Maya stood at the edge of the crowd, her heart pounding in her chest, a mix of fear and defiance. The protest stretched out before her like a river of humanity, its currents alive with chants and signs that carried messages of pain and hope. She had never done anything like this before, never stood shoulder to shoulder with strangers in the streets, demanding change. But when she heard the news about George Floyd, when she saw the footage, it was as if the weight of the world had pressed down on her chest. Her whole life felt like a series of small injustices, like cracks in the pavement she had learned to step over. But this—this was different. She could no longer step aside.

"Say his name!" the crowd roared in unison, their voices a powerful wave of collective grief.

"George Floyd!" Maya shouted, the words tearing from her throat with a force she didn’t know she had.

Her fists clenched at her sides, and her eyes scanned the faces around her. People of all ages, all backgrounds, all standing together for one cause. There was a solidarity here she hadn’t known existed—a bond forged from years of struggle, years of silence finally broken. But beneath that unity was a quiet fear. What would happen today? Would the police show up in force? Would they be met with violence or peace? She had heard the stories, seen the footage of protests turning into battlegrounds. There was no guarantee of safety here.

But there was no turning back.

She had walked to the protest alone, her sneakers crunching against the pavement, but the moment she had arrived, the moment she stepped into the crowd, she was no longer alone. Someone passed her a sign. Someone else clapped her on the back, offering a reassuring smile. She didn’t know these people, but in this moment, it didn’t matter. They were her people. They shared her anger. Her frustration. Her desire for justice. Together, they were louder than the violence, stronger than the hate.

A young man standing next to her raised his fist in the air, his face a mixture of determination and exhaustion. “We have to keep going,” he said to no one in particular, but his voice carried. “We can’t let them forget.”

Maya nodded, the weight of the words settling deep within her. We can’t let them forget. The phrase had been echoed across social media, across news outlets, across the hearts of countless people. But what did it really mean? What was it going to take to make them hear?

She thought of her younger brother, Jalen, who had asked her that morning why she was going to the protest. “Are you scared?” he had asked, his voice small, his eyes wide with the innocence of youth.

Maya had smiled at him, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m scared every day, Jalen,” she said, her voice steady. “But if I don’t fight, who will?”

Now, as she stood in the thick of the protest, surrounded by voices that demanded justice, she understood. She was fighting for Jalen. For all the children who shouldn’t have to grow up in a world where they feared the color of their skin. For her father, who had taught her the importance of standing tall even when it felt impossible. For the generations before her who had fought and lost and fought again.

“Hands up! Don’t shoot!” the chant began to ripple through the crowd, and Maya joined in, her voice breaking through the tension, her body caught in the movement of thousands.

She wasn’t just protesting for George Floyd. She was protesting for every black life that had been stolen, for every person who had been treated as less than, for every injustice that had been ignored. She was protesting for a future where the names of victims didn’t have to be shouted in the streets for them to matter.

The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the asphalt. The crowd was getting louder, more fervent. Maya’s throat hurt from the chants, but her spirit felt stronger than ever. In this moment, surrounded by the strength of so many, she knew that the fight wasn’t over. It was just beginning.

She closed her eyes for a second, letting the sound of the crowd wash over her. The fear she had felt earlier—about what might happen, about what the world might think—faded. There was only one thing that mattered now.

We can’t let them forget.