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Not just in the spotlight. But in the shadow. In the silence.

In the way her voice made my chest tighten.

In the way her absence made my pen dry up.

In the way I still heard her moan in the middle of a song that wasn’t even about sex.

I’d tried writing about other things—other women. Other sounds. But she kept showing up.

In the metaphors. In the melodies. In the margins.

Sienna Ray lived in my music now.

Shewasthe music.

My phone buzzed.

I glanced down.

Sienna: I know they’re loud right now. But you’re not invisible to me.

You were the first one who heard me when I thought I had nothing left to say.

That’s not noise. That’s memory. That’s truth.

My breath stilled.

I typed slow, fingers tight.

Me: I don’t want to be a part of your past.

I want to be beside you in every room you command.

Three dots pulsed.

Paused.

Then returned.

Sienna: Then come to the listening party.

You helped build this sound.

Don’t act like it’s not yours too.

I stared at the message.

The choice wasn’t just about pride. It was about healing something deeper. About deciding if I could let love be louder than ego.

Amir watched me with that same look he’d given me back when we first started this project—like he was waiting for me to stop shrinking and remember who the fuck I was.

I took a breath. Not the kind that settles you. The kind that steadies you.

“Send me the next beat,” I told him.

He smiled. “Already did.”

And in that moment, I didn’t feel like a shadow. I felt like the one who shaped the light.