Tia hadn’t been this still in weeks.


She sat on the apartment balcony, a hoodie pulled over her braids, blanket wrapped around her legs, pen tucked behind her ear, and her journal—what was left of it—resting on her lap.


The ripped-out pages still stung.


Some of her best work. Gone.


But her voice?


Still here.


She started writing a new piece called “Bleeding in Reverse.”


“You ever loved somebody so deep

That you started vanishing from your own mirror?

Ever kissed a storm and called it summer?

I did.

But now I’m bleeding in reverse—

Backwards.

Healing don’t make sense at first.

Just feels like loss wrapped in light.”


She paused.


Then underlined the last line three times.


Down the street, Nova was at their usual café spot, laptop open, headphones in, working on a mix titled “Resilience.”


Nova didn’t say it out loud, but every beat they layered lately had been about her.


About the way Tia turned pain into poetry.


About the way she walked through fire without burning out.


When Tia texted—“Mic night tonight. I’m going. You in?”—Nova responded in ten seconds flat:


“Front row.”


That evening at The Yard, the crowd felt thicker. Louder. People had heard about her last set. A buzz followed her name now.


But when she stepped on stage, Tia didn’t speak right away.


She let the silence settle.


Then looked dead at the camera in the back of the room.


She knew Malik would be watching.


And then she delivered the poem like a scalpel.


“You said my voice was too much,

So I buried it beneath lipstick and bruises

You said my words made you small

So I shrank

Until my knees forgot what standing felt like


But here I am—

Unfolding.

Rising.

And when they ask who helped me heal—

I’ll say silence taught me nothing.

But screaming?

Screaming saved me.”


The room broke.


Snaps. Cheers. Tears.


Nova met her offstage, eyes glassy.


“I think that was the one,” they whispered.


“It had to be,” Tia said. “Because tonight wasn’t for them.”


Nova tilted their head. “Then who?”


Tia smiled.


“Me.”