#fictionseries

The apartment felt different.

Too quiet.

Like something had already ended—

even though no one had said it yet.

AJ leaned against the wall, watching her.

E.

Not moving.

Not speaking.

Just there—

like she was deciding something he couldn’t see.

“You’ve been gone,” she said finally.

AJ let out a breath.

“I’ve been working.”

E shook her head slightly.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Silence stretched between them.

Because they both knew what she meant.

Not gone from the city.

Gone from her.

AJ stepped closer.

“You don’t get to say that,” he said.

Her eyes met his.

Sharp.

“I don’t?” she asked.

A beat.

“You don’t even know who you are when you’re like this.”

That hit.

Because it was true.

AJ ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m doing what I have to do.”

E let out a quiet laugh—

not amused.

“That’s what everyone says.”

She stepped closer now.

Close enough that he could feel her again—

the heat, the pull, the thing that had always been there between them.

“And what does it get you?” she asked softly.

AJ didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t know.

Not anymore.

E’s hand moved to his chest—

slow—

deliberate—

fingertips pressing just enough to ground him.

“You don’t even feel it anymore,” she said.

Her voice lower now.

“Not the way you used to.”

AJ caught her wrist.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like this is over.”

E held his gaze.

“It is.”

That should have been the end.

It wasn’t.

Because neither of them moved.

Neither of them stepped away.

The space between them tightened—

not breaking—

pulling.

E exhaled slowly.

“Don’t try to fix it,” she said.

AJ stepped closer anyway.

“Maybe I don’t want to fix it.”

Her breath caught—just slightly.

“Then what do you want?”

AJ didn’t hesitate.

“You.”

That was the truth.

Not the whole truth—

but enough.

E closed her eyes for a second.

Like she was fighting it.

Like she already knew where this ended.

“Not like this,” she said.

AJ leaned in closer.

“Then tell me how.”

E looked at him again—

really looked—

and whatever she saw—

it changed something.

“Just this once,” she said quietly.

“Don’t lie to me.”

AJ nodded.

And for a moment—

everything else disappeared again.

No M.

No city.

No past.

Just them.

The way it used to feel.

Not rushed.

Not desperate.

Intentional.

Like they both knew this wasn’t something to hold onto—

just something to feel before it was gone.

7

Later—

they didn’t talk about it.

Didn’t try to define it.

Because putting words to it—

would make it real.

And real—

meant ending.

AJ sat there, breathing steady.

E stood near the window again.

Like she always did.

Distance already returning.

“You don’t get forever,” she said quietly.

AJ didn’t respond.

Because he felt it now.

The truth of it.

This wasn’t something they could go back to.

This wasn’t something that could last.

It was something that burned—

and ended.

And somewhere in that moment—

AJ understood something he hadn’t before.

Not everything worth wanting—

Twenty-nine hours of highway.

Endless lines stretching forward.

No distractions.

No noise—except the engine and whatever was left inside his head.

He drove until he couldn’t anymore.

Pulled off at a rest stop somewhere between nowhere and somewhere else.

Killed the engine.

Silence.

The kind that presses in on you.

AJ leaned the seat back.

Closed his eyes.

And immediately—

she was there.

E.

Not the version standing in windows or speaking in half-truths.

The real one.

The one he used to know.

He could almost feel her again—

the way she moved against him, like she already understood where he was going before he did.

The way her skin felt under his hands—

warm… alive… real.

It came back in pieces.

Late nights.

Long conversations that stretched into something deeper—

where words mattered less than the connection behind them.

E had seen him.

Not the version he showed the world—

the one underneath.

And she didn’t look away.

That was the part he couldn’t shake.

She didn’t try to fix him.

Didn’t try to change him.

She just… accepted him.

Every broken edge.

Every bad decision.

Every piece he didn’t even want to admit was there.

And somehow—

that made everything feel possible.

AJ exhaled slowly.

Because it hadn’t just been the physical connection.

Yeah… that was there.

Strong.

Intense.

The kind that pulled you in and didn’t let go.

But it was more than that.

It was the way they moved together—

not just bodies—

but minds.

In sync.

Like they were chasing the same thing—

even if neither of them knew what it was yet.

Those were the moments he held onto.

The ones where everything else disappeared.

No past.

No future.

Just now.

