Chapter 2
Chapter Two
NAJI
“ H ome, sweet home,” my Uber driver, Daphnee, said as we pulled up to Blu Notes.
My grandmother’s car had given up on me two years earlier; the engine coughed its last breath on a rainy afternoon that still replayed in my head.
I’d thought about replacing it, but the truth was, Manhattan wasn’t a city built for driving anyway.
Traffic crawled slower than pedestrians and parking was a battle almost never won.
So I let it go and learned how to live like the city wanted me to: on foot, by train, or in the back seat of someone else’s ride.
Thankfully, I only had to rely on walking and the train for a little over a month.
That was until I met Daphnee. For the past two years, she had been more than just a driver; she’d become a vital lifeline in my daily life.
The bond wasn’t formed by chance; it was a deliberate choice on her part.
She once confided in me that her niece had Tourette Syndrome, and through that experience, she had witnessed firsthand the cruelty and discomfort that can arise in a world indifferent to those who are different.
She understood how new faces and unfamiliar energy could be overwhelming and anxiety-inducing for someone like me.
So, she made it her mission to be my constant—picking me up every morning for work and dropping me off every evening, Monday through Friday, without fail.
Each day, I felt the impact of her commitment.
It was by far the kindest thing anyone had done for me in years.
However, on the rare days when she took off, I would acutely feel her absence—not just the lack of her car’s familiar presence, but the void left by her unwavering care.
Daphnee never stared with judgment or asked probing questions; she simply understood my struggles without needing to verbalize them.
I gave a small nod, lips twitching, before my shoulder jerked once.
“T-Thank you again,” I expressed softly.
Daphnee waved me off like she always did.
“Naji, girl, I’ve been riding you around like Ms. Daisy for two years now. I think we’ve both figured out by now that I don’t mind… not one bit. And long as I got four wheels and gas in the tank, I’ll get you to and from work or wherever you need to go; no questions asked. I got you.”
Over time, Daphnee became attuned to my patterns—what calmed my racing mind and what triggered my anxiety.
I noticed that with her, I felt a sense of safety; her presence no longer felt like a threat.
As the weeks turned into months, I found that my anxiety diminished, and my tics became less pronounced, sometimes barely noticeable at all when she was around.
In her company, I had discovered a rare kind of peace, and with it, the ability to breathe a little easier in a world that often felt far too overwhelming.
I nodded, my heart tugging a little.
I reached for the door handle, my fingers twitching once before I got a grip.
“Okay. I’m gonna head inside now,” I said, blinking hard and doing a small shoulder shrug.
She nodded. “Alright. But if you need anything , you text me. I’m always a text or phone call away.”
I gave a quick nod, followed by an involuntary throat clear.
“W-Will do. Thank you… always.”
Daphnee smiled gently. “Keep your head up, Miss Naji, and have a great weekend.”
“You too,” I replied, punctuated by a soft humming sound I couldn’t help.
I waved quickly, then hurriedly exited the car before my next tic showed up.
The air was thick with the intoxicating scents of distant rain mingling with the aroma of fried food wafting from nearby kitchens.
I pulled my work bag closer to me and made my way toward the door, where the warm hum of music began to swell, wrapping around me like a soft embrace.
I walked inside, immediately engulfed by the scent of aged bourbon, lemon oil, and a trace of cigar smoke clinging to the walls. Inside, the lighting was low and cozy. Blu Notes was the kind of place where vinyl crackled in the background and people drank to forget but stayed to feel.
I was headed up the stairs to my room until I heard a gravelly voice from behind the bar say, “Evening, baby girl.”
I glanced over my shoulder to see the owner Blu wiping a glass with a checkered towel, his suspenders snug over a dark button-up.
“Hee-hee—H-Hey, Mr. Blu.”
Blu smirked and gave me that same crooked grin he always did.
“Naji, I told you to drop the mister. You live above me now and have been for the last three years… that makes us kin.”
I grinned. “Habit. S-Sorry.”
“Come over here,” he said, waving me over. “I got a break and some blues on the speakers. I usually miss you when you come in from work. You head straight up to that room like it’s a dungeon, then disappear until the next morning. Let’s catch up a little.”
