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“You okay?” I asked, already knowing.

A pause.

Then, “I don’t think I am.”

My breath caught. “Talk to me.”

She sniffed. Again.

“I sang the song tonight. Our song.More Than a Moment.And I gave them everything, Raj. Every drop of me. And when the last note faded... I was alone again.”

I closed my eyes.

“You’re not alone,” I said.

“You’re not here.”

And there it was. The silence between our sentences finally filled in.

“I know,” I whispered. “I know, baby.”

She didn’t say a word, but I could hear her breathing—shaky, low, like she was holding on with both hands and still slipping.

“Listen,” I said, already on my feet, pacing. “I hear you. Even the parts you ain’t saying. And I’m not waiting for you to spell it out.”

A sound left her then—part sob, part sigh.

“I’m coming to you,” I said. “Tomorrow.”

“Raj…”

“No more time zones. No more pretending distance doesn’t bruise us. I want you. Real time. No filters. No countdowns.”

Another breath. Then the softest, most broken “Please.”

And that was all I needed.

I stood there for a beat, staring into space like I could replay her voice in the air. Still hearing the ache in it. Still feeling the way it cracked something open in me.

Falling for her hadn’t been a choice. It was a slow descent—one I never tried to stop. And somehow, I’d learned how to breathe underwater.

Amir’s voice cut through the quiet. “She okay?”

I swallowed. My throat tightened. “Not really.”

He didn’t need more than that.

“Then go to your woman,” he said, firm, like it was the only answer. “I’ll handle the label. Blame me if you need to.”

“You sure?”

“You think they’ll argue with me after I gave themNight Things?” he snorted. “Nah. But if they do, I’ll just say your vocals were trash and you needed to go get your heart back.”

I let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Appreciate you.”

“Go fix that shit, man.”

And I did.