Maya had been right, and it wasn’t lost on Jaden that his self-imposed isolation was starting to fade. But despite his progress, the old habits still lingered, clinging to him like shadows.

That evening, he found himself reaching for the kush again. His hands moved automatically, rolling it, lighting it, and inhaling. It wasn’t about the ritual anymore—it was about escaping again, even if just for a moment. The pull of the comfort was stronger than he anticipated.

But as he sat there, in the familiar haze of smoke and the distant hum of the city outside, something inside him shifted. He put the joint down halfway through. For the first time in ages, he didn’t feel like he needed it. He got up, walked to the kitchen, and poured himself a glass of cranberry juice. The sweetness, this time, felt different—more present. It wasn’t a shield; it was simply a part of his life now, something to enjoy without hiding behind it.