Completed on April 4, 2025
About this book
By [Nkosinathi Mbele]
---
Page 1
The discuss was thick with warm and pressure as Maya stood at the edge of the swarm, holding a cardboard sign with striking, dark letters: Dark LIVES MATTER.
She had painted the words herself that morning, the brush strokes overwhelming with reason. Around her, the roads of Chicago beat with energyâchants, strides, car horns in back. The individuals moved as one, their voices rising against bad form.
Maya had never been to a challenge some time recently. At sixteen, she had continuously observed from the sidelinesâon TV, on social mediaâuntil the day her more seasoned brother, Jamal, was ceased by the police for "coordinating a depiction." No charges. No wrongdoing. Just another Dark boy within the off-base put at the off-base time.
Jamal came domestic that night, shaken but noiseless. Their mother had embraced him firmly, whispering, "I'm fair happy you're secure." But Maya couldn't shake the fear in her brother's eyes. She knew she couldn't remain quiet any longer.
And so, she stood here presently, heart beating, sign raised tall.
---
Page 2
As the walk moved forward, Maya felt a surge of pride. She was encompassed by individuals of all ages, races, and backgroundsâstudents, guardians, eldersâunited for one cause. The chants resounded in her chest.
"Say his title!" somebody yelled.
"GEORGE FLOYD!" the swarm reacted.
Maya's throat fixed. The stories were endlessâBreonna Taylor, Tamir Rice, Sandra Blandânames that ought to have been living, breathing dreams, not hashtags.
Abruptly, a voice broke through the commotion.
"Hello, kid!"
Maya turned to see an more seasoned lady, her gray twists bouncing as she grinned. "To begin with dissent?"
Maya gestured.
The lady tapped her bear. "You're making history, sweetheart. Keep that fire lively."
A warmth spread through Maya's chest. She wasn't fair here for Jamal. She was here for all of them.
At that point, a commotion ejected up aheadâpolice shaping a blockade, pressures rising. Maya's beat animated.
But the lady adjacent to her held firm. "We stand together," she whispered.
Maya gestured, holding her sign more tightly.
---
Page 3
The sun plunged underneath the horizon, but the walk didnât halt.
Maya saw a small boy on his fatherâs shoulders, chanting with all his might. She saw an craftsman spray-painting a wall painting: "No Equity, No Peace." She saw hands clasped, outsiders turned into family.
This development was greater than her, greater than any one individual. It was almost equity. It was approximately cherish. It was almost making beyond any doubt no one else had tolive in fear because of the color of their skin.
As Maya strolled domestic that night, her sign was bowed at the corners, her voice rough, her heart full.
She knew one thing for certain.
This was as it were the starting.
---
Chapter 4: The First Step
The air was thick with heat and tension as Maya stood at the edge of the crowd, gripping a cardboard sign with bold, black letters: BLACK LIVES MATTER.
She had painted the words herself that morning, the brush strokes heavy with purpose. Around her, the streets of Chicago pulsed with energy—chants, footsteps, car horns in support. The people moved as one, their voices rising against injustice.
Maya had never been to a protest before. At sixteen, she had always watched from the sidelines—on TV, on social media—until the day her older brother, Jamal, was stopped by the police for "matching a description." No charges. No crime. Just another Black boy in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Jamal came home that night, shaken but silent. Their mother had hugged him tightly, whispering, "I'm just glad you're safe." But Maya couldn't shake the fear in her brother's eyes. She knew she couldn't stay silent anymore.
And so, she stood here now, heart pounding, sign raised high.
---
Chapter 5: The Power of Many
As the march moved forward, Maya felt a surge of pride. She was surrounded by people of all ages, races, and backgrounds—students, parents, elders—united for one cause. The chants echoed in her chest.
"Say his name!" someone shouted.
"GEORGE FLOYD!" the crowd responded.
Maya's throat tightened. The stories were endless—Breonna Taylor, Tamir Rice, Sandra Bland—names that should have been living, breathing dreams, not hashtags.
Suddenly, a voice broke through the noise.
"Hey, kid!"
Maya turned to see an older woman, her gray curls bouncing as she smiled. "First protest?"
Maya nodded.
The woman patted her shoulder. "You're making history, sweetheart. Keep that fire alive."
A warmth spread through Maya's chest. She wasn’t just here for Jamal. She was here for all of them.
