Red Light…. Part 1
Nubia eased off the brake and merged into traffic, the glow of the city stretching ahead of her like a promise. In the rearview mirror, she checked once—nothing. Twice—there it was.
The black sedan.
Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
“That’s weird,” she muttered to herself. Professor Blount had been headed straight, hadn’t he? She made a right turn she didn’t need to make, cutting down a narrower street lined with brownstones and dim streetlamps.
The sedan followed.
Her heart thudded, slow at first, then faster. She laughed under her breath, trying to brush it off. Relax. He probably lives this way. Still, her foot pressed a little harder on the gas.
At the next intersection, Nubia signaled left—then at the last second, turned right.
The sedan corrected smoothly.
Her stomach dropped.
She reached for her phone, pretending to check directions, when it buzzed in her hand. An unknown number.
Blount: Didn’t mean to make you nervous. I just wanted to ask you something.
Nubia’s eyes flicked back to the mirror. The sedan’s headlights glared at her like unblinking eyes.
She typed back quickly.
Nubia: Ask me in class, professor.
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
Blount: It’s about your paper. I think you’re underestimating how closely I read.
Her jaw clenched. She switched lanes abruptly, slipping between two taxis, and finally the sedan slowed—then stopped at a yellow light she barely made.
Relief washed over her, shaky and incomplete.
But just as she exhaled, her phone buzzed again.
Blount: Drive safe, Nubia. We’ll talk soon.
She didn’t reply. She didn’t look back again.
When she finally pulled into her building’s garage, the silence felt louder than the traffic outside. Nubia sat there for a long moment, engine off, hands still gripping the wheel.
Whatever that was—
—it wasn’t just about a paper anymore.
Nubia stood in the mirror, lip gloss halfway twisted up, one heel on and the other dangling from her toes. The bass from somewhere down the block thumped through her window—the party was already alive. She reached for her phone, ready to text the girls.
It vibrated first.
Blount.
Her smile faded instantly.
“Why is he still texting me?” she whispered, annoyance mixing with unease. She hesitated, then opened it.
The message sat there, bold and unapologetic.
Blount:
I saw you turn onto Waverly earlier. You live closer than I thought.
You look even better outside the classroom. It’s hard not to notice a student like you.
Her stomach twisted.
She reread it once. Twice. Hoping she’d misunderstood. Hoping there was some academic angle she’d missed.
There wasn’t.
Her gloss snapped shut. Nubia dropped onto the edge of the bed, heartbeat loud in her ears. The room suddenly felt smaller, the music outside less exciting, almost mocking.
“That’s… not okay,” she said aloud, her voice thin.
Another buzz.
Blount:
Relax. I’m not crossing any lines. Just appreciating what’s in front of me.
Enjoy your night.
Her fingers hovered over the screen, anger and fear battling for control. She wanted to curse him out. Wanted to screenshot everything. Wanted to disappear all at once.
Instead, she locked the phone and tossed it face-down on the bed like it had burned her.
For the first time since she’d transferred to NYU, Nubia questioned every smile in class, every “office hours” reminder, every casual comment he’d ever made.
She slipped the other heel off.
The party could wait.
Right now, she needed her homegirls—not for fun, but for backup.
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Reading "Red Light" reminds me of the unsettling experience many face when a trusted figure blurs professional boundaries. Like Nubia, I once felt uneasy when a colleague’s behavior shifted from formal to intrusive. It starts small — a message that seems innocent, a chance meeting — but then you notice patterns that don’t sit right. Nubia’s instincts to evade and seek support from friends resonate deeply; it’s crucial to listen to that inner voice. In city environments, especially near universities, feeling safe isn’t guaranteed. Tracking movements, unexpected messages, and a persistent presence in traffic are subtle warning signs of harassment that too many silently endure. This story highlights how academic settings, ideally safe and nurturing, can sometimes harbor uncomfortable power dynamics. Nubia’s choice to protect herself by not responding and reaching out to her 'homegirls' underlines the importance of community in navigating such situations. Having a support system can provide both emotional comfort and practical assistance. If you ever find yourself in a scenario like Nubia’s, remember these steps: trust your gut, document interactions, avoid isolation, and don’t hesitate to involve authorities or campus support services. Stories like this one serve as crucial reminders that no one should tolerate intimidation, regardless of the messenger’s status. Sharing personal stories empowers others to recognize and confront inappropriate behavior early. "Red Light" is more than fiction; it’s a reflection of real experiences that many face and a call to be vigilant and supportive of each other.
Yasssss love this! Did you write this?