The sirens faded into the distance, leaving only the sound of Jamal’s heavy breathing and the faint murmurs of curious neighbors. He sat on the curb, hands trembling, eyes vacant, the flashing red and blue lights still dancing behind his eyelids.

He hadn’t done anything wrong.

He never did.

It was supposed to be just another Tuesday. Wake up at six, quick shower, grab breakfast from the corner store, and clock in at the auto shop before the manager started scowling.

But today… today he forgot his wallet.

That single mistake changed everything.

On his way back home to get it, he ran into Marcus—an old friend from high school, the kind that always walked a thin line between trouble and troublemaker.

"Need a ride?" Marcus asked.

Jamal hesitated. He was already late, and the buses were useless today.

"Yeah. Just to the shop on 54th," he said.

Marcus nodded. "Hop in."

The car ride lasted all of six minutes.

Then came the flashing lights.

Police. Sirens. Orders to step out.

Confused but calm, Jamal obeyed. Hands up. No sudden movements.

But Marcus… he twitched. Nervous. That kind of nervous that says guilty. That kind of nervous that gets you hurt.

“What’s the problem, officer?” Jamal asked, trying to keep things level.

They didn’t answer.

The officer popped the trunk.

Then the glove box.

Then the underside of the seat.

A gun.

Unregistered. Loaded.

Jamal didn’t even know it was there.

---

At the station, he sat alone for hours. Cold metal chair. Buzzing fluorescent light. Silent judgment from across the table.

He explained everything. Calmly. Honestly.

Still, their eyes said, You’re lying.

Marcus eventually confessed.

“It’s mine,” he admitted. “He didn’t know anything. I swear.”

They let Jamal go.

No charges. No apology.

But outside, life had already changed.

---

At home, his mother met him at the door, worry etched across her face.

“The shop called,” she said quietly. “They heard about… what happened.”

Jamal looked at her, ashamed of something he didn’t do.

“Ma… I didn’t—”

“I know,” she whispered. “But they don’t.”

---

Later, as the city lights flickered on and the sky turned grey-blue, Jamal sat by the window, watching cars pass like thoughts.

He wasn’t angry.

Just tired.

Tired of being seen before he could speak. Judged before he could move.

Because sometimes, being innocent isn’t

enough.

Not when you fit the description.

Not when you’re just a victim of circumstance.