Then, a commotion erupted up ahead—police forming a barricade, tensions rising. Maya's pulse quickened.
But the woman beside her held firm. "We stand together," she whispered.
Maya nodded, gripping her sign tighter.
---
Chapter 6: When Fear Stands in the Way
The police line was growing. Officers in riot gear blocked the street, gripping batons. The chanting wavered, uncertainty spreading through the crowd.
Maya felt her breath hitch. What if they started pushing people? What if things turned violent?
She saw a teenage boy a few feet ahead—probably her age—raising his hands. "We’re peaceful!" he shouted. "Hands up, don’t shoot!"
The crowd followed: "Hands up, don’t shoot!"
Maya forced herself to breathe. Fear clawed at her, but she had come too far to turn back. She looked at the woman beside her, then at the people around her—standing, unshaken, determined.
She swallowed hard and lifted her voice. "Hands up, don’t shoot!"
The chant caught fire.
---
Chapter 7: More Than a Moment
Hours later, the sun dipped below the skyline, but the march didn’t stop. Maya’s feet ached, her voice was hoarse, but she felt alive.
She saw a little boy on his father’s shoulders, chanting with all his might. She saw an artist spray-painting a mural: "No Justice, No Peace." She saw hands clasped, strangers turned into family.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out—Jamal’s name on the screen.
"Are you okay?" he texted.
Maya smiled and snapped a photo of the march. "I’m here. For you. For all of us."
A few seconds later, Jamal replied: "Proud of you, lil sis."
Her heart swelled. This wasn’t just a moment. It was a movement.
And Maya wasn’t going to stop.
---
Chapter 8: Beyond the Streets
The next morning, Maya sat at the kitchen table, scrolling through pictures from the march. Her sign leaned against the wall, a reminder of what she had stood for.
But as the protest faded into memory, something nagged at her.
“What happens now?” she asked Jamal.
He looked up from his cereal. “What do you mean?”
“The protest was powerful, but…what’s next? How do we actually change things?”
Jamal nodded. “Protesting is just one step. Now, we educate ourselves. We vote. We support Black businesses. We hold leaders accountable.”
Maya tapped her fingers on the table. "I want to do more."
Jamal grinned. "Then do it."
That day, Maya started a blog, sharing stories from the march, spreading awareness. She signed petitions, joined discussions at school, and vowed to keep fighting—off the streets and into everyday life.
Because Black Lives Matter wasn’t just a protest. It was a promise.
---
Chapter 9: The Fire Inside
Months passed, but Maya never stopped. She organized a fundraiser for victims of police violence. She spoke at her school about systemic racism. She even wrote letters to city officials demanding police reform.
One day, she got an email.
Subject: You Inspired Me.
A girl from another school had read Maya’s blog and decided to start a Black Student Union.
Maya’s hands shook as she read the message. She was just one person, but her voice had reached someone. And that meant everything.
As she stepped outside, the wind carried whispers of chants from that day. She closed her eyes and let the memory wash over her.
The fire inside her burned brighter than ever.
And she wasn’t done yet.
---
Chapter 10: The Backlash
Maya’s blog was gaining attention. People from her school and beyond were reading her posts, sharing their own stories, and getting involved in the fight for justice.
But not everyone was supportive.
One morning, as she scrolled through the comments, her stomach dropped.
"You're just stirring up trouble."
"Police save lives. Why are you attacking them?"
"All Lives Matter."
Maya clenched her fists. She expected resistance, but seeing it written out made her chest tighten.
At school, she felt the stares. Some classmates avoided her in the halls. Others whispered behind her back.
"Don't let them get to you," Jamal said when she told him. "When you speak truth, some people will try to silence you. That just means you're making an impact."
Maya nodded, but doubt still gnawed at her. Could she really keep doing this?
That night, she got a message from a girl named Aisha:
"I read your blog. My brother was stopped by the police last year for no reason. I thought no one cared. Thank you for speaking up."
Maya stared at the message, her heart pounding. This was why she couldn’t stop.
She took a deep breath and started typing her next blog post.
---
Chapter 11: The School Walkout
The school hallway buzzed with whispers. The administration had ignored their request for a Black History assembly. Students had asked, emailed, even met with the principal—but nothing.
So Maya and her friends planned something bigger.
