Expect The Unexpected (H-Town)

L O N D O N

Stacey

Leaving France didn't make me sad the way I thought it would.

It made me grateful.

I stood on the platform with my coat draped over my arm, watching the train idle like it had all the time in the world. Paris had done what it needed to do. It softened me. Reminded me who I was when I wasn't fighting for attention or answers.

"Y'all ready?" Kadeem asked, adjusting his bag.

"As I'll ever be," I replied, sliding my sunglasses on even though the sky was gray.

The ride was quiet in the best way. Leah leaned against Leonce's shoulder, reading. Kaedi stared out the window, thoughtful but lighter than she'd been in months. Hakeem sat across from her, close enough to matter, far enough to respect.

And me?

I watched the countryside blur by and realized something wild.

I wasn't running from anything anymore.

When the train finally pulled into London, the air felt different immediately—cooler, sharper, louder. Taxis honking. People moving fast. The city didn't ease you into itself like Paris.

London expected you to keep up.

"Okay," I said, smiling to myself. "I like her already."

Outside the station, Kadeem reached for my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. No show.

No claim. Just presence.

"You good?" he asked.

"Better than good," I said. "I feel... ready."

"For what?" he asked, amused.

"For whatever's next," I replied.

As we piled into cabs, I took one last look back at the station. Paris had been about healing.

London?

London felt like movement.

And for the first time in a long time, I wasn't scared of where I was headed—I was excited to see who I'd be when I got there.

Dino

The city names kept changing, but the rooms all felt the same.

Hotel curtains too thick. Air too still. My suitcase half-packed because I never stayed long enough to fully unpack. I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, listening to Shazam and G.I. argue in the next room about setlists like nothing else in the world mattered.

But my mind wasn't here.

It was overseas.

I didn't know exactly where Kaedi was—only that she wasn't home, and she wasn't waiting. Somebody mentioned Europe in passing a few days ago. France, maybe. London next. I didn't ask questions. Didn't need details to feel the distance.

That distance hit different than miles ever had before.

Back when we were all on the same block, I always felt like time was on my side. Like no matter what happened, Kaedi would still be there. Same porch. Same laugh. Same look when she got tired of my nonsense.

Now?

The world felt bigger than my confidence.

After the show, people crowded around me—congratulations, compliments, hands on my shoulders. Someone tried to pull me into an after-party. Old Dino would've gone without thinking.

I shook my head. "I'm good."

I wasn't lying.

I just wasn't fulfilled.

Back in my room, I pulled my notebook out and flipped past lyrics, past crossed-out hooks and half-written verses. I landed on a blank page and stared at it longer than I should've.

I thought about Kaedi in a different country, walking streets I'd never seen, laughing without looking over her shoulder for me.

That realization stung.

Not because she was gone—but because she was living.

And I finally understood something I should've learned a long time ago.

Love doesn't pause just because you're busy.

It doesn't wait for you to finish becoming ready.

And it damn sure doesn't owe you loyalty just because you always planned to come back better.

I rubbed my hands over my face and leaned back against the headboard.

"I asked her too early," I said out loud. "And I changed too late."

That truth sat heavy, but it didn't crush me.

It motivated me.

If I ever stood in front of her again—really stood there—I didn't want it to be with promises or pressure or big gestures.

I wanted it to be with proof.

Proof that I could be consistent.
Proof that I could choose her without confusing her.
Proof that I was the kind of man who didn't need a stage to feel whole.

Outside, the city buzzed—foreign, loud, alive.

Somewhere across an ocean, Kaedi was finding herself without me.

And for the first time, I didn't feel entitled to be part of that journey.

I felt determined to be worthy of her—
whether our paths crossed again...
or not.

I closed the notebook, turned off the lamp, and let the dark settle.

Tomorrow we'd be in another city.

Another crowd.
Another show.

And this time, I wasn't running from the silence when the lights went out.

I was listening to it.