Page 128 of Curvy Girl Summer

“Her dying at thirty made me realize that life is temporary, and I want something to make it feel more permanent than it is. I want something…”

“Something real,” he finished for me.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“So your birthday…?”

“It’s not just to prove something to my family,” I admitted slowly. “It’s for me, too.”

We were both quiet as we entered the parking garage.

“I said all that to say that I understand how trauma can change you,” I concluded softly. “How something can retraumatize you. And how there’s no linear path to healing. I know how lonely that journey can feel.” My voice was barely above a whisper. “I just wanted you to know you’re not alone.”

He waited for me to park before he spoke again. “Thank you.”

“It’s no big deal. We live in the same building. It’s not like it’s out of the way.”

“No.” He waited until I looked at him before he continued, “No, not just for the ride.”

“You don’t have to thank me. But you’re welcome.”

Just as I was taking the key out of the ignition, he reached over and touched my arm. “You came to the hospital to check on me. That’s worthy of a thank-you—at a minimum.”

With a gentle squeeze, he sent goose bumps across my skin.

I swallowed hard and shifted from his touch. “Well, when you put it like that, you’re right. I’ll accept my thank-you in the form of cash.”

He let out a light chuckle. “This is why I give you a hard time. You always got something smart to say.”

“I’m just matching your energy.”

“I see that.”

He held my gaze for just a little too long.

Almost simultaneously, we opened the doors to escape the car that suddenly felt too small. Neither of us spoke as we headed toward the entrance of our building. It wasn’t until he opened the door for me and I thanked him that the silence was broken.

“I’m going to help you to your place,” I told him as the elevator dinged, announcing its arrival.

“You don’t have to do all that. I’m fine.” He pressed the fifth-floor button.

“You are injured, Ahmad. I’m making sure you get to your place safely.”

He smiled. “Okay.”

“How’s your arm?” I wondered as I noticed him rubbing it.

“It’s a little sore. But it’s not bad.”

“Pain meds working?”

“Oh yeah.”

“You look tired.”

“I am.”

The elevator opened, and he gestured for me to walk out first. When we entered his apartment, I looked around.

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