Chapter 2 #2
The very thought of moving away, uprooting myself and starting anew in some unfamiliar landscape, filled me with a sense of dread.
It felt like tearing out fragile roots that hadn’t even fully grown, pulling them from the fertile ground that had nurtured me for so long.
Just considering it sent a wave of anxiety crashing over me, tightening my chest. So no, I wasn’t joking…
not entirely. Deep down, a part of me desperately hoped Blu would recognize the weight of my words, the truth behind them.
“I mean, if you really want to, of course,” he responded quickly, as if trying to retract his words.
“But Naji, why would you want to? You’re so beautiful…
men practically throw themselves at your feet.
And I know that deep down, you dream of that perfect wedding—all the things little girls fantasize about as they grow up.
And kids… you want children, don’t you?”
I do. I would cherish all of that one day—a loving family, a type of love that lasts forever, someone to share laughter with on joyous days, and to hold hands with during the difficult times, I almost admitted openly .
But those words never left my mouth. I just nodded slightly, keeping them safe in my silence. However, that vision filled my heart with hope, even as I stood on the precipice of uncertainty.
Blu looked at me a bit longer, then let out a slow breath like something heavy had been sitting on his chest.
“Listen to me, Naji, life is… too short,” he continued.
“People say that all the time, treating it like empty words, but I mean it. Life moves quickly, almost in the blink of an eye. One minute, you’re excitedly making plans for next summer, dreaming of lazy beach days and unforgettable adventures, and the next…
you’re just hoping to survive the week. You think you have time, but time doesn’t ask for your schedule or what you dreamed of doing; it just keeps on rolling along, indifferent to your wishes. ”
His eyes were steady on mine now.
Not intense. Not scary. Just real.
“I’ve seen too many people wait , Naji. They wait for the right moment to propose the question.
They wait for a little more money saved up before traveling the world.
They wait for a perfect sign from the universe before pursuing their passions.
Then, one day, they blink, and suddenly, it’s too late.
They never express what they truly wanted to say.
They never embark on that life-changing trip.
They never steal a kiss from someone who could have meant everything.
They never chase after that dream job because they were always waiting for peace, waiting for permission, or waiting for a later that might never arrive. ”
He paused again, gazing down at his hands, flexing his fingers as if recalling memories etched into his very being—moments he wished he could share but knew were too painful to revisit.
When Blu finally looked back up, I noticed a depth in his eyes that I hadn’t seen in a long time—an amalgamation of strength and vulnerability reflecting the raw, worn truth of a man who had loved deeply… and lost profoundly, too.
“But later doesn’t always come,” he went on.
“All you get is now. And if you’re lucky— real lucky—you’ll get somebody to share that now with.
Somebody who makes you forget the noise, the weight, the war going on around you.
Somebody that makes five minutes feel like a lifetime.
That’s rare, and when it shows up, you don’t ask why and you don’t push it away… you honor it.”
In that moment, Blu was more than likely thinking about his wife, who had passed away a few years prior.
Blu told me once—in one of his rare, reflective moments—that he was never the same after her death.
Said he used to be louder, lighter; the kind of man who laughed from his chest and danced like he had rhythm, even when he didn’t.
But when she died, something in him quieted.
Not in a dramatic, fall-apart-in-the-street kind of way…
just slowly, like a light dimming room by room.
And now, as he sat across from me, eyes heavy but voice calm, I could see it—that familiar emptiness people carry when they’ve lost something too valuable to name. It wasn’t just grief, but the haunting understanding that life doesn’t pause just because your world does.
I know that feeling… all too well.
“Well, I know you got to go read or watch your favorite shows, and you don’t got time to be hearing an almost 70-year-old man ramble about his old stories,” Blu said, waving a hand like he was dismissing himself before I could.
“I—I don’t mind, Blu. Really,” I replied quickly, hoping he knew I meant it.
“I’m sure you don’t. But this place will start getting crowded soon, and I know how you feel about crowds.”
“Yeah…” I murmured, glancing away, already feeling the tension creep into my shoulders just thinking about it.