At exactly 10 a.m., dozens of students stood up and walked out of their classrooms.
Maya’s heart pounded as she stepped into the hallway. More students joined—Black, white, Latino, Asian—marching toward the front doors.
By the time they reached the courtyard, over a hundred students stood together, holding signs and chanting.
"No justice, no peace!"
Teachers peered from the windows. The principal stormed outside, his face red. "Go back to class, now!"
Maya stepped forward, her voice steady. "We asked to be heard. You ignored us. So we’re making you listen."
The principal hesitated. The students weren’t moving.
A news van pulled up at the curb, cameras rolling.
Maya swallowed hard. She had never spoken on TV before. But as the reporter approached, she knew one thing—she was ready.
---
Chapter 12: The Movement Grows
The school walkout made headlines.
Maya’s phone blew up with messages—some hateful, but many supportive. A local activist group reached out, inviting her to speak at a community event.
The night of the event, Maya stood on a small stage, her hands trembling. The crowd waited.
She thought about Jamal. About the march. About Aisha, the girl who had messaged her.
She gripped the mic. "I used to think I wasn’t powerful enough to make change. But I was wrong. Every voice matters. And we won’t stop until justice isn’t just a dream—it’s reality."
Applause erupted. Maya felt the fire inside her grow.
This wasn’t just her fight anymore.
It was a movement.
And she was just getting started.
---
Chapter 13: The Cost of Change
The morning after the walkout, Maya arrived at school to find her locker vandalized.
Red marker scrawled across the metal: "Shut up. No one cares."
Her stomach twisted. She felt eyes on her, some curious, some smug. A group of students snickered as they walked past.
Jamal’s words echoed in her mind: When you speak truth, some people will try to silence you.
She pulled out her phone and snapped a picture.
By lunchtime, it was trending.
THIS is why we protest. she captioned it. You try to erase us, but we’re louder than ever.
Messages flooded in. Some supportive. Some cruel.
Her hands trembled. Was she strong enough for this?
Then, a familiar voice broke through her thoughts.
“We got your back, Maya.”
She turned to see Aisha, along with a group of students—Black, white, Latino, Asian—all standing with her.
Aisha held up a marker. “Let’s fix this.”
One by one, they covered the hateful message with words of their own: HOPE. UNITY. JUSTICE. BLACK LIVES MATTER.
Maya exhaled, the weight in her chest lifting.
They weren’t backing down.
---
Chapter 14: The Invitation
Two weeks after the protest, Maya got an email that made her heart race.
Subject: We Need Your Voice.
It was from a civil rights organization, inviting her to a youth panel in Washington, D.C. They had seen the walkout. The speeches. The impact she was making.
She reread the email twice.
"Jamal," she said, barely breathing. "They want me to speak in D.C."
Jamal’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?!”
Their mom looked up from the kitchen table. “Maya, that’s huge!”
But doubt crept in. “What if I mess up? What if I say the wrong thing?”
Jamal crossed his arms. “You’ve been speaking up this whole time. This is just a bigger stage.”
Maya thought back to the first protest, how her hands had trembled holding that sign. How she had found her voice, step by step.
She took a deep breath and typed her reply.
"I’d be honored to speak."
---
Chapter 15: The Speech Heard Everywhere
The bright lights made Maya’s pulse quicken. She stood backstage, gripping her speech, her heart pounding louder than the applause from the previous speaker.
She peeked out at the massive audience. Activists. Leaders. Young people like her.
“You’re up next,” a staff member whispered.
Maya stepped forward. The stage felt huge. The microphone felt heavy.
Then she looked into the crowd—and spotted a little girl in the front row, watching her with wide, hopeful eyes.
Maya took a deep breath.
“My name is Maya Daniels, and I am sixteen years old.” Her voice rang out. “I never thought I’d be standing here. I used to think change was something that only adults could make. But I was wrong.”
She looked around, meeting the eyes of the people listening.
“We are the change,” she continued. “Every march. Every post. Every conversation. Every time we refuse to stay silent, we are pushing history forward.”
The audience was still, hanging on her words.
“We are not just a moment. We are a movement. And we are just getting started.”
Applause erupted. Cheers. Maya stepped back, heart racing, eyes shining.
She had found her voice.
And she was never letting go.
---
The End of the story.
