After Noah and Riley picked up Lily, Ji Ah, and the others for school, the house fell quiet again. The sound of laughter and car doors slamming faded, leaving only the hum of the refrigerator and the distant murmur of the neighborhood.
Kemet sat still on the couch, the TV off, his hands resting on his knees. For a long time, he simply breathed—listening to the silence as if it might offer him an answer.
This peace is sweet, he thought. But peace without a plan is just a pause.
Catherine's face flashed in his mind—the look she'd given him before she left. Not cruel, not loud. But clear. A look that said You're not supposed to be here. You don't belong.
And maybe she wasn't wrong.
Kemet rose to his feet, walking slowly around the living room. His fingers brushed over the edge of the dining table, the smooth glass of the TV screen, and finally, the sleek phone Lily had left charging on the counter.
Everyone seemed to move through this world with one of these tiny, glowing windows—always tapping, swiping, speaking into them. They weren't just tools. They were gateways. Power.
And Kemet had none.
He sat at the kitchen table and stared at the phone, not touching it. Just thinking.
If I'm going to survive here… if I'm going to be more than a shadow in someone else's house, I need to learn.
He opened a drawer and pulled out a notepad Lily had scribbled grocery items on, along with a pen. He held it for a moment like it was something sacred.
Back in his time, holding a pen could cost a slave their fingers—or worse.
But now? He had this moment. This chance.
Kemet pressed the tip to paper and slowly traced the letters he remembered from watching TV: A… B… C…
Each letter was a rebellion. Each line, a step away from the chains of his past.
He whispered to himself as he wrote. "I don't want to be helpless… I want to become someone."
For a week, Kemet lived a double life. By day, he helped around the house, kept his head down, and made himself useful. But whenever he was alone, he returned to the little notepad tucked beneath the couch cushions like it was a buried treasure.
Each letter he wrote was clumsy, crooked, almost childlike. But every day, they got a little better. He practiced the way he'd seen kids in parks do it on tablets, sounding out words he heard on the TV or read from cereal boxes.
His hand was steady, his mind sharper than ever.
Then, one afternoon, the front door opened unexpectedly. Kemet panicked—shoving the notepad behind a throw pillow. But it was too late.
Maya stood in the doorway, a grocery bag in one hand and a puzzled look on her face.
"Kemet?" she said slowly. "What… were you doing just now?"
"N-nothing," he stammered, standing awkwardly. "Just… doodling."
"Doodling," she echoed, eyebrow raised. She stepped forward, pulled the pillow aside, and lifted the notepad.
What she saw made her pause—rows of shaky letters, some scratched out, others carefully rewritten. It looked like a toddler's schoolwork. But she wasn't smiling.
"You're learning to read and write," she said flatly.
Kemet shifted his weight. "I—I just wanted to try. It's nothing important."
Maya gave him a long, hard stare. "Kemet… how come you don't already know how?"
He looked away. "I never needed to."
"That's not an answer," she said, crossing her arms. "Seriously—what's going on with you?"
"I can't explain," he said. "Not yet."
"Then here's the deal," Maya said, lowering her voice. "I'll help you. I'll teach you to read and write properly. You need it. But in exchange… you tell me the truth. All of it."
Kemet blinked. "I… I need to ask Lily first. I can't—"
"No," Maya cut in. "Lily wouldn't let you tell me. That's why I'm asking you directly. Either you make the deal, or I tell her about your secret school sessions right now."
Kemet stared at her, torn. His heart thudded. This was dangerous. But something in Maya's expression wasn't mocking or cruel. It was curious. Sincere.
"Why do you care?" he asked quietly.
Maya gave a half-shrug. "Because I think there's more to you than you're letting on. And I hate not knowing. Besides… I'm a sucker for secrets."
A long silence hung between them. Then Kemet nodded slowly.
"Okay. "The following days unfolded in quiet rhythm—Maya arriving earlier than the others, slipping through the front door like a conspirator with a secret. She and Kemet would sit at the small dining table, sunlight streaking through the window like golden threads, their heads bowed over a shared notebook. It felt sacred somehow—like the beginning of something neither of them had words for.
Maya had always dreamed of becoming a teacher. And though this wasn't a classroom and there was no chalkboard, she approached each lesson with purpose. Patient. Encouraging. Always gentle.
"Alright," she said one afternoon, brushing her curls from her eyes. The laptop was open beside her, notes scrawled in the margins. "Today… let's build sentences."
Kemet nodded, fingers tight around the pencil like it might jump out of his hand. The tip trembled, but his gaze stayed locked—sharp and steady.
Maya guided him through the first line. Then the second. And with every word, she noticed something strange… remarkable. His recall was flawless. Once she showed him something, he never forgot it.
"You weren't kidding," she whispered, eyes wide. "You really do remember everything."
"I had to," Kemet murmured, voice low. "Where I come from… memory was the only freedom we had."
She paused, then glanced up. "You mean… your deal? The truth?"
He hesitated. Looked at her, then looked away. And in that silence, something shifted. The invisible weight he always carried began to lift—just a little.
"I was born on a farm," he said slowly. "In Ravenbrook. But not this Ravenbrook."
Maya frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean… not in this time. I was born over two hundred years ago. According to Lily, this is the year 2025. But the Ravenbrook I knew... wasn't friendly to people with skin like mine or yours."
She leaned back in her chair, stunned. "You're… you're joking, right?"
"I wish I were," Kemet replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was a slave. Property. One day I escaped. I ran through the woods until I saw this... light. Like a rip in the air. Lily said it was a portal."
Maya's mouth hung slightly open.
"I walked through it," Kemet continued, "and I ended up in your world. That's when Ms. Catherine hit me with her car. Instead of taking me to a hospital… she brought me here."
Maya was silent. Processing.
"This isn't… some metaphor for trauma or a story you made up to hide something else?" she asked carefully.
"No," Kemet said. "This is the truth."
Still, she didn't laugh. Didn't scoff. She reached instead for the notebook and stared at the perfectly formed letters he'd written.
"Well, damn," she whispered. "That… actually explains a lot."
Kemet's face didn't change much, but something softened in his shoulders. He hadn't told the whole story—not yet—but the door had opened.
Maya sat back slowly, eyes still locked on him. "So you're a two-hundred-year-old time-traveling former slave… learning how to write and leaving in my best friend's house?"
"Yes."
She let out a breath, smiling a little despite herself. "Alright. Well then… let's make sure you spell that correctly."
But beneath her smirk, confusion danced in her eyes. Maybe she believed him. Maybe she didn't. But for now, she played along.
And for now… that was enough.