Page 289 of Invisible Bars

Me:“There is. But some chapters stay closed… at least for now.”

Naji: “All I’ll say is, I didn’t plan on staying… but something made me.”

Me: “And I didn’t plan on needing anyone. But then she showed up, and suddenly... I couldn’t picture life without her.”

I remembered the lady looking between us, wisely choosing not to press. She didn’t need to. The story sat heavy in the silence, and that was enough.

Naomi: “Naji, you’re becoming a major voice for people living with Tourette Syndrome and other conditions often overlooked in fashion and media. What’s something you wish more people understood about living with it?”

Naji:“One of the most difficult things about living with Tourette’s is the ignorance we face daily. I’m not anti-social; I’mselectivelysocial. There’s a difference. Just because you can’t see the struggle doesn’t mean it’s not there. The tics aren’t just quirky or loud—sometimes they’re painful. They can be physically exhausting. It’s complex, lifelong, and different for every person.

What I want people to understand is that our tics botherusmore than they botheryou. They’re uncontrollable,reallyannoying, and tough to hold in. So if you ever see someone twitching, shouting, blinking, or making random movements,don’t stare and don’t make a rude comments; just smile and keep it moving. Treat us like anyone else.

I said all that to say—everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about. Be kind. Always.”

Naomi: “Imanio, you’re known for your quiet power, but behind the image, there’s a man with a story. Can you talk about life before the spotlight?”

Me: “Before all this? I was just a kid from a block that most people tried to survive and forget. I was raised in the kind of neighborhood where people didn’t dream big, because we were too busy trying to make it to next week. Where mothers turned into warriors, and fathers were either gone, locked up, or ghosts in the hallway.

I didn’t grow up with privilege; I grew up with instincts. I knew who to avoid and when to keep my head down. I learned to move quiet, stay alert, and keep my feelings tucked deep, because feelings got you hurt. We didn’t have therapists; we had porches, dice games, and funerals. I watched people die young. Watched boys turn to men before they hit sixteen. Watched girls carry trauma in their bodies like armor. I was one of them—the ones trying to survive, trying to figure out who we were without losing what little we had. People think success erases all that… it doesn’t; it just makes you quieter about the struggle.

Yeah, I made it out, but I didn’t forget where I come from. The hood taught me a lot—silence, loyalty and pain. The environment also taught me how to love in ways that doesn’t always look soft, and how to protect others—especiallythe ones who can’t protect themselves.

It’s why I move the way I do now. Not just because I want to be seen as solid, but because Iknowwhat it looks like when the people around you crumble and nobody catches them. I wasn’t raised rich; I was raised real. And I carry that with me everywhere I go.”

Naomi: “Describe Naji in your own words.”

Me: “Naji—the pretty, sharp-tongued girl with haunted eyes, a beautiful soul, and a condition that makes silence feel louder than words. She’s loud… in a quiet way. And the total opposite of everything I thought I needed.

Naji’s love hits different. When we first met, she didn’t want anything from me. Naji saw the worst in me and still touched the softest parts like they were hers. She challenged me, softened me, and woke something up in me I thought I buried with my past.

Naji is proof that the people who save you don’t always comepolished. Sometimes, they come shaking, ticcing, flinching at shadows—but still standing. She didn’t just survive me; she changed me. And maybe the real plot twist… is that I changed her too. She’s a queen, but beneath that crown, there’s always a touch of gangster and a hint of psycho. Don’t test her.”

Naomi: “And Naji, how would you describe Imanio?”

Naji:“Whew. Complicated. Grumpy. But… brilliant, loving, and very protective. He’s not what the world thinks he is—and maybe that’s the point. He’s been through more than most people could survive, but somehow he still shows up for the people he loves… especially me. We didn’t just fall in love; wehealedin places we didn’t think would stop bleeding. He’s not perfect… neither am I. But we never asked each other to be.”

Naomi: “You’ve both come so far individually. What’s something you’ve learned together, as a couple?”

Naji and I agreed to let her answer that one.

Naji:“We’ve learned that love isn’t just flowers and date nights; it’s patience when one of us shuts down, softness after sharp words, and choosing each other again every single day, even when it’s hard… especially when it’s hard.

Naomi: “Last question—and y’all can answer this together. Any thoughts about kids someday?

That was the part where me and Naji glanced at each other and shared a knowing look, and then laughed quietly.

Naji:“We’ve talked about it.”

Me: “Yeah. We want it to be right. I want her to feel safe, seen, and supported. I grew up in survival mode—I want our kid to grow up in love mode.”

Naji:“Exactly. I know my diagnosis will make certain things harder, but it won’t stop me. When that time comes, I just want to raise a little human who understands kindness, strength, softness and fire—all at once.”

Chapter Fifty-One

GISELLE

Isat on the edge of the stiff hotel bed and stared out the window as if it held the answers to the disarray of my life. The view was lackluster—a sprawling cityscape dulled by a gray sky—yet I found myself searching for hope in its monotony. The hotel was decent enough, clean and spacious enough to provide a veneer of comfort. But it was far from the luxuriousGiselle Korsstandards I had once taken for granted.