"Nayla, you're live in thirty seconds."Marcus's voice crackled through my headphones. I pulled the microphone closer, checking my levels one more time. The studio was small, basically a closet with soundproofing and a mixing board that still had sticky keys from three years of iced coffee spills, but it was mine. For the next hour, at least."Got it," I replied, clicking my pen against the desk out of habit. A nervous tic I couldn't break.The campus radio station sat in the basement of the communications building. Three in the afternoon on a Wednesday meant my show, "Real Talk with Nayla," pulled maybe two hundred listeners on a good day. Most of them were probably working out in the gym, half-listening while they ran on treadmills. But I didn't care about the numbers. I cared about the truth. And on campus, truth was becoming a luxury.The theme music swelled—lo-fi hip-hop that I'd chosen specifically because it felt honest. Unpretentious. Not like most of the polished garbage that
Last Updated : 2026-06-09 Read more