Continuing felt different than before.
Not like momentum regained, or a return to motion after rest, but like movement that no longer needed to justify itself. Aaliyah noticed it when she agreed to something small without hesitation and without calculation.
A morning class at the community center.
A weekly commitment.
Nothing prestigious. Nothing strategic.
Just something that asked her to show up.
The room was modest, folding chairs, a whiteboard with faint marker ghosts, windows that let in more sound than light. A handful of people gathered, each carrying a version of quiet curiosity.
Aaliyah sat among them, not at the front.
The facilitator began without ceremony.
"We're not here to fix anything," she said. "We're here to notice patterns."
Aaliyah felt something settle at that.
