth while the receptionist laughed at something he said.
