Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
NAJI
“ S o you’re just not going to bring up the fact that you're internet-famous again?” Dessign kidded as she twirled her fork through her shrimp pasta.
We decided to meet up for lunch. Of course, my ‘driver’ had to bring me, though. Honestly, I was just excited to escape the confines of my home and enjoy some much-needed girl time. The thought of sharing laughs and stories with her made my day instantly brighter.
The restaurant we were at was a cozy little spot tucked on a tree-lined street, a mix of rustic and chic—exposed brick walls, gold-framed mirrors, jazz music low in the background.
Our plates came out looking like art, and the server had called me “queen” at least twice, which made me like him instantly.
Dessign sat across from me, giving full fashion week energy. She wore a structured cropped denim jacket over a flowy, pleated white dress with gold sneakers that somehow didn’t clash. Her new, neatly, long braids were pulled up into a twisted high bun, and her lip gloss shimmered like money.
I, on the other hand, had on a cozy turquoise-colored two-piece summer set—ribbed, sleeveless crop top and drawstring shorts that felt like pajamas but looked decent enough for public.
Dessign had talked me into some chunky sandals and a little jewelry—silver hoops and bangles. I wore them only to say I tried.
I smirked, spearing a piece of jerk salmon off my plate.
“Girl, I… I know. My phone -hasn’t stopped going off with messages and tags.”
“I bet your DMs look like a slot machine!” Dessign exclaimed.
“Yes!”
We shared a chuckle.
It felt weird to be seen again— really seen. But in a good way that time.
We talked for a bit—some industry gossip, about her dream for fashion, a few old embarrassing modeling moments I cringed over—until someone behind me blurted.
“Hey, Dess! Looking cute as always, girl!”
I turned and looked up just in time to see her —the girl Aaliyah.
She was dressed in a lime green midi dress with highlighter-pink nails and her curls pinned in an unnecessarily high ponytail.
All smiles. All fake.
Dessign gave a polite smile. “What’s up, Aaliyah? Thanks.”
Then Aaliyah’s eyes flicked to me.
“Oh, Naji,” she said, still smiling, “I just want to apologize again about the whole dress situation at the gala. I really didn’t mean for that to happen. I had a few too many drinks, and things got a little… messy. Totally an accident!”
I sipped my ginger lemonade and nodded once, slow. “Mm-hmm.”
I didn’t owe her anything more than that… and she knew it.
Dessign tilted her head. “Well, it was nice to see you again, Aaliyah. But we’re gonna get back to our lunch.”
Aaliyah’s smile thinned like butter scraped across too much bread.
“Of course! Enjoy, ladies,” she chirped, then turned and walked away with her tail tucked neatly between her lime-green regrets.
As soon as Aaliyah was out of earshot, Dessign muttered under her breath, “The fuckin’ audacity .”
I shook my head, still stunned. “She r-really slid up here like nothing happened.”
Dessign stabbed her shrimp with a little too much passion.
“She tried it! Wearing lime and lies like it’s a damn dress code.”
We both chuckled, the tension melting off us.
“Sooooo… are you ready for the next big dinner?” Dessign asked, raising a brow as she sipped from her straw.
She was talking about Giselle’s “makeup” dinner—the second one, the "let’s try this again" one.
I wasn’t.
“Not hardly,” I replied, stabbing at my salad. “I l-looked at the first one as a trial run… and that one went horribly . So no… I’m not exactly counting down the days. I feel like she’s got something up her sleeve… Imanio said the same.”
Dessign rolled her eyes. “Knowing your mama-in-law? She definitely does. But again, if she tries some stupid shit, we got your back. You already know that.”
I smiled. “I know.”
“Can I ask you something?” she asked.
“Well, you just did,” I teased.
“ Okay! Let me find out I’m rubbing off on you!” Dessign said, pointing her fork at me with a playful smirk.
We laughed in unison again, leaning back into the comfort we’d built between us. Then her tone shifted slightly—still warm, but curious.
“Alright, let’s get serious,” she said, brushing a crumb off her shirt. “But if given the opportunity—and I know people have started reaching out since you’ve been back in the spotlight—would you ever model again?”
I froze.
That was the one question I dreaded anyone ever asking me again—the one I danced around, even in my own thoughts.
I rubbed the back of my neck anxiously, my eyes finding refuge in the condensation on my glass, the flicker of the citronella candle on the table, the flame of the patio heater—anywhere but her gaze.
“Uh…”
A tic jerked my shoulder, and before I could hold it back, an outburst slipped out:
“Tap-dancing trauma! Nope, nope, nope!”
I cringed slightly but didn’t apologize—not that time or anymore with her.
I just breathed through it.
Then I finally answered, voice low and honest. “Honestly? No.”
Dessign didn’t interrupt; she just nodded, encouraging me to keep going.
“That day…” I started, then exhaled like the memory still lived on my skin. “That day broke something in me. My body betrayed me in front of cameras, d-designers, managers, and so many people who never saw me as human in the first place.”
My throat made a soft, involuntary humming sound—barely audible, but there… like a hiccup of emotion I couldn’t suppress. I pressed my hand lightly to my chest, not to stop it, but to remind myself I was still in control.
“One moment I was being fitted in c-couture… the next, I was twitching uncontrollably behind a curtain, sweating, spiraling, feeling like a walking spectacle.”
My voice cracked.
“I’d trained s-so hard to control my tics. Rehearsed breathing. Meds. Stillness. But when that one episode hit during fashion week, they didn’t see a person anymore—they saw a liability . And instead of helping me… they left me backstage. Alone.”
I paused again. “I still have dreams about it sometimes.”
Dessign’s reached out, squeezing my hand—no words, just presence.
I pulled in a breath and steadied myself.
“I’ve been h-healing slowly… and privately over the past three years. B-but I don’t think I could ever put myself through that again. Not for applause. Not for a check… not for the same industry that discarded me the minute I s-stopped being easy to package.”
I glanced up at the sky, searching for the right words.
“Modeling... it was my gift. I know that. My grandmother always said it was my calling. I… I walked for names I used to cut out of magazines. I’ve v-v-visited places most people only dream about. And for seven good years… I loved it. Truly.”
I gave a small, bittersweet smile.
“But maybe it was never m-meant to be permanent. Maybe God gave me that season to show me what I could do—and now it’s my job to use that experience to do something greater.”
Dessign’s eyes were glassy, shimmering with unspoken thoughts, as they remained locked on mine.
“If I ever return to that world, it won’t be as a desperate attempt to blend in; it’ll be as s-s-someone opening doors for others.”
I took a deep breath, then added with conviction, “I... I dream of starting an agency—one dedicated to representing individuals with various conditions. Like mine… and like those of so many others. I e-envision a place where tics, scars, mood disorders, and d-disabilities are not merely acknowledged but celebrated.”
A sudden jerk rolled through my left shoulder, sharp and involuntary, like my body was trying to interrupt me before I got too honest.
I paused, exhaled through it, and kept going.
“It would highlight r-real lives and showcase the beauty in our authentic selves. Models who a-aren’t filtered down to fit a mold. People who deserve to be seen for who they are … not just how they pose,” I concluded.
Dessign wiped a tear, then laughed a little.
“See, that’s another reason why I love you.”
I smiled gently. “I’m finally learning to love me, too.”
“Seriously, Naji, even if you never model again, don’t ever forget who you were when you did . You were a whole moment.”
A few minutes of silence passed.
I stirred my rice absentmindedly, watching the steam rise, then glanced up at her.
“Can I a-ask you something this time?”
“Well, you just did?” she mimicked me.
I chuckled—then had a sharp outburst. A bark-like sound slipped out, making me flinch.
Thankfully, we were out on the patio, so the sound of laughter and clinking glasses around us muffled it. It wasn’t loud enough to turn heads, but just enough to make me want to sink into my seat, even though I knew Dessign wouldn’t judge me.
“But no, seriously,” she said, voice softening. “What’s up?”
I hesitated, then asked, carefully picking each word like it might bite me.
“I’m not trying to pry, but I am curious… how do you and Chi… y-you know…”
Dessign raised an eyebrow. “Have sex?” she finished for me, smirking.
I looked down at my plate. “Yeah”
She let out a laugh so loud that a couple of tables over actually did glance our way.
“I figured that’s what you were dancing around. But first, let me say this.”
Dessign placed her fork down and leaned forward like she was about to deliver a sermon.
“Naji, if you’re gonna be hanging around me—and let’s be real, you will very often—don’t be scared to ask me certain shit.
I’m an open book... well, for people I like.
And I just so happen to love you in this short period of time, so I’m gonna need you to retire phrases like ‘you know’ or ‘did it.’ Say sex .
Say fuck . Say got folded like laundry on a Sunday afternoon —but say it with your chest , okay? ”
I laughed. “Okay, okay. Duly n-noted.”
She grinned, then got real.