back room of a small bookstore, the kind that smelled of old pages and warm chai. About a dozen people sat in a loose circle-some in headwraps, some in boots and leather, some

i nodded. "It doesn't just go away. I still dream in Yoruba. I still check for shadows when I hold your hand outside. But I also know I'm home when I wake up next to you." Esi smiled faintly. "I wish I could bring that peace with me everywhere." "You are," Kemi said. "Piece by piece." They fell into silence, not the heavy kind, but the gentle one that spoke of safety. Then Esi said, "What if I called Ma again?" Kemi's brows lifted. "Do you think you're ready?" "I don't know. But I want her to know I'm okay. Even if she can't accept all of it, maybe she can accept that I'm happy." "You don't owe her your happiness as proof," Kemi said. "But if it gives you peace, I'll support it." Esi nodded, unsure. "I don't need her approval anymore. But I think I want her love. Even if it has conditions." "That's honest." Esi stood, walked to the window, and looked out. The moonlight cast long silver streaks over the quiet street. "I used to think home was a place. But now I think it's a decision." Kemi joined her, wrapping arms around her waist from behind. "Then let's keep deciding." The next morning, Esi sat with her pho