And then—

it was gone.

AJ’s jaw tightened.

Because even now—

he couldn’t fully understand how it fell apart.

One minute they were building something—

talking about what came next—

what they could be—

and the next—

nothing.

No warning.

No explanation.

Just silence.

And that silence…

stayed.

Even now.

Even here.

Months later—

it still hit the same way.

Like something had been ripped out—

not clean—

not quick—

but torn away.

Leaving everything else exposed.

AJ shifted in the seat.

Trying to shake it off.

But it didn’t go anywhere.

Because no matter how far he drove—

no matter how deep he went into everything else—

that part of him was still there.

Still waiting.

Still unfinished.

“I should let it go,” he muttered under his breath.

He knew that.

Knew he had to focus on what was in front of him now.

What M had put in motion.

What E had become.

What he was becoming.

But knowing something—

and feeling it—

weren’t the same thing.

Because what he felt—

was her.

Still.

Always.

Sleep started to pull at him.

Slow.

Heavy.

And as he drifted—

his last thought wasn’t about the city.

Or M.

Or what came next.

It was simple.

Come back.

Not spoken.

Not loud.

Just there.

A quiet thought he couldn’t let go of.

Because no matter how far he went—

no matter what he became—

It didn’t start the way AJ thought it did.

Not with the phone calls.

Not with the city.

Not even with him.

It started years earlier—

in a place like this.

An alley that smelled like heat and bad decisions.

E stood alone.

Younger.

But not softer.

Her hands steady—

even if her heart wasn’t.

She knew why she was there.

Money.

Not for anything glamorous.

Not for dreams.

For survival.

The sound came first.

Engine low.

Controlled.

Then the car.

Black.

Always black.

The window rolled down slowly—

like it didn’t need to rush.

M sat inside.

Same as now.

Calm.

Still.

Like the world moved for him—

not the other way around.

“Get in,” he said.

No greeting.

No explanation.

E didn’t hesitate.

Because hesitation didn’t belong in moments like this.

She slid into the seat beside him.

The door shut.

And just like that—

everything behind her was gone.

The car moved.

The city swallowed them.

“You need money,” M said.

Not a question.

E nodded.

“I do.”

M glanced at her—

not long—

but long enough.

“You’re willing to work for it.”

Another statement.

Another truth.

E met his eyes this time.

“Yes.”

That was all he needed.

M leaned back slightly.

“I have something that requires… presence,” he said.

E didn’t speak.

Because she understood what that meant.

Not details.

But enough.

“People talk,” M continued. “When they feel comfortable.”

A pause.

“When they feel seen.”

His gaze shifted back to her.

“And sometimes… when they feel wanted.”

The air in the car changed.

Not heavier.

Sharper.

E felt it.

That edge.

That line she was about to cross—

before she even knew where it led.

“What do I have to do?” she asked.

M reached out—

not fast—

not forceful—

just enough to tilt her chin slightly toward him.

“Whatever it takes.”

Not cruel.

Not loud.

Certain.

E held his gaze.

And something inside her—

locked into place.

Because this wasn’t a question anymore.

It was a direction.

And she had already chosen it—

before she got in the car.

6

The club was worse.

Not louder.

Just… realer.

The kind of place where no one pretended to be anything else.

E stepped inside—

dress tight—

eyes steady—

heart controlled.

She felt it immediately.

The attention.

The weight of it.

Eyes on her.

Watching.

Measuring.

Exactly the way M had.

And suddenly—

she understood.

This wasn’t about the room.

It was about her.

What she could do in it.

What she was willing to become.

M’s voice echoed in her head—

Whatever it takes.

And E—

E didn’t step back.

She stepped forward.

Because that was the moment—

everything changed.

Not all at once.

Not in some dramatic break.

But quietly.

Completely.

She didn’t belong to that alley anymore.

Didn’t belong to anything she was before.

And somewhere in that shift—

something inside her stopped asking questions.

And started surviving.

Years later—

AJ stood in that same world—

thinking he had chosen it.

Not realizing—

it had already chosen E long before him.

And now—

R didn’t teach.

Not in any way AJ recognized.

He watched.

That was it.

Carefully.

Quietly.

The way you study something—

not to understand it…

but to see what it’s made of.

AJ had been back to the studio four times.

Each visit—

shorter words.

