Home did not announce itself as arrival.
It emerged graduallyin the way the door closed behind them each evening, in the familiar creak of the floor near the window, in the quiet certainty that nothing waited outside demanding explanation.
Aaliyah noticed it most clearly when she stopped bracing for interruption.
There was no pause before sitting down.
No calculation before resting.
No subtle readiness to be pulled back into motion.
Home, she realized, was the absence of rehearsal.
Rowan felt it too.
They moved through the apartment with an ease that came from shared rhythm rather than coordination. Conversations began mid-thought. Silence stretched without apology.
One afternoon, Rowan looked up from her work and said, "You don't look like you're between things anymore."
Aaliyah smiled. "I don't feel like I am."
Rowan tilted her head. "So what does this phase feel like?"
Aaliyah considered the question longer than usual.
