And eventually—somewhere between the movie credits rolling and her steady breathing beside me—I fall asleep holding onto my big sister. I can rest because in this moment love is ringing louder than my fears.
I wake up to sunlight.
Soft. Tawny. Quiet.
For a moment, I don’t move. I just lie there listening to the silence of my apartment and trying to remember what day it is. Monday. Back to the grit and grind of adulthood.
Then I notice the other side of the bed is empty.
Ajaih is gone.
The junk food wrappers have been cleaned up. The movie isn’t paused anymore. My room smells faintly like the lavender oil she always carries in her bag.
And there’s a folded piece of paper on my nightstand.
My chest swells before I even open it. Ajaih loves leaving me notes. It’s ourthing. Her handwriting is unmistakable, looping and confident.
Lean Bean,
The greatest joy of my life has been getting to connect with you and DJ. I found you in this lifetime and I’ll find you in the next one if I have to. You are the greatest gift, baby sis. You were sleeping so peacefully I didn’t want to wake you. Knox had some meals delivered for you to take some stress off your mind and body. It’s all your favorites. I love you, Bean, with everything in me. I’ll call you later. Text me if you need me.
-JaJa
I don’t even make it to the end before my vision blurs.
The tears come fast.
Not quiet. Not graceful. Full-bodied, shoulder-shaking sobs that rise from somewhere deep and ancient inside me. I clutch the note to my chest like it might disappear if I loosen my grip.
To be loved like that.
Not because I earned it.
Not because I performed well.
Not because I was perfect.
Just because I exist.
It breaks something open in me.
All my life I’ve been fighting a body that betrays me. I fight expectations. Fight fear. Fight the idea that I had to be strong enough for everyone else.
But this.
This is what strength really looks like.
Being held.
Being seen.
Being chosen every time I don’t think I will be.
To be loved is to be complete.
I cry until the storm passes and the ache in my chest feels more like gratefulness than grief. Then I wipe my face, inhale deeply, and sit up.
There’s a notification on my phone. A delivery confirmation. Knox must have already coordinated everything.
