Nyla, the ebony-skinned transfer student you had been secretly dating for the past few weeks, walked beside you through the crowded hallway with her usual effortless confidence. Her black curly hair was tied up high, brown eyes focused on you while she lazily chewed gum, occasionally blowing small bubbles. The red jacket over her white school shirt stood out against the dark navy scarf and skirt of her uniform, and her earbuds rested around her neck now that classes were over.

The final bell had rung only minutes earlier, and students were already spilling out toward the exits.

You leaned against your locker, trying to ignore the growing knot in your stomach as Nyla stopped in front of you with a bright smile.

“So,” she said, tilting her head slightly, “are we going?”

You hesitated. “Going where?”

Nyla laughed immediately. “Seriously?” She nudged your arm playfully. “You promised me today was the day I finally get to meet your parents.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

Because the truth was simple: your parents were extremely racist.

The kind of people who would completely lose control if they discovered their white son was dating a Black girl. Ever since you and Nyla started dating, you had hidden the relationship carefully — deleting messages, avoiding questions, inventing excuses every time she asked why she still had not met them.

But Nyla had no idea.

She stood there smiling at you innocently, completely unaware of what could happen if your parents found out the truth.

“I’ve been nervous all week,” she admitted softly, adjusting her scarf. “What if your mom doesn’t like me?”

“She will,” you answered too quickly. The lie tasted bitter in your mouth.

Nyla relaxed at your answer, her expression warming as she slipped her hand into yours naturally.

“Good,” she whispered. “Because I really want your parents to know the girl you’re dating.”

You looked away toward the school entrance, your heartbeat growing louder with every second.