Page 209 of Invisible Bars
Glowing. Poised. Elegant.
Looking back at me was the same woman they all used to clamor to book, the same woman who stopped time on catwalks with a single look, and the same woman who vanished… but never disappeared.
And now… the world was talking again.
A tear slid down my cheek. I didn’t even notice it at first.
That’s when I heard the door creak open behind me. Footsteps padded softly into the room, and I knew the only person it could’ve been was Imanio.
Imanio didn’t say anything at first; he just stood in the center of the room wearing a black t-shirt and sweats, watching me stare at myself like I didn’t recognize who I used to be.
“You still looking at it?” he asked, finally walking closer.
I nodded.
“I… I didn’t know people still cared.”
“What made you think they ever stopped?” he asked, taking a seat beside me on the bed—close, but not crowding.
“I disappeared.”
“And they waited.”
I turned toward him slowly.
“I t-thought when I left, the world moved on… found someone bigger and better.”
“Well, you know that’s always gonna happen. Some people say one monkey don’t stop no show—and in a lot of these industries, they damn sure believe that.” He leaned back slightly. “But they tried it with you, and it didn’t work.”
I glanced back at the phone.
“I didn’t know I still looked like…her.”
“You look likeyou, Naji. Quit doubting your worth and beauty,” he encouraged. “You’re the same girl who walked forChanel and wouldn’t take those heels off until your toes bled. The one who made designers change their entire lineups just to fit your stride. You werethat girlthen, and you still arenow.”
Imanio brushed his knuckle across the back of my hand.
“You’reNaji Ali…always were. And now… I just get the honor of standing next to you as your husband.”
I didn’t respond right away. Instead, I reached for his hand.
“You know… I t-thought being married to you would drown me,” I confessed.
“On some real shit, me too.”
“You’re not supposed to admit that.” I giggled.
“I’m not supposed to want peace either… but here we are.”
The silence rolled around again, but not the empty kind—the heavy, needed kind.
Imanio’s hand stayed on mine, thumb brushing in slow circles.
“Naji,” he said finally, “the real reason I wanted that post made today wasn’t just for image; it was because they tried to make you look like a liar, weak, and crazy. And they don’t get to do that—not with your name or mine attached to it.”
That’s when the tears came—not loud, not wild, but just enough for one to slip down without asking.
“Pig wedding—ahh—wedding napkins!” I muttered mid-breath, trying to catch the tic before it exploded.
