TL;DR: Mara Brock Akil’s reimagining of Judy Blume’s “Forever” is a love letter to Black adolescence that burns with tenderness, insight, and a rare emotional precision. It’s not just her best work—it might be one of the best portrayals of first love ever seen on screen. Stream it immediately.

“Forever” Isn’t Just a Title—It’s a Feeling

Watching Netflix’s “Forever,” I felt something I haven’t in years: the marrow-deep ache of being seventeen and stupid in love. This is not just another YA drama about star-crossed teens fumbling through hormones and hallway drama. No, this is a carefully poured glass of teenage memory—hazy at the edges, burning in the middle. And more importantly, it’s one of the few series that looks at young Black love with the kind of cinematic reverence usually reserved for white kids on prom night in the Hollywood hills.

Mara Brock Akil, whose résumé includes genre-defining work like “Girlfriends” and “Being Mary Jane,” adapts Judy Blume’s once-controversial 1975 novel not just for a new generation, but for a new cultural moment. This isn’t just Blume through a 2024 lens; this is Blume after sitting down with Issa Rae and Ava DuVernay and letting them tag-team the rewrites. The result is a deeply personal, unmistakably Black rendering of adolescence that pulses with specificity and care.

Set in 2018 Los Angeles, “Forever” orbits around Keisha Clark (Lovie Simone), a track star with dreams of Howard University, and Justin Edwards (Michael Cooper Jr.), a basketball player managing ADHD while trying to dodge the expectations that come with being a promising young Black man. Their romance begins on New Year’s Eve—the perfect metaphor for a new beginning, an uncertain future, and a party full of emotions too big for their bodies.

This show doesn’t just ask what it’s like to fall in love. It asks: what does it mean to be young, gifted, Black, and in love when the world is constantly telling you that you’re too much or not enough?

The Chemistry of Keisha and Justin

Let’s get one thing clear—Lovie Simone and Michael Cooper Jr. are electric. You know that kind of on-screen chemistry that makes you momentarily forget your own heartbreaks? That’s them. They don’t just act like two teens falling for each other; they are two teens falling for each other. There’s a vulnerability here that makes their every glance, every awkward silence, and every stupid fight feel painfully real. It’s giving Romeo and Juliet without the melodrama, Love & Basketball without the time skips, and Moonlight without the whispered tragedy.

Keisha is focused, resilient, and deeply scared—though she’ll never admit it. Justin, on the other hand, is a ball of raw nerves and earnest dreams, shouldering the weight of his parents’ hopes and his own uncertainty. Together, they create a private universe where love becomes both a sanctuary and a battlefield.

A Full, Beautiful Black World

Where “Forever” sets itself apart—and what makes it so rich—is in its refusal to flatten its characters into archetypes. Parents here aren’t just parental units who pop in for scolding or moral lessons. They are textured, flawed, and deeply human. Karen Pittman’s Dawn is not just a mother terrified for her son—she’s a woman shaped by the trauma of loving Black men in America. Wood Harris, as Justin’s father Eric, is one of the most stunning portrayals of Black fatherhood I’ve ever seen on television. Gentle, loving, but never saccharine—Eric’s presence grounds the show in a type of realism that so rarely gets air time.

Likewise, Xosha Roquemore’s portrayal of Keisha’s mom, Shelly, brims with a blend of friendship and fierce maternal protection. When she has to shift back into disciplinarian mode after a heartbreaking twist, you feel it like a gut punch. These aren’t just supporting characters—they’re anchors.

Soundtrack of a Generation

Music has always been an emotional shorthand in teen dramas, but in “Forever,” it’s practically a character. From Frank Ocean to Summer Walker to Snoh Aalegra, the soundtrack is a carefully curated mix of aching R&B and dreamy alt-pop that mirrors the characters’ emotional states in real time. It’s not just aesthetic; it’s emotional architecture. The songs tell you what the kids can’t say aloud—what they’re too scared to admit, or too young to articulate.

Love Without Trauma Porn

One of the most radical things about “Forever” is its refusal to turn Black teen life into trauma porn. Yes, there are difficult moments—moments that will knot your stomach and dampen your eyes—but they never feel exploitative. The show understands that being young and Black in America is hard enough without layering it in gratuitous violence or one-note suffering. Instead, we get something far more powerful: ordinary beauty.

There’s radical joy in watching Keisha and Justin walk hand in hand down a sunlit LA street, talking about dreams that scare them. There’s quiet power in seeing a Black boy cry in his father’s arms and not be told to man up. There’s truth in showing two young people mess up, apologize, and try again—not because they’re perfect, but because they’re learning how to be whole in a world that often breaks you before you get the chance.

A Masterclass From Mara Brock Akil

If you’ve followed Akil’s career, you know she’s no stranger to crafting emotionally honest, culturally rich stories. But “Forever” might be her magnum opus. It’s confident in its softness, its silence, its slow burns. It trusts the audience to linger. To feel.

At just eight episodes, it never overstays its welcome. Every scene matters. Every line echoes. And in a landscape littered with formulaic reboots and hollow teen angst, “Forever” feels like a hand-written letter. Intimate. Specific. Irreplaceable.

The Verdict

Mara Brock Akil’s “Forever” is the show we didn’t know we were starving for—a Black teen romance told with elegance, honesty, and emotional weight. It doesn’t preach. It doesn’t pander. It just sees.

A delicate masterpiece that redefines what Black teen love can look like on screen. “Forever” is not just a series—it’s a legacy in the making. Watch it. Remember it. Then tell someone you love them.