Page 271 of Invisible Bars
The next day, Aaliyah’s death was ruled a suicide—a cold, clinical label for a tragic end. Yet those few who watched the live stream sensed a deeper darkness behind the scenes. They understood that it wasn’t just a simple case of despair, but something far more sinister at play.
I kept my silence—no tweets, no posts, no denials. I remained a ghost within the noise, knowing that in this world with all its hidden currents, silence was the loudest power move.
Chapter Forty-Five
NAJI
Ifluffed the pillow behind Imanio's head and handed him the mug of hot ginger tea, careful not to spill it on the sheets. His skin was clammy and color was dull. Whatever bug he had grabbed ahold of him quick and wasn’t letting go.
Imanio took a slow sip, his gaze fixed elsewhere.
I sat at the edge of the bed, watching him... studying him.
“Did you hear about what h-happened to Aaliyah?” I asked softly.
“Heard about itandsaw it,” he responded, his voice low and detached, as if discussing something trivial.
“I didn't watch it, but they said it was suicide. Is that true?”
“Yup. Damn shame.”
I blinked in surprise.
Was that really all he felt?
“You say that like you k-know more,” I pressed gently.
Finally, Imanio looked up at me. His expression was neither cold nor warm.
“All I’m saying is… karma finds its way home,” he murmured. “Sometimes fast. Sometimes slow.”
I held his stare a second too long, hoping for some sign of remorse or reflection, a hint that he felt something deeper. Butthere was nothing. Instead of pushing him, I simply reached for his hand, rubbing my thumb across the back of it in a comforting gesture.
Thirty minutes later, Imanio was resting upstairs, finally sound asleep. I was cozied up on the sofa downstairs, enjoying a pint of almond milk ice cream while mindlessly scrolling through Facebook. The house felt peaceful—until the doorbell rang.
A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have dared answered it; I would’ve stayed glued on the couch, heart racing and praying whoever it was just went away—not now. Now the house felt like mine too, and I had the right to open doors.
I grumbled, then set the ice cream down and stood. My socks whispered across the floor as I padded to the door, stomach knotting for reasons I couldn’t name.
The moment I opened it, my heart dropped, and my soul rolled its eyes so hard they nearly left my body. There was Giselle, standing there like an uninvited headache, dressed in a blazer that screamed “business casual” and a smile that declared, “I’ve got this.” Beside her were two unfamiliar faces: a white-haired man with a clipboard and a young woman in scrubs; both were smiling gently as if they were delivering good news instead of potential upheaval.
“Hi, darling,” Giselle greeted sweetly. “We need to talk. May we come in?”
I shifted uncomfortably and frowned. “Um…”
My shoulder jerked, and I sniffed twice before blurting, “Turn your fake smile off—what is this?”
Giselle remained calm, gesturing casually toward her guests.
“This is Dr. Freeman and Nurse Lee. They’re from a wellness center I support that focuses on psychiatric care. They’re just here for a preliminary evaluation—nothing too formal."
I eyed her skeptically, then looked at them, and back at her.
“Evaluate what?” My voice sharpened. “Or better yet,who?”
Giselle’s smile didn’t budge. “Well… you, of course.”
I took two steps back.