---
Page 1
The discuss was thick with warm and pressure as Maya stood at the edge of the swarm, holding a cardboard sign with striking, dark letters: Dark LIVES MATTER.
She had painted the words herself that morning, the brush strokes overwhelming with reason. Around her, the roads of Chicago beat with energyâchants, strides, car horns in back. The individuals moved as one, their voices rising against bad form.
Maya had never been to a challenge some time recently. At sixteen, she had continuously observed from the sidelinesâon TV, on social mediaâuntil the day her more seasoned brother, Jamal, was ceased by the police for "coordinating a depiction." No charges. No wrongdoing. Just another Dark boy within the off-base put at the off-base time.
Jamal came domestic that night, shaken but noiseless. Their mother had embraced him firmly, whispering, "I'm fair happy you're secure." But Maya couldn't shake the fear in her brother's eyes. She knew she couldn't remain quiet any longer.
And so, she stood here presently, heart beating, sign raised tall.
---
Page 2
As the walk moved forward, Maya felt a surge of pride. She was encompassed by individuals of all ages, races, and backgroundsâstudents, guardians, eldersâunited for one cause. The chants resounded in her chest.
"Say his title!" somebody yelled.
"GEORGE FLOYD!" the swarm reacted.
Maya's throat fixed. The stories were endlessâBreonna Taylor, Tamir Rice, Sandra Blandânames that ought to have been living, breathing dreams, not hashtags.
Abruptly, a voice broke through the commotion.
"Hello, kid!"
Maya turned to see an more seasoned lady, her gray twists bouncing as she grinned. "To begin with dissent?"
Maya gestured.
The lady tapped her bear. "You're making history, sweetheart. Keep that fire lively."
A warmth spread through Maya's chest. She wasn't fair here for Jamal. She was here for all of them.
At that point, a commotion ejected up aheadâpolice shaping a blockade, pressures rising. Maya's beat animated.
But the lady adjacent to her held firm. "We stand together," she whispered.
Maya gestured, holding her sign more tightly.
---
Page 3
The sun plunged underneath the horizon, but the walk didnât halt.
Maya saw a small boy on his fatherâs shoulders, chanting with all his might. She saw an craftsman spray-painting a wall painting: "No Equity, No Peace." She saw hands clasped, outsiders turned into family.
This development was greater than her, greater than any one individual. It was almost equity. It was approximately cherish. It was almost making beyond any doubt no one else had tolive in fear because of the color of their skin.
As Maya strolled domestic that night, her sign was bowed at the corners, her voice rough, her heart full.
She knew one thing for certain.
This was as it were the starting.
---
Chapter 4: The First Step
The air was thick with heat and tension as Maya stood at the edge of the crowd, gripping a cardboard sign with bold, black letters: BLACK LIVES MATTER.
She had painted the words herself that morning, the brush strokes heavy with purpose. Around her, the streets of Chicago pulsed with energy—chants, footsteps, car horns in support. The people moved as one, their voices rising against injustice.
Maya had never been to a protest before. At sixteen, she had always watched from the sidelines—on TV, on social media—until the day her older brother, Jamal, was stopped by the police for "matching a description." No charges. No crime. Just another Black boy in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Jamal came home that night, shaken but silent. Their mother had hugged him tightly, whispering, "I'm just glad you're safe." But Maya couldn't shake the fear in her brother's eyes. She knew she couldn't stay silent anymore.
And so, she stood here now, heart pounding, sign raised high.
---
Chapter 5: The Power of Many
As the march moved forward, Maya felt a surge of pride. She was surrounded by people of all ages, races, and backgrounds—students, parents, elders—united for one cause. The chants echoed in her chest.
"Say his name!" someone shouted.
"GEORGE FLOYD!" the crowd responded.
Maya's throat tightened. The stories were endless—Breonna Taylor, Tamir Rice, Sandra Bland—names that should have been living, breathing dreams, not hashtags.
Suddenly, a voice broke through the noise.
"Hey, kid!"
Maya turned to see an older woman, her gray curls bouncing as she smiled. "First protest?"
Maya nodded.
The woman patted her shoulder. "You're making history, sweetheart. Keep that fire alive."
A warmth spread through Maya's chest. She wasn’t just here for Jamal. She was here for all of them.