Longer silences.

R said less.

Observed more.

And every time AJ left—

he felt it.

Like he’d passed something.

Or failed it.

He couldn’t always tell which.

The person R introduced him to—

wasn’t what he expected.

Not a man.

Not someone loud.

Not someone threatening.

That would’ve made it easier.

She was maybe thirty.

Hair pulled back.

Reading glasses pushed up on her head—

more habit than need.

A legal pad in front of her—

covered in tight handwriting that looked like code.

R called her V.

Just that.

V looked at AJ the way someone looks at numbers.

Not cold.

Not warm.

Precise.

“You’re greener than he said,” she told R.

R didn’t respond.

Which meant she was right.

Cahuenga · The kind of studio where deals happened before the music ever did

“Logistics,” R said.

That was the word.

Clean.

Professional.

The kind of word that didn’t bleed.

AJ was starting to understand—

the cleaner the word—

the worse the truth underneath it.

V moved things.

Quietly.

Through clubs.

Through back rooms.

Through people who didn’t ask questions—

because they didn’t want answers.

And now—

AJ was part of that.

“You’ve got a face people trust,” V said, still writing.

“That’s rare.”

A pause.

“Most people in this world make you nervous just standing next to them.”

AJ didn’t smile.

Didn’t respond.

Because he didn’t know if that was a compliment—

or a warning.

That night—

AJ told E everything.

Not because he had to.

Because she was the only one left—

who would tell him what it actually meant.

E didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t react.

Just listened.

Still.

Too still.

When he finished—

she stayed quiet for a long time.

Then stood.

Walked to the window.

The city stretched out in front of her—

alive in all the wrong ways.

“You know what this world does,” she said.

AJ nodded.

“I do.”

E turned.

“No,” she said quietly.

“You know what it looks like.”

A beat.

“I know what it feels like.”

That landed harder.

Because she wasn’t warning him.

She was remembering.

AJ waited.

Expected her to say it.

Walk away.

Stop now.

She didn’t.

Instead—

“If you’re going to do this…”

She sat back down.

Eyes locked on him.

“You have to stop feeling it.”

AJ frowned.

“Feeling what?”

E didn’t hesitate.

“Everything.”

“The hesitation.”

“The guilt.”

“The part of you that still wonders if you’re a good person.”

Silence.

“That part gets people killed,” she said.

A pause.

“Or worse.”

AJ leaned back.

“You’re talking like that’s a switch.”

E held his gaze.

“It is.”

“And you flip it once—”

She shook her head.

“No.”

“You flip it every day.”

“Until one day…”

Her voice dropped slightly.

“…you don’t have to anymore.”

AJ sat with that.

Because there was no softness in it.

No apology.

Just truth.

This wasn’t the life he imagined anymore.

Not the version built on music and late nights and possibility.

This was something else.

Something that took.

Piece by piece.

Until you didn’t notice what was missing.

He thought about L.

Of course he did.

He always did—

when things got too heavy.

Not because he wanted her back.

Because she still had something.

Something he could feel slipping out of his own hands.

Something real.

Something untouched.

He wondered if she knew.

Wondered if someone else was already showing her—

what this world really was.

Because music had its own version of it.

Cleaner.

But just as hungry.

AJ called M the next morning.

Early.

Before the city fully woke up.

“I’ll do it,” AJ said.

No hesitation.

No questions.

M didn’t react.

Didn’t congratulate him.

Didn’t need to.

“Good,” he said.

Just one word.

Like it had already been decided.

Like AJ had never really had another choice.

And maybe—

he hadn’t.

Maybe the path was always there.

Waiting.

Since the first call.

Since the static.

AJ gripped the glass tighter than he needed to.

The room was loud—but not loud enough to drown out the feeling crawling under his skin.

E was already watching him.

She had that look again.

The one that didn’t ask. Didn’t suggest.

Took.

“You’re thinking too much,” she said, stepping into his space.

AJ let out a slow breath.

“Not enough,” he replied.

E smiled.

Sharp.

“Then stop.”

Her hand found his arm—slow, deliberate—fingertips dragging just enough to leave a trace behind.

Not soft.

Intentional.

L was across the room.

Watching.

Not surprised.

Not unsure.

Something else.

Like she already knew where this was going— and wasn’t stepping away.

