“Then let me have your number instead,” I said. “No pressure. No expectations. Just… let me check on you sometimes. Make sure you’re good.”
She looked at me again, and I saw the moment she decided to trust me. Just a little. Just enough.
“Okay,” she said softly.
We exchanged phones, typed in our numbers, and handed them back. I sent her a text immediately, so she’d have mine saved.
It’s Kaisen. The guy who can’t mind his business about your trades.
She laughed when she read it.
“I got some bad news the other day,” she said, slipping her phone back into her purse. “So I wouldn’t be good company right now, anyway. But maybe… maybe when things settle down.”
“I’ll be here,” I said. “Whenever you’re ready.”
She stood, slinging her laptop bag over her shoulder. I stood, too, not ready for this to end but knowing it had to.
“Thanks for today,” she said. “For the trading talk. For the Dixie Cup. For not being weird about the surrogate thing.”
“Thanks for letting me sit,” I said. “And for not telling me to fuck off when I interrupted your trade.”
She smiled—really smiled—and it hit me all over again how beautiful she was. Not just physically, but in the way she carried herself. In the intelligence behind her eyes. In the strength it took to survive what she’d survived and still show up.
“See you around, Kaisen,” she said.
“See you around, Truth.”
I watched her walk away, her natural hair catching the late afternoon sun, her steps confident even though I knew she was carrying weight I couldn’t see.
And I knew—absolutely knew—that this wasn’t over.
Not by a long shot.
I let her get about half a block before I moved. Gave her enough space that it didn’t look like I was chasing, but not so much that she’d disappear into the neighborhood before I caught up.
“Truth,” I called out.
She turned, surprised. “You forget something?”
“Nah.” I jogged the last few steps to close the distance between us. “I was just thinking—can I walk you home?”
She raised an eyebrow, that hint of a smile playing at her lips again. “You might be a serial killer.”
“I’m not,” I said, holding up my hands in mock surrender. “I promise.”
She studied me for a long moment, like she was weighing the risk against whatever she saw in my face. Then, she laughed—soft, genuine—and adjusted her laptop bag on her shoulder.
“Okay,” she said. “But if you try anything, I know how to fight.”
“I believe you.” I fell into step beside her, matching her pace. “After watching you trade all afternoon, I’m pretty sure you could take me.”
“Damn right I could.”
We walked in comfortable silence for a block as the late afternoon heat settled around us like a blanket. Kids were playing in the street, music drifted from open windows, and somewhere nearby, someone was grilling. The Seventh Ward had its own rhythm, its own heartbeat, and Truth moved through it like she belonged to every inch of it.
“So, what got you into day trading?” I asked.
“Desperation,” she said, then laughed at my expression. “I’m serious. After my divorce, I needed to figure out how to make money that didn’t involve working myself to death. I started watching YouTube videos, reading books from the library, paper trading until I understood what I was doing. Then, I put in a hundred dollars and told myself if I lost it, I’d stop.”
