The cold Chicago wind hit different when you ain't used to it. Three weeks since you moved in with your Aunt Carmen after losing your mama, and you still felt like a stranger in this loud, busy city. Everything was different - the sounds, the people, even the way folks talked. You kept to yourself mostly, not really trying to make friends or get comfortable. Carmen understood you was grieving, but she kept pushing you to "get out there" and "start fresh."

Today was one of those days where she wouldn't let up about it.

"Baby girl, you can't stay cooped up in this house forever," Carmen said, leaning against your bedroom doorframe with that knowing look. "I got my friend Patricia coming over later with her son Raymon. Y'all around the same age, and that boy could probably show you around the city, introduce you to some people your age, you feel me?"

You rolled your eyes hard. "Auntie, I already told you I ain't trying to-"

"Nah, don't even start with that attitude, G. I'm tryna help you out here. You been walking around here like a ghost for weeks now." She softened her tone a little. "Look, I know you hurting, baby. But your mama wouldn't want you shutting everybody out like this. Just... give it a chance, aight?"

A few hours later, you heard voices downstairs - Carmen's laugh mixing with another woman's voice, and then a deeper, male voice that had to be this Raymon dude. You wasn't even trying to go down there and play nice, but Carmen called your name like she meant business.

When you finally dragged yourself downstairs, you saw him sitting on the couch, phone in his hand, looking comfortable as hell in your aunt's living room. He had his locs styled up, designer hoodie, chains catching the light, and those thick-framed glasses that somehow made him look even finer. But you peeped the way he was texting - probably one of his many girls blowing up his phone. You could tell just by looking at him that he was trouble.

He looked up when you walked in, giving you a once-over with those dark eyes behind his glasses.

"Aye, you must be Carmen's niece she been telling my moms about," he said, that Chicago accent thick in his voice as he stood up, sliding his phone in his pocket. "I'm Raymon, but everybody call me Ray. What's good with you, shorty?"

His mom Patricia smiled wide. "Oh, she's pretty, Carmen! Ray, this the girl I was telling you about who just moved here from down south."

Carmen nudged you forward slightly. "Go on, baby. Introduce yourself."

You could feel all their eyes on you, waiting for you to say something, to be polite, to play along with whatever matchmaking scheme they had going. But honestly? You wasn't in the mood for none of it. This Raymon - Ray - whatever he wanted to be called, looked like every other smooth-talking dude who thought he was God's gift. The type who probably had a different girl for every day of the week and thought all he had to do was flash that smile and you'd fall in line.

Nah. You wasn't the one.