If I Could Dance With You Again

IICDWYA: 47

Chapter 47

Aaliyah pushed open the door to her house, her face clouded with unease, hinting at the emotional weight she carried. The late afternoon light spilled across the floorboards, painting long shadows that seemed to echo her mood. She dropped her bag by the entryway, the sound sharp in the silence, and stood for a moment as if deciding whether to let the weight of the day follow her inside, emphasizing her internal conflict.

Her head throbbed faintly, a dull ache that had been visiting her more often lately, especially after stressful days. She pressed her fingers to her temples, willing the pain to dissolve, but it lingered stubbornly, like a secret she couldn't shake, underscoring her ongoing personal challenge.

"No," she whispered to herself, shaking her head. "Not tonight."

She refused to let the bothersome thoughts consume her. With a shrug that felt more like defiance than dismissal, she moved through the house, ignoring the quiet reminders of unfinished tasks—the stack of unopened mail, the laundry basket waiting by the stairs. Tonight, she would not wrestle with burdens. Tonight, she would surrender to rest.

The bedroom welcomed her with its familiar stillness. She slipped beneath the covers earlier than usual, the fabric cool against her skin. Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine the headaches as passing storms, temporary and harmless. Yet, in the silence, the ache pulsed again, a reminder that something deeper might be stirring.

Outside, the wind brushed against the windows, whispering secrets she could not hear. Inside, Aaliyah drifted into uneasy sleep, unaware that the shadows of her day were only the beginning of something larger—something waiting just beyond the edges of her dreams.

The morning sun spilled gently through the curtains, painting Aaliyah's room in soft gold. She stretched, surprised at how refreshed she felt after the restless night. The heaviness in her head had eased, though not without effort.

Her peace was short-lived. As she padded toward the kitchen, the sound of raised voices reached her ears.

"...I'm telling you, it was the spices!" Ruby Rose's voice rang sharp, full of conviction. Ruby, a gifted cook with a flair for perfection, stood by the counter, arms crossed, her apron already dusted with flour.

"No, Ruby, it wasn't the spices," Wren Willow countered firmly, her tone carrying the authority of someone used to diagnosing problems, but with a hint of concern. Wren, Aaliyah's longtime friend and a respected OB-GYN, leaned against the table, her brow furrowed as if worried about more than just the food. "Something else happened yesterday, and ignoring it won't help," she added, revealing the emotional stakes behind their disagreement.

Aaliyah paused at the doorway, watching the two women spar. Their argument seemed to dance between two topics—what had gone wrong the day before, and what should be served for breakfast now.

Ruby gestured toward a pan on the stove. "We should make something hearty. Eggs, toast, maybe a stew. Comfort food solves everything."

Wren shook her head. "No, we need something light. Fruits, tea, something that won't weigh us down. Especially after what happened."

Aaliyah cleared her throat, stepping into the room. Both women turned, their expressions softening at the sight of her.

"Good morning," she said, forcing a smile. "I didn't expect a debate club in my kitchen."

Ruby chuckled, though her eyes still sparkled with stubbornness. "We were just... discussing options."

Wren folded her arms, giving Aaliyah a look that carried unspoken concern. "And maybe more than options."