“But look, it’s the weekend—go unwind. I would love for you to join me down here one night, but…” he trailed off with a soft shrug. “I understand.”
Then he reached beneath the counter and slid me a cold bottle of ginger ale like he was offering me aged whiskey.
“Take this… on the house.” Blu grinned like he’d just made a grand gesture.
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Don’t mind if I do.”
I stood, grabbing the ginger ale and the envelope he’d given me.
“T-Thank you, Blu.”
“The pleasure is all mine. You go on up and rest now. You deserve it. I’ll bring you up something to eat later, huh?”
Blu had chefs who cooked in the back, but I usually made my own meals—healthier, lighter stuff, just to keep my figure in check. But… on the weekends I gave myself a cheat day. So that plate he promised was already calling me.
“Th-that sounds good. I’ll be waiting.”
I’d only made it a few steps up the stairs when his voice called after me.
“Oh—and Naji?”
I turned halfway, pausing. “Yes?”
“If you do ever decide to leave, and the world gets too loud, come back here. This place will always be home.”
His words hit me somewhere soft, somewhere sacred. It reminded me of my grandmother, and the message she left behind on that recording, basically telling me the same thing.
I smiled. “T-Thank you.”
And that time, I meant more than just for the ginger ale.
Blu gave me one last grin—the one with more soul than teeth.
I climbed a few more steps, then slipped my key into the lock and opened the door that led to my bedroom.
It was quiet up there—always was. Blu’s room was downstairs, tucked away behind the kitchen, so technically, I was the only one with access to the entire upstairs. It had been that way since the day I moved in.
Blu Notes might’ve looked like just a bar to most folks—a lounge, a juke joint, depending on who you asked—but to me, it was home. Not just a place I stayed, but a place that held me, and I needed that… badly.
Three years prior, my modeling career had crumbled. One moment, I was strutting down catwalks in high heels, illuminated by the bright studio lights. The next, I found myself grappling with a daunting reality where I had no idea where I would lay my head at night.
In a city that never sleeps, past glories meant nothing; all that mattered was meeting the relentless demands of rent.
I was determined not to squander my dwindling funds on some overpriced apartment just to be broke again six months later.
So when a friend from my old agency told me about a room for rent at Blu Notes, I didn’t hesitate. I called Blu that same day.
He told me the older woman who lived upstairs had just moved into a nursing home, and the loft was vacant.
I stopped by, chatted with him for a good thirty minutes, and told him everything, starting with the fall from grace, the ugly way the industry chewed me up and spat me out, and about my condition.
Blu didn’t flinch or offer me any pity. Instead, he simply nodded, looked me straight in the eye, and said, “The room is yours.” And it had been my sanctuary for those last three years—quiet, humble, and tucked away from the cacophony of the outside world, just the way I preferred it.
After entering, I put my things away and flopped down onto the bed with a heavy sigh.
“Another bo-boring weekend,” I muttered, staring up at the ceiling like it might engage in conversation with me.
I had the luxury of being off on the weekends—a rare gift that most people wished for—but truthfully, I hated it.
Work provided me with structure, something to do, and somewhere to be.
As for the weekends? They stretched out long and quiet, constantly reminding me of everything I didn’t have.
I had no friends to invite for brunch, no family nearby to visit, and no plans.
It was just me and that gnawing silence I never dared to acknowledge.
I had never admitted it to anyone, not even Blu, but I was lonely. This wasn’t the casual loneliness one feels when single or bored; it was a deeper, more persistent ache that clung to my skin and spiraled into my very bones.
And what do the lonely do on the weekend?
They read books, rewatch shows they’ve seen a dozen times—because they know how they end and that brings comfort—scroll past social media posts of people laughing, clinking glasses, hugging their mamas, or wrapped up in someone’s arms and pretend like it doesn’t sting.
I grabbed the remote and curled deeper into the comforter, reaching for routine—because routine didn’t judge my solitude, didn’t change with the whims of time, and didn’t walk away when things got tough.