Aliyah's POV
The rest of the afternoon flowed easier. Tracy showed me her studio, racks of unfinished clothes and sketches pinned to walls. She talked about fabrics and runways, about campaigns and deadlines. She let me laugh at her failed designs and even nudged me to try on a jacket she’d made.
“You look fierce,” she said when I stood before the mirror, draped in black leather with silver studs.
I laughed, the sound foreign but welcome. For the first time in weeks, I felt a sliver of the old Aliyah, the one who loved the track, the one who believed in herself, the one who wasn’t defined by shame.
When the sun began to set, Tracy walked me to the door.
“Come back soon,” she said warmly. “You need friends around you and I need someone to keep me sane before this baby arrives.”
I smi