AJ stood.

The noise of the room dropped away— or maybe he just stopped hearing it.

E leaned in close.

“You still want this?” she asked.

Her voice low.

Close enough that he felt it more than heard it.

AJ didn’t answer right away.

Because the truth wasn’t simple anymore.

It wasn’t just about her.

Or L.

Or even the moment.

It was everything.

And he was already in too deep to pretend otherwise.

“Yeah,” he said finally.

That was all it took.

E grabbed his shirt—not rough, but firm—and pulled him forward.

The space between them disappeared.

L moved closer too.

No hesitation.

No second thought.

Just presence.

Real.

The apartment door barely had time to close before everything collided.

Not rushed— but not slow either.

Like something that had been building finally let go.

Hands finding skin. Breath catching. Movement without thinking.

E pressed him back against the wall— not controlling— but not giving ground either.

L was there too— closer now— her presence different— steady— grounding— but just as real.

AJ felt it—

the shift.

Not just desire.

Something deeper.

Something that pulled all three of them into the same moment— the same rhythm— the same intensity.

No words.

Just heat. Just connection. Just the kind of closeness that blurs everything else out.

Time slipped.

The city outside kept moving— but inside— everything narrowed.

To them.

To now.

To something none of them were going to walk away from the same.

Later—

the room settled into something quieter.

Not calm.

Just… after.

AJ leaned back— breathing steady— trying to hold onto whatever that was.

E stood near the window again.

Like she always did.

Untouchable—even when she wasn’t.

L sat close— not distant— but different.

More aware now.

AJ looked between them.

And for a moment—

he didn’t think about M.

Didn’t think about R.

Didn’t think about anything waiting outside that room.

Because whatever this was—

it felt real.

AJ hadn’t slept. Not really. He’d closed his eyes, but sleep required stillness—and everything inside him kept moving.

The ceiling gave him nothing. Just shifting shadows from the city outside, lights sliding across the walls like thoughts he couldn’t hold. He lay there in E’s apartment, listening to the hum—the low, constant pulse of a place that never stopped—and underneath it, he felt something heavier.

Not guilt. Not fear.

Something deeper. Like he was already too far down and couldn’t remember where the surface was.

M had given him a name.

R.

“Find him. Tell him I sent you.”

No explanation. No context. Just direction—and the understanding that questions didn’t belong anymore.

Across the room, E was awake. Of course she was. Sitting at the table, coffee untouched, a phone in her hand she wasn’t using—just holding, like it anchored her to something she didn’t want to lose.

“You knew this was coming,” AJ said.

E didn’t look up right away. “I know how M works. He doesn’t give you everything at once.”

AJ sat up slowly, running a hand over his face. “And R?”

That made her shift. Just enough.

“R is where it stops being a game,” she said. “You’ve been at the edge. He pulls you in—and once you’re in, there’s no stepping back.”

AJ felt it again. That pull. Not excitement anymore—something more physical, more instinctive. Like standing too close to something dangerous and realizing part of you didn’t want to move away.

E stood and crossed the room, stopping just in front of him. Close enough that the air between them felt charged.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said.

But she didn’t believe it. He could hear that.

AJ looked at her—really looked—and for the first time, he saw something behind the control. Something human. Something tired.

“You didn’t stop,” he said quietly.

E held his gaze. “No.”

That was all it took.

Something shifted between them—something that had been building for nights, for choices neither of them had walked away from. AJ reached for her, slow but certain, and she didn’t hesitate. When she moved into him, it wasn’t gentle—it was real, immediate, the kind of connection that didn’t ask permission.

The city kept moving outside—lights sliding past the window, cars cutting through the dark—but inside, everything narrowed to breath, to touch, to the feeling of holding onto something before it slipped away again.

It wasn’t about escape.

It wasn’t about control.

It was about being there, fully, knowing it wouldn’t last—and not stopping anyway.

Later, the room settled into a quieter kind of silence. Not empty—just different.

AJ sat at the edge of the bed, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. E was behind him now, still, watching.

“What happens next?” he asked.

E didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice was steady.

“You go see R.”

AJ nodded. There wasn’t another path. Not anymore.

He found R that afternoon in a studio off Cahuenga, the kind of place that looked like nothing from the outside—cracked walls, a flickering sign—but inside it felt alive. Cables ran across the floor, lights glowed behind glass, and sound filled the space like it had weight.