Then, a commotion erupted up ahead—police forming a barricade, tensions rising. Maya's pulse quickened.
But the woman beside her held firm. "We stand together," she whispered.
Maya nodded, gripping her sign tighter.
---
Chapter 6: When Fear Stands in the Way
The police line was growing. Officers in riot gear blocked the street, gripping batons. The chanting wavered, uncertainty spreading through the crowd.
Maya felt her breath hitch. What if they started pushing people? What if things turned violent?
She saw a teenage boy a few feet ahead—probably her age—raising his hands. "We’re peaceful!" he shouted. "Hands up, don’t shoot!"
The crowd followed: "Hands up, don’t shoot!"
Maya forced herself to breathe. Fear clawed at her, but she had come too far to turn back. She looked at the woman beside her, then at the people around her—standing, unshaken, determined.
She swallowed hard and lifted her voice. "Hands up, don’t shoot!"
The chant caught fire.
---
Chapter 7: More Than a Moment
Hours later, the sun dipped below the skyline, but the march didn’t stop. Maya’s feet ached, her voice was hoarse, but she felt alive.
She saw a little boy on his father’s shoulders, chanting with all his might. She saw an artist spray-painting a mural: "No Justice, No Peace." She saw hands clasped, strangers turned into family.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out—Jamal’s name on the screen.
"Are you okay?" he texted.
Maya smiled and snapped a photo of the march. "I’m here. For you. For all of us."
A few seconds later, Jamal replied: "Proud of you, lil sis."
Her heart swelled. This wasn’t just a moment. It was a movement.
And Maya wasn’t going to stop.
---
Chapter 8: Beyond the Streets
The next morning, Maya sat at the kitchen table, scrolling through pictures from the march. Her sign leaned against the wall, a reminder of what she had stood for.
But as the protest faded into memory, something nagged at her.
“What happens now?” she asked Jamal.
He looked up from his cereal. “What do you mean?”
“The protest was powerful, but…what’s next? How do we actually change things?”
Jamal nodded. “Protesting is just one step. Now, we educate ourselves. We vote. We support Black businesses. We hold leaders accountable.”
Maya tapped her fingers on the table. "I want to do more."
Jamal grinned. "Then do it."
That day, Maya started a blog, sharing stories from the march, spreading awareness. She signed petitions, joined discussions at school, and vowed to keep fighting—off the streets and into everyday life.
Because Black Lives Matter wasn’t just a protest. It was a promise.
---
Chapter 9: The Fire Inside
Months passed, but Maya never stopped. She organized a fundraiser for victims of police violence. She spoke at her school about systemic racism. She even wrote letters to city officials demanding police reform.
One day, she got an email.
Subject: You Inspired Me.
A girl from another school had read Maya’s blog and decided to start a Black Student Union.
Maya’s hands shook as she read the message. She was just one person, but her voice had reached someone. And that meant everything.
As she stepped outside, the wind carried whispers of chants from that day. She closed her eyes and let the memory wash over her.
The fire inside her burned brighter than ever.
And she wasn’t done yet.
---
Chapter 10: The Backlash
Maya’s blog was gaining attention. People from her school and beyond were reading her posts, sharing their own stories, and getting involved in the fight for justice.
But not everyone was supportive.
One morning, as she scrolled through the comments, her stomach dropped.
"You're just stirring up trouble."
"Police save lives. Why are you attacking them?"
"All Lives Matter."
Maya clenched her fists. She expected resistance, but seeing it written out made her chest tighten.
At school, she felt the stares. Some classmates avoided her in the halls. Others whispered behind her back.
"Don't let them get to you," Jamal said when she told him. "When you speak truth, some people will try to silence you. That just means you're making an impact."
Maya nodded, but doubt still gnawed at her. Could she really keep doing this?
That night, she got a message from a girl named Aisha:
"I read your blog. My brother was stopped by the police last year for no reason. I thought no one cared. Thank you for speaking up."
Maya stared at the message, her heart pounding. This was why she couldn’t stop.
She took a deep breath and started typing her next blog post.
---
Chapter 11: The School Walkout
The school hallway buzzed with whispers. The administration had ignored their request for a Black History assembly. Students had asked, emailed, even met with the principal—but nothing.
So Maya and her friends planned something bigger.
At exactly 10 a.m., dozens of students stood up and walked out of their classrooms.
