Aaayafuj steps from his family’s apartment, shoulders hunched against the morning chill. His skin is a warm, rich brown—not the deepest black, but a gentle, earthy shade that glows in the sunlight, hinting at his Ethiopian heritage. He adjusts his backpack, glancing at the sky, his dark curls bouncing gently as he walks.

Mikiyas, a tall boy with a quick smile, waves to Aaayafuj. "You’re late again, man. Slept in?" "My alarm hates me," he jokes, falling in step with Mikiyas. The two exchange grins, their voices blending with the city’s morning rhythm.

Aaayafuj slides into his usual spot beneath the tree, the purple flowers scattering across his shoes. Sara, a girl with a gap-toothed smile, joins them, her eyes shining with mischief. "What’s the plan after class? Café or the park?" "Only if Aaayafuj promises to tell us why he’s always daydreaming," teases Mikiyas. Aaayafuj laughs, shaking his head.

Aaayafuj gazes out the window, his thoughts drifting. He thinks about his skin—a color that sometimes makes him invisible, other times a point of curiosity. He remembers his mother’s words: “You are the color of our land, the stories of our people.” He turns his hand in the sunlight, watching the way his skin glows softly, proud of being Habesha.

Aaayafuj walks home with Mikiyas and Sara, laughter trailing behind them. They talk about music, dreams, and what it means to belong. "One day, I’ll show the world what Habesha really means," Aaayafuj says, his voice steady with hope.

Aaayafuj sits at the table, his mother placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. In this moment, he feels seen, his unique shade a blend of history and promise. He closes his eyes, listening to the sounds of his home, grateful for the skin he’s in.