The week after Tari stops replying to my texts is longer than any week I've lived.
His absence is not loud.
It's quiet. Measured. Intentional.
He doesn't block me. Doesn't send a dramatic voice note.
He just… disappears.
And somehow that hurts more.
---
Nene watches me pace the room like grief is something I can outwalk.
"He'll come around," she says, chewing plantain chips like prophecy.
"You just need to go old school."
"What does that mean?"
"Pull up."
I blink. "You mean like… show up uninvited?"
She shrugs. "You want a man who dances with his chest? Fight with yours."
---
So I go.
Not with flowers. Not with tears.
With honesty.
He's in the studio, as always, practicing alone.
The music low.
The lights dim.
I step inside, heart racing.
"Tari."
He pauses. Doesn't look up.
"I'm not here to defend what I did. I messed up."
Still no response.
"I keep telling people I'm not used to being seen. But the truth is… I didn't know what to do when someone stayed."
He turns slowly.
Eyes tired.
"I wasn't asking for everything," he says. "Just the part of you that knew how to show up."
"I know."
"And now?"
"I'm learning. But I want to show up for you, Tari. Even if I trip along the way."
---
He doesn't speak.
But he opens his arms.
And I walk into them.
Not because I've earned forgiveness.
But because he's still willing to offer it.
And that?
That is everything.
---
We sit on the studio floor, backs against the mirror, legs stretched out in silence.
Then Tari says, "Let's make a pact."
I raise an eyebrow. "A blood oath kind of pact?"
He grins. "Nah. Just something real."
I nod.
He holds out his pinky.
"One: We don't shrink to keep each other comfortable."
I hook mine into his.
"Two: We say the hard things. Especially when we're scared."
"Three," I add, "we don't run."
Even when it hurts.
Even when it's easier.
Even when the world calls louder than love.
---
Later, walking back to my hostel, the sky is bruised with twilight and soft rain.
I don't feel complete.
I don't feel perfect.
But I feel *true.*
---
*Excerpt from Ayanna's journal:*
*They don't tell you healing will test the parts of you that begged to stay broken.*
*That love won't always arrive with music and grand confessions—sometimes, it's a quiet voice that says: "Try again. I'm still here."*
---
The next morning, Tari sends me a song he choreographed.
Title: *"Becoming Her"*
I cry before I even press play.
Because I know.
It's for me.
For the girl who once thought she was too much, too loud, too damaged.
And for the woman she's still learning to become.
---