R stood at the board, not surprised when AJ walked in.

“M sent you,” he said.

AJ nodded.

“Sit.”

AJ sat.

Because now he understood something he hadn’t before—this wasn’t about getting in.

He already was.

This was about what happened next.

Hours later, he stepped back into the night. The city had fully come alive again—neon, movement, noise—and it pressed against him like it was waiting for an answer.

What are you?

AJ didn’t try to answer.

Because he knew something now—

it didn’t matter what he thought.

The city would decide.

He started walking.

Deeper in.

AJ hadn’t been to Reseda.

Hadn’t even heard the name before M said it—

slow…

deliberate…

like it carried weight.

Like it meant something ugly.

“There are girls out there,” M had said—

eyes somewhere else—

“who still believe in things.”

A pause.

“God. Country. The right kind of man.”

Then he looked at AJ.

“And there are men…”

A faint smile.

“…who take that apart piece by piece.”

AJ didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Because he felt it—

that quiet recognition settling into his chest.

That’s who he was becoming.

Ventura Boulevard — San Fernando Valley

Late evening — early 1980s

The Valley felt different.

Heavier.

The sky bruised purple and red—

like something had been hit too many times and stopped healing.

E drove.

Of course she drove.

One hand on the wheel.

Window down.

Hair whipping back—

but her face didn’t move.

She didn’t react to anything.

Like the city bent around her instead of the other way around.

AJ watched everything slide past—

Neon signs buzzing like they were barely holding on.

Parking lots half-empty.

Places that looked alive—

but weren’t.

“This isn’t your side of the city,” AJ said.

E didn’t look at him.

“No.”

A beat.

“But I know it.”

There was something in her voice this time.

Something close to memory.

Not soft.

But… exposed.

“You grew up around here?” AJ asked.

A small smile.

Sharp.

“Close enough.”

AJ studied her.

“You never talk about before.”

E let out a breath—

slow—

like something almost slipped out with it.

“Before doesn’t keep you alive,” she said.

That landed.

Because it wasn’t just a statement.

It was a rule.

AJ leaned his head back against the seat.

And for a second—

L came back to him.

Not the way she used to.

Not warmth.

Something duller.

Like pressing on a bruise just to prove it’s still there.

Indiana.

She said it like it meant something real.

Like it had weight.

Nothing ever happened there—

but everything mattered.

AJ understood that now.

Because here—

everything happened.

Fast.

Loud.

Relentless.

And none of it stayed.

He exhaled slowly.

This was freedom.

It had to be.

Didn’t it?

E pulled off Mulholland.

No destination.

Just space.

The kind of place where the city opened itself up—

spread out beneath them—

like something alive.

She killed the engine.

Silence.

Not peaceful.

Just… still.

E stepped out.

AJ followed.

The wind hit harder up there—

lifting her hair—

pulling at her clothes—

but she didn’t move with it.

She stood at the edge like she belonged there.

Like everything below her—

was already hers.

AJ stepped beside her.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

For a moment—

they weren’t inside it anymore.

They were above it.

The good girls in their houses.

The bad ones already out in the streets.

The men pretending to be something they weren’t.

All of it moving.

All of it feeding something bigger.

“I used to come here,” E said.

Her voice quieter now.

“When I was younger.”

“Alone?” AJ asked.

She shook her head.

“No.”

Nothing else.

AJ didn’t push.

Because he knew—

E didn’t give things all at once.

You got pieces.

And only if she let you.

Then—

she said it.

Soft.

Like it slipped out before she could stop it.

“His name is D.”

AJ turned.

“Your son.”

She nodded.

Didn’t look at him.

“He’s six.”

AJ stayed still.

Because suddenly—

everything about her shifted.

Not weaker.

But real.

Too real.

“Does he know you?” AJ asked.

E stared out at the city.

“He knows I love him.”

A pause.

“That’s not the same thing.”

The wind moved around them—

but it didn’t touch that moment.

Because AJ felt it hit deep.

Not just her.

Him too.

All the things he’d said—

all the things he hadn’t meant—

all the people he’d left behind.

Same story.

Different faces.

They stayed there longer than they should have.

Neither of them saying M’s name.