Maya’s heart pounded as she stepped into the hallway. More students joined—Black, white, Latino, Asian—marching toward the front doors.
By the time they reached the courtyard, over a hundred students stood together, holding signs and chanting.
"No justice, no peace!"
Teachers peered from the windows. The principal stormed outside, his face red. "Go back to class, now!"
Maya stepped forward, her voice steady. "We asked to be heard. You ignored us. So we’re making you listen."
The principal hesitated. The students weren’t moving.
A news van pulled up at the curb, cameras rolling.
Maya swallowed hard. She had never spoken on TV before. But as the reporter approached, she knew one thing—she was ready.
---
Chapter 12: The Movement Grows
The school walkout made headlines.
Maya’s phone blew up with messages—some hateful, but many supportive. A local activist group reached out, inviting her to speak at a community event.
The night of the event, Maya stood on a small stage, her hands trembling. The crowd waited.
She thought about Jamal. About the march. About Aisha, the girl who had messaged her.
She gripped the mic. "I used to think I wasn’t powerful enough to make change. But I was wrong. Every voice matters. And we won’t stop until justice isn’t just a dream—it’s reality."
Applause erupted. Maya felt the fire inside her grow.
This wasn’t just her fight anymore.
It was a movement.
And she was just getting started.
---
Chapter 13: The Cost of Change
The morning after the walkout, Maya arrived at school to find her locker vandalized.
Red marker scrawled across the metal: "Shut up. No one cares."
Her stomach twisted. She felt eyes on her, some curious, some smug. A group of students snickered as they walked past.
Jamal’s words echoed in her mind: When you speak truth, some people will try to silence you.
She pulled out her phone and snapped a picture.
By lunchtime, it was trending.
THIS is why we protest. she captioned it. You try to erase us, but we’re louder than ever.
Messages flooded in. Some supportive. Some cruel.
Her hands trembled. Was she strong enough for this?
Then, a familiar voice broke through her thoughts.
“We got your back, Maya.”
She turned to see Aisha, along with a group of students—Black, white, Latino, Asian—all standing with her.
Aisha held up a marker. “Let’s fix this.”
One by one, they covered the hateful message with words of their own: HOPE. UNITY. JUSTICE. BLACK LIVES MATTER.
Maya exhaled, the weight in her chest lifting.
They weren’t backing down.
---
Chapter 14: The Invitation
Two weeks after the protest, Maya got an email that made her heart race.
Subject: We Need Your Voice.
It was from a civil rights organization, inviting her to a youth panel in Washington, D.C. They had seen the walkout. The speeches. The impact she was making.
She reread the email twice.
"Jamal," she said, barely breathing. "They want me to speak in D.C."
Jamal’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?!”
Their mom looked up from the kitchen table. “Maya, that’s huge!”
But doubt crept in. “What if I mess up? What if I say the wrong thing?”
Jamal crossed his arms. “You’ve been speaking up this whole time. This is just a bigger stage.”
Maya thought back to the first protest, how her hands had trembled holding that sign. How she had found her voice, step by step.
She took a deep breath and typed her reply.
"I’d be honored to speak."
---
Chapter 15: The Speech Heard Everywhere
The bright lights made Maya’s pulse quicken. She stood backstage, gripping her speech, her heart pounding louder than the applause from the previous speaker.
She peeked out at the massive audience. Activists. Leaders. Young people like her.
“You’re up next,” a staff member whispered.
Maya stepped forward. The stage felt huge. The microphone felt heavy.
Then she looked into the crowd—and spotted a little girl in the front row, watching her with wide, hopeful eyes.
Maya took a deep breath.
“My name is Maya Daniels, and I am sixteen years old.” Her voice rang out. “I never thought I’d be standing here. I used to think change was something that only adults could make. But I was wrong.”
She looked around, meeting the eyes of the people listening.
“We are the change,” she continued. “Every march. Every post. Every conversation. Every time we refuse to stay silent, we are pushing history forward.”
The audience was still, hanging on her words.
“We are not just a moment. We are a movement. And we are just getting started.”
Applause erupted. Cheers. Maya stepped back, heart racing, eyes shining.
She had found her voice.
And she was never letting go.
---
The End of the story.
Comments (2)
This is not AI but mastered by AI
Is this book AI written?