The alarm screamed.
Not beeped—screamed. Like it knew today was a big day and wanted to be extra dramatic about it. Brooke Bailey groaned from under her pillow, swatting at the noise like it had personally offended her.
Today wasn't just any day. It was graduation day.
She rolled out of bed with that mix of nerves and excitement clashing in her chest like rival cousins at a family reunion. Her toes hit the cold floor, and for a second, she just stood there—taking it in. This was it. The last morning she'd wake up as a university student. The last morning she'd have to wear that too-thin hoodie with her school crest on it, pretending it gave her personality.
"We made it, baby girl. Even when it felt like we wouldn't."
She kept it moving. Hair brushed into a neat puff. Skin glowing with that natural melanin magic. Her dress,a soft ivory number she saved just for today,sat on the chair like it had been waiting its whole life for this. She slipped into it like it was made just for her, and for a moment, Brooke felt like someone out of a music video. The early sun kissed her cheeks, and the day began to sparkle.
At the graduation hall, the air buzzed with joy, nerves, and the faint scent of someone's overused body spray. Families clapped, phones flashed, and names were called—one after the other.
And then came the moment.
"Valedictorian of the Business Faculty graduating class… Miss Brooke Bailey!"
The applause was thunderous. Like the universe itself was clapping for her. She walked up—not rushed, not nervous—just Brooke, owning her moment like a queen with poise. The mic felt warm in her hand, the lights even warmer, but her words? They flowed like honey.
She spoke about dreams. About struggling. About pushing through those late nights, empty pockets, and mental breakdowns with caffeine as her only friend. She reminded her peers that the world out there wasn't waiting with open arms, but that didn't matter.
Because they were coming with open minds.
After the hugs, the selfies, and the bittersweet goodbyes with people she'd spent years growing beside, Brooke walked back home with her heels in her hand and the breeze in her hair.
The silence of her room hit differently now.
She lay back on her bed, eyes tracing the ceiling like it held answers.
"So… what now?"
That's when the real world started whispering.
Job interviews. Applications. Rejection letters. Acceptance letters. The anxiety of the unknown.
Later that evening, over a warm meal and familiar voices, she brought it up.
"Mom, Dad… I've been thinking about job stuff. Interviews. I don't know where to start but… I want to figure it out."
Her mom nodded, wiping her hands on her apron. Her dad looked over the top of his glasses, proud but calm.
"You've already started, Brooke," her dad said with a smile. "You just did."