I hesitated, shifting the weight of my bag on my shoulder.
It wasn’t Blu who made me pause; it was everything else. I genuinely had no issues with him. In fact, he was one of the few people I felt truly safe and comfortable around. The reality, however, was that interactions with people wore me out—not in a physical sense, but mentally and emotionally.
I was a very attractive girl—because of that, most men often gravitated toward me, sparking their interest almost immediately.
But that initial attraction would usually fade when they learned about my condition.
That’s when I could see the shift—the hesitation would creep in, often followed by confusion.
Some men tried to mask their discomfort, pretending it didn’t bother them, while others reacted more bluntly, growing awkward or rude, ultimately disappearing from my life entirely.
It didn’t matter how gently I brought it up or how upfront I was about my tics; the moment they became aware, I could see their interest evaporate as if it were peeling off their faces like old paint.
With each experience, I learned to keep my circle tight and my distance even tighter.
Strangers, in particular, were the biggest triggers for me—not because they were inherently cruel, but because I could never anticipate how they might react.
Curiosity, pity, or awkwardness were sensations I dreaded, and none of those reactions felt safe.
So, I chose to stay quiet, to stay small, and to keep myself tucked away where I could protect my fragile peace.
But Blu wasn’t just another stranger. He had somehow become a familiar presence in my life.
And he was right— we hadn’t really talked in a while.
Lately, our connection had been reduced to brief exchanges in the hallway like, “ Hey. Bye. You good? You need anything? Have you eaten?” Then, like two ships passing in the night, we would vanish in opposite directions, functioning like roommates who shared a space but no longer knew each other.
I sighed, then made my way over to him. Once near, I slid into the barstool, careful and slow.
“You good today?” he asked, pouring me a ginger ale into a chilled rocks glass.
I nodded, smoothing my shirt.
“Work was slow. Stockroom stuff… to-to-towels and chemicals. One day, I want to upgrade… maybe try something at the front desk, or t-training. But the quiet… helps. My tics stay down when it’s calm, so I don’t know.”
Blu gave a slow nod, then leaned on the bar.
“You take your time. You got peace right now. You’ll get where you’re going, Naji. No rush on your kind of journey.”
Blu slid the ginger ale toward me on a coaster, then studied me for a beat. He didn’t appear to be staring at the tics or the hesitations in my voice, but through me… like he saw something the world kept overlooking.
“You know what I like about you, Naji? You still show up… every day. Quiet and calm. You ain’t asking for nobody to carry you, and you ain’t trying to be somebody else. That takes strength most folks don’t even know they need.”
I looked down timidly, while taking a sip of my drink. “I just try to keep the peace.”
Blu leaned back, resting against the bar. “That’s the thing… people think peace is soft, but peace is a damn discipline. Keeping your calm in a world that won’t shut up? That’s power, baby girl. That’s yours.”
I gave a small nod. My hand twitched at the wrist—just a quick jerk I couldn’t stop—but my smile stayed steady.
Blu reached beneath the bar without a word, then pulled out a small, folded envelope. He slid it toward me across the smooth wood.
“Wha-what’s this?” I asked, my fingers hesitating just above it.
“Something I meant to give you a while ago,” he said. “Just a little savings I’ve been tucking away ever since you moved in. In case you ever needed it.”
My eyes widened. “Blu, I can’t?—”
“Don’t argue with an old man, Naji. That’s bad luck,” he cut in with a chuckle, though his eyes held something more serious beneath the humor. “You don’t have to open it now; just make sure you do… eventually.”
I looked down at the envelope, suddenly heavier in its meaning than in its weight. Hesitantly, I reached out and wrapped my fingers around it, clutching it gently.
“Use it how you need it. In no way is this me telling you that you gotta get the hell up outta here. But I also know you don’t plan on staying here forever.”
“Would you l-let me stay forever?”
Blu laughed, soft and low, probably thinking I was just being playful… but I wasn’t.
There was a unique peace in that place, one I hadn’t encountered anywhere else in my life.
Up there—high above the relentless noise of the city, above the harsh judgment that often felt suffocating, and far removed from a world that never seemed to hold me with the tenderness I craved—I could truly breathe.