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She looked away, just for a moment. Then back at him.

“So yeah, I know what it means to lose. But I also know what it means to survive it. To still love anyway.”

Taraj’s jaw tightened like he felt it somewhere deep. He didn’t speak right away.

When he did, it was quiet. “That kind of strength… that’s why your voice hits the way it does.”

That hit different.

We sat with that for a while.

Both of us too full of words to speak any more of them.

Then Amaya walked in with coffee, lightening the energy. She lit up when she saw Sienna and they fell into easy banter—skincare, teas, natural deodorant debates. I watched Sienna lean into that joy, watched her laugh like it came from somewhere new.

But every so often, she’d glance my way. Not to flirt. Just toseeme.

And when our eyes met, I knew she’d felt every word we hadn’t said.

Because this wasn’t just sex anymore. Wasn’t just sound waves and chemistry. It was resonance and maybe something deeper than that.

Later that night,after everyone dipped out and the studio was quiet again, my phone buzzed.

I let it ring once. Twice.

Then picked it up, leaning against the back wall where the light didn’t quite reach.

“What’s up, old man?”

“Youtell me,” he said, his voice that familiar gravel—seasoned, steady. “Heard the new track.”

I exhaled through my nose. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Sounded good. Clean. Focused. But…”

I smirked. “Still needs something?”

A beat passed. “Mmm. Yeah. But I ain’t talkin’ about the song, son.”

My chest got still. Eyes dropped to the floor like they were trying to dodge something I couldn’t name.

“I’m talkin’ about her.”

I didn’t say anything. The silence stretched long, but not empty. It was full of all the things I’d been avoiding.

“You love this work. Love this craft. You know what rhythm is. You know what tension is. But you sound like you’re stuck in both right now. Trust me, I’ve been there, but I was there because I was running the street game, and nothing about the game supports love. Your music is all love.”

I closed my eyes for a second. Let the words soak. The game my dad played was a dangerous one. It helped to end his marriage to my mom. It had him losing people who mattered to him. People I never met, gone long before I was created. It had him missing out on Mena’s and my childhood. So if anyone understood the place between rhythm and tension, it was he.

“Where’s your head at?” he asked, quieter now.

I ran a hand down my face. “Same place the music’s at. Right in the middle of wantin’ it bad and not knowin’ how to move.”

Another pause. Then, “You remember what I told you when you couldn’t finish that last track for your EP?”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “Yeah.”

“Say it back.”