Chaka sat alone on her apartment balcony that Friday evening, wrapped in a blanket and nursing a glass of wine. The city buzzed below her, but her world felt unusually quiet. Zavion hadn’t responded to her last message. It had been four days since she confessed, and his silence was louder than any argument could’ve been. She respected his need for space, but that didn’t stop her from replaying every moment in her head.
She leaned her head back against the chair and closed her eyes. A gust of cool spring air brushed her skin. The breeze reminded her of that weekend in the mountains—how Zavion had held her after their last run on the slopes, his warmth seeping through her layers, grounding her. She missed that safety.
Her phone buzzed.
Anthony: Congrats again on the deal. Hope you’re doing okay.
She stared at the message for a long moment before placing the phone face-down on the table. She couldn’t afford to open another door. Not now.
The following Monday, she walked into the office dressed like armor—power blazer, neat bun, minimal makeup. Her focus was the DavisTech campaign. She would deliver excellence, stay busy, and avoid any unnecessary encounters.
But Anthony found her anyway.
“Morning, Chaka,” he said, leaning against her doorway with that relaxed smile that made her heart hiccup.
“Hey,” she replied, barely looking up. “All set for the client check-in?”
He stepped into the room slowly. “I wanted to check on you. Not just work stuff.”
She finally met his eyes, and what she saw there—a mix of concern and confusion—unraveled her neatly tied intentions. “I’m fine,” she said quickly. “Just need a quiet week.”
Anthony nodded but didn’t move. “For what it’s worth, I never wanted to cause problems between you and Zavion.”
She appreciated the sentiment, even if it complicated everything. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just… I needed to be honest with myself. And with him.”
He studied her carefully, then gave a subtle nod before backing away. “I’m around if you ever want to talk. About anything.”
She smiled faintly. “Thanks.”
Work consumed the rest of the week. Chaka made sure of that. She stayed late, took on extra tasks, and buried herself in client calls. But at night, her apartment felt emptier than usual. Zavion’s laugh, his teasing remarks, even his half-finished mugs of tea—she missed them all.
By Saturday, she couldn’t take the silence any longer.
She walked to the park near Zavion’s place. They had once spent hours there, sprawled on a blanket, talking about dreams. She texted him.
Chaka: At the park. If you’re open to talking.
She waited on the same bench they used to share. The sun warmed her legs, and children’s laughter drifted from the playground nearby. She sat