CHAPTER ONE
---
Mondays and Microwave Meals
The rain had a rhythm in London—soft and steady, like a lullaby meant to keep the city half-asleep. Rita Felix tugged her hoodie over her braids and stepped out of the cramped flat she shared with her cousin in Peckham. The wind slapped her in the face, and for a moment, she wished she'd stayed in bed. But lectures didn't wait, and neither did dreams.
Her phone buzzed.
Joy: "Don't forget your umbrella. Or your smile."
Rita smiled in spite of herself. Joy always knew what to say.
By the time Rita reached the bus stop, her trainers were already soaked. She boarded the number 12 to Westminster, where her university towered like a promise she wasn't sure she believed in anymore. As the bus rolled forward, she pulled out her earbuds and stared out the window. The city moved like a machine—relentless, loud, demanding.
Twenty.
She was twenty now. No longer a teenager, but nowhere near the adult she'd once imagined.
Back home, her mum had called that morning with a sharp reminder:
"Rita, don't forget we didn't come to this country for you to mess about. Law is not beans, o."
"Okay, Mum," she had mumbled, already too tired to argue.
At lunch, Joy joined her on campus, carrying two soggy Tesco sandwiches and a grin like she didn't just work an early shift at the corner store.
"You didn't sleep again," Rita said, eyeing the bags under her friend's eyes.
Joy shrugged. "Dreams don't chase themselves, babes."
They sat on the damp steps behind the library, unbothered by the drizzle. For them, this was normal—talking about big dreams over cheap food and borrowed time. Joy talked about an art exhibit she wanted to apply to. Rita pretended she still cared about becoming a lawyer.
"You ever feel like we're pretending?" Joy asked suddenly.
Rita looked up. "What do you mean?"
"Like… this whole adult thing. Like we're just guessing and hoping no one notices."
Rita laughed. Not because it was funny, but because it was true. And painful.
"Every single day," she said
Chapter Two: Quiet Cracks
Joy hated mirrors. Not because she didn't like how she looked—but because they always showed her everything she was trying to hide.
She stood in the backroom of ValueMart, peeling off her green apron and wiping sweat from her forehead. Her manager had made her restock the entire cleaning supplies aisle alone. Again.
"You okay, Joy?" asked Samira, a fellow cashier who was always too kind for this world.
"Yeah," Joy lied. "Just tired."
It was always easier to say "tired" than to explain the knot in her chest that never seemed to leave. The anxious buzzing in her head. The guilt of not painting for over a week. The fear that maybe she just wasn't good enough for the kind of life she wanted.
She walked home through Brixton, her boots crunching against gravel and old dreams. Her flat was quiet—her mum had gone to work, night shift at the care home again. Joy sat on the floor of her small bedroom, facing her easel. A half-finished canvas stared back at her.
A girl with gold skin and wide, tearless eyes.
Unfinished—just like everything else in Joy's life.
Her phone rang. Rita.
"You sound tired," Rita said the second Joy answered.
"Gee, thanks. You too."
They both laughed.
"I'm thinking of quitting Law," Rita said abruptly.
Joy sat up straighter. "Wait—what?"
"I just… I don't even know if I'm doing this for me or for my mum. I haven't slept properly in weeks."
Joy wanted to say something wise. Something helpful. But all she could do was listen.
"I'm scared," Rita admitted. "I don't know who I am without the plan."
Joy took a deep breath.
"Then maybe it's time we stop following plans and start following truth," she said quietly.
There was silence. Then Rita laughed.
"That's deep for someone who still owes me dinner."
They stayed on the phone until Joy's eyelids got heavy. In the silence, their friendship did what it always did—filled the cracks with something like hope.
---
Chapter Three: Firsts and Fears
Friday nights used to mean something.
In sixth form, it meant cheap lip gloss, bus rides to house parties, and sneaking back home without getting caught. Now, at 20, Friday nights just meant work, Netflix, or anxiety-induced cleaning.
But this Friday was different.
Joy stood in front of the mirror, dressed in a vintage denim jacket and a black dress she hadn't worn since college. Rita had insisted they go out—"Not clubbing," she'd said, "just… out. Music. People. Real life."
"You sure I don't look like I'm trying too hard?" Joy asked, staring at her reflection.
"You look like someone who's tired of staying invisible," Rita replied, already applying lip gloss in Joy's tiny bathroom.
They ended up at an underground poetry event in Shoreditch—one of those dimly lit spaces filled with mismatched chairs, free spirits, and the kind of vulnerability that made strangers feel like family. A soft beat played under someone's spoken-word performance.
As the poet on stage spoke about gentrification and grief, Rita watched the crowd. She loved how alive people looked when they were doing what they loved. She couldn't remember the last time she felt like that.
Joy was beaming, leaning forward, soaking in every word.
Then something happened.
A woman came on stage. Black braids, piercing eyes, paint-stained fingers. She introduced herself as Tessa Kane, a visual artist and poet. She spoke about fear, about choosing art over a stable job, about nearly giving up—but not.
Joy was silent. Still. Changed.
Rita leaned over. "You okay?"
Joy blinked. "That's me. That's literally my life on that stage."
Later, they met Tessa in the back, where she was selling prints and zines. Joy froze. Rita nudged her forward.
"Hi. I—I really loved your performance," Joy said.
Tessa smiled. "Thank you. Are you an artist too?"
Joy hesitated. Then nodded. "Trying to be."
Tessa handed her a card. "We've got a workshop next weekend. You should come."
For the first time in a long while, Joy felt something other than pressure in her chest. She felt possibility.
That night, as they walked back to the train station, Rita grabbed Joy's hand.
"Life's weird, innit?"
Joy smiled. "Yeah. But maybe weird is where the good stuff lives.
---
Chapter Four: The Room We Never Clean
Rita's room looked like her mind—chaotic, cluttered, unfinished.
Stacks of law textbooks lay untouched beside worn notebooks filled with poetry she never showed anyone. Her laptop blinked with tabs she didn't have the energy to read. Her essay was due in two days. She hadn't started.
Instead, she lay in bed, scrolling through pictures from the night before. Joy, smiling like she'd touched the future. Rita, caught mid-laugh, her eyes tired but alive.
She wished every night could feel like that. Like freedom. Like something real.
A knock on the door snapped her out of her thoughts. Her cousin Daniel poked his head in.
"Aunty called. She's asking if you got that internship."
Rita sighed. "Not yet. Still waiting to hear."
He nodded, hesitating. "You know she just wants you to win, yeah?"
"I know," she said. "I just don't know if her idea of winning is the same as mine."
After he left, Rita sat at her desk and opened a blank document. Then, instead of typing her essay, she opened a new tab and searched "how to switch from law to creative writing in uni".
For the first time, she didn't close the tab out of guilt.
Later, she called Joy.
"I think I want to quit. For real this time."
Joy was quiet on the other end. Then: "Then do it. Life's too short to live someone else's dream."
That night, Rita began writing—not an essay, not a plan—but a story.
About two girls in a big, messy city, trying to figure it all out.
And for the first time in a long while, the noise in her head softened.
---
Plot Summary for Life@20
Midpoint:
Joy begins attending Tessa Kane's art workshops, reigniting her passion. She starts working on a portfolio to apply to art school.
Rita, encouraged by Joy's bravery, seriously considers switching out of Law. She struggles with the fear of disappointing her mum.
Conflict:
Joy's mum finds out about her plan to quit work and go to art school. They fight. Joy moves out temporarily, staying with Rita.
Rita's grades drop. Her professor warns her she's at risk of academic probation.
A fallout brews when Joy is accepted into a prestigious art program—and doesn't tell Rita right away, fearing jealousy.
Climax:
They argue. Accusations fly. "You think I have it easy?" "You think I don't make sacrifices too?"
Both girls feel alone. Rita confronts her mother. Joy faces her fear and tells her mum about the offer.
Resolution:
Rita decides to take a gap year to explore writing and journalism. Her mum is disappointed, but a quiet respect begins to grow.
Joy leaves for a short art residency program in Manchester, promising to return.
The two reconnect at the train station before Joy leaves. They hug, stronger than