Chapter 23
23
O ne minute, I was sketching ideas for Taraj Ferrell’s album cover, wondering if it would go anywhere. The next, I was swept into something bigger. Something I’d always dreamed of—but now that it was happening, I felt like I was floating outside my body, watching it all unfold.
Taraj’s team didn’t just like my concept. They loved it.
The label was talking press coverage. Mentions of a major music publication—something that would spotlight the visual language of the album, and me along with it.
More opportunities followed. Independent artists dropped into my inbox. A poet I admired asked if I’d illustrate her book cover. It should’ve felt like everything I ever wanted was finally arriving.
But the high didn’t stick.
Because even in the glow of it all, I missed him.
Amir had been buried in the studio—grinding. Working late. Sleeping less. I knew this was his moment too. I told myself not to be the woman who demanded more than he could give.
Still, I felt it. The shift.
The unraveling was subtle—thread by thread, tension replacing tenderness.
His late nights got later. Calls turned into short texts. Even when we were in the same space, it felt like we were miles apart.
Amir: Studio late again. Don’t wait up.
I stared at my phone, thumb hovering.
Amir: You good?
Me: Yeah. I’m good.
But I wasn’t.
I reached for my tablet, hoping art would quiet the ache. The album cover was nearly done—a man in pieces, fractured but still whole. Part Taraj, yes. But more and more, it looked like Amir.
Strong hands, but hesitant. A spine built from burden. A heart glowing and massive—but tucked behind shadows.
I added a thin crack down the center of the chest. Barely visible, but I knew it was there. I needed it to be.
Before I could put the tablet down, a new notification slid across my screen.
A DM from Tasha.
Of course it was her.
Tasha: Heard from Amir lately?
I didn’t answer.
Tasha: I mean, I’m sure he’s been busy… but I just wonder if you really know what he’s been up to.
My jaw clenched. I closed my eyes and exhaled slow, willing the rise in my chest to fall.
Me: Stay out of my inbox.
Blocked. Done.
Still, the damage was done. Not because I believed her. But because I already felt the space opening between us. Her message was salt on a wound that hadn’t even finished forming.
I tried to settle my nerves, took a quick shower, threw on my favorite cropped tank and shorts. I curled up on the couch, tablet still in my lap, but my eyes kept drifting to the door.
Then—
The key turned in the lock.
I sat up. My heart jumped a little, even though I hated that it did.
Amir stepped in. Shoulders rolled forward, fatigue dripping off of him. His beard was thicker. His eyes looked distant.
“You’re home early,” I said, voice soft.
He dropped his keys on the counter and gave me a half-smile. “It’s after midnight, A.”
He was right. Still, it felt early. Earlier than it had been.
I waited for him to come to me. To close the distance. To reach for the warmth we used to pass back and forth like breath.
Instead, he sighed. “I need a shower.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
He disappeared into the bathroom, leaving me on the couch. The silence around me felt louder than the water running behind the door.
I stared at the bathroom like I was waiting on a sign. Something to say, we’re still us.
But nothing came and I hesitated. Minutes passed.
Finally, I stood and walked to the bedroom. The door was open. Moonlight draped across the bed.
He was lying there, fresh from the shower, one arm flung over his face like the day had drained every last drop out of him.
I lingered. Waiting. Watching.
Then—he reached for me. Not with hunger. Not with heat. But with something else. Something raw.
I eased into the bed beside him, and the moment I did, his arm hooked around my waist, anchoring me to him. He held me like a man afraid of letting go. Like he didn’t want me slipping through the cracks we were both trying to ignore.
His lips grazed my forehead.
“You good?”
His voice was thick with sleep and something else.
I closed my eyes, breathing him in. “Yeah.”
It wasn’t the whole truth, but in that moment, it was enough.
We lay there in silence, the rhythm of his breathing lulling me.
Then—his phone buzzed on the nightstand.
His body tensed. Just slightly. But I felt it.
He reached for it, screen lighting up the room for a second. He swiped to answer, his voice low and flat.
“How did you get my number, Tasha?”
A pause.
“Don’t call again.”
He hung up and set the phone down without looking down at me.
I stayed still. Eyes closed. Breath shallow. Pretending I was asleep.
But I wasn’t.
And even though I tried not to read too much into it, the shift settled into my chest—quiet and cold.
I told myself it didn’t matter. That what we had meant more than one late-night call from someone clearly trying to push us apart. He didn’t give her his number. His words made that clear. So I should erase all of the bullshit from my mind. Amir was here with me. Lyng so close I could hear his measured breaths turn deep and slow as he drifted off to sleep.
Still… I couldn’t ignore the way my body had gone still in his arms. Or the small ache blooming beneath my ribs.