Page 58 of The Spark

And somewhere between chasing that next win, stacking that next move, I started fumbling her.

I didn’t mean to.

I just told myself I was busy. That she knew me well enough to understand the grind. That short texts and fewer phone calls wouldn’t be the death of us. But standing there in that studio, scrolling back through our last few messages—brief, hollow, barely warm—I knew I’d already done the damage.

She had every reason to think I was slipping away. Because in some ways…I had.

That day, I didn’t even register the moment Tasha walked in. I was deep in the mix, laser-focused on tweaking Raj’s vocals. He was in the booth, laying down something raw, his voice dragging pain and hunger through every bar.

It was fire.

But the moment Tasha touched me—her hand on my chest, her fingers trailing light over my shirt—my entire body tensed. I stepped back immediately, the worddon’talready rising in my throat.

And then Raj’s voice cut in, sharp and direct through the speakers.

“Yo, Amir—look.”

I turned and time stopped.

Amaya stood in the doorway. Still. Quiet. Staring. And just like that, the ground beneath me cracked wide open.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t rage on even if what she saw was a misunderstanding. She just looked at me. Lookedthroughme.

And that was worse.

Because I could see it in her face—the exact moment something broke. The disbelief. The grief.

Her mouth parted like she wanted to say something. Maybe needed to but instead her jaw locked and her chin lifted before she walked out.

No scene. No goodbye. Just…gone.

Panic shot through me. “Shit,” I muttered, shoving past Tasha, nearly knocking her over as I bolted for the door.

She was already at the curb, standing stiff as an Uber pulled up beside her. She always took a car to the studio so we could drive home together.

I caught her wrist. “Amaya, wait?—”

She yanked away like my touch burned her. “Wait for what?”

Her voice cracked, and I swear to God it took everything in me not to fall apart on the sidewalk right then.

“It’s not what you think—” I started, already knowing how fucking weak that sounded.

She laughed—the sound was sharp and gutted. “Oh, it’s not?”

She stepped closer, her watery brown eyes locked on mine, fire blazing beneath her pain. “I’ve been sitting here—waiting—trying to understand why the man who begged for me suddenly started vanishing.”

I opened my mouth to respond. Then closed it again.

What was I gonna say? That I didn’t touch Tasha? That I never wanted her?

It was the truth—but the wrong one because the truth was, I should’ve shut that shit downweeksago. Should’ve never let her linger. Should’ve never allowed that blurred presence to get close enough to cast doubt.

WhydidI let her hang around? Especially after she called me late the other night, getting my number from someone who I’d never be able to pin down. I only knew it wasn’t Raj because I asked him.

I didn’t have the answer for my bullshit. And that silence cost me everything.

Amaya’s voice trembled, her fists clenched at her sides. “And then I come here, and I see you hugged up withher?”

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