Neither of them saying what came next.

And neither of them saying L—

who was somewhere else now.

Under lights.

Being seen.

AJ thought about that.

What it would feel like—

to be found.

Not chased.

Not pulled.

Chosen.

But that wasn’t his direction anymore.

He knew it.

He could feel it.

Because this—

this wasn’t rising.

It just felt like it.

What it really was—

was falling.

E drove them back.

The city swallowed them again.

Neon.

Noise.

Heat.

Movement.

Everything that made it impossible to stop.

AJ pressed his hand against the glass.

Felt the vibration of it—

like the whole place was alive—

breathing—

hungry.

Somewhere in it—

M was waiting.

Something bigger was waiting.

And everything out there—

every beautiful, dangerous thing that moved through the night—

was already part of it.

AJ closed his eyes for a second.

Then opened them.

Because now—

he wasn’t watching anymore.

He was inside it.

The question wasn’t whether he’d fall.

He already was.

The question was—

The place didn’t have a name.

Not on the outside.

Just a door.

And a man who didn’t ask questions.

E didn’t slow down.

AJ followed.

Because this was it.

The moment everything had been building toward.

Inside—

it wasn’t loud.

No music.

No crowd.

Just quiet.

Controlled.

The kind of quiet that meant something.

AJ felt it immediately.

“This isn’t a club,” he said under his breath.

E didn’t look back.

“No,” she said.

They walked deeper.

Through a hallway that felt too long.

Too still.

Then—

they stopped.

A room.

Dim light.

And someone already there.

M.

He didn’t look dangerous.

That was the first thing AJ noticed.

No raised voice.

No heavy presence.

Just… calm.

Measured.

Like everything around him already belonged to him.

“So,” M said, not looking up at first. “This is the one.”

AJ felt it hit him—

not fear.

Pressure.

Like being weighed without being touched.

E stepped forward.

“Yes.”

M looked up now.

And for the first time—

AJ understood.

This wasn’t about power.

It was about control.

The kind you don’t see—

until it’s already too late.

“You took your time,” M said to E.

E didn’t react.

“I needed to be sure.”

M studied AJ.

Long enough to make it uncomfortable.

Then—

“You believe in yourself,” M said.

AJ nodded.

“I do.”

A faint smile.

“Good,” M replied.

“Because no one else will where this goes.”

That should have been a warning.

But AJ didn’t hear it that way.

He heard opportunity.

“E says you want more,” M continued.

AJ didn’t hesitate.

“I do.”

M leaned back slightly.

“Everyone does.”

A pause.

“But not everyone understands what it costs.”

Silence.

E didn’t speak.

Because this part—

this part wasn’t hers anymore.

“Let me ask you something,” M said.

AJ stepped forward slightly.

“Go ahead.”

M tilted his head.

“What are you willing to lose?”

That question—

hung in the air.

AJ didn’t answer right away.

Because for the first time—

he felt it.

Not doubt.

But awareness.

Then—

“I already lost it,” AJ said.

M smiled slightly.

“Good answer.”

Later—

AJ sat in silence.

Processing.

Everything had changed.

Not gradually.

Instantly.

E stood near the window.

Watching the city again.

“You didn’t tell me everything,” AJ said.

E didn’t turn.

“I didn’t need to.”

AJ stood.

“There’s more going on here.”

E nodded once.

“Yes.”

A pause.

Then—

“There’s always more.”

AJ stepped closer.

“What else don’t I know?”

E finally turned.

And for the first time—

something real broke through.

Not power.

Not control.

Something… human.

“I have a son,” she said.

Silence.

AJ blinked.

“What?”

E didn’t look away.

“I don’t see him much.”

That didn’t fit.

Not with anything AJ thought he knew.

“Why?” he asked.

E didn’t answer immediately.

Because that answer—

was heavier than anything else.

“Because this life doesn’t leave room for it.”

That hit harder than anything M said.

Because now—

AJ saw it.

The cost.

Not theoretical.

Real.

And E—

was living it.

Across the city—

in a room filled with sound—

L stood under lights.

Real lights.

Not club lights.

Stage lights.

And people were listening.

Really listening.

She didn’t look for AJ.

Didn’t expect him.

Because somewhere inside—

she already knew.

They weren’t on the same path anymore.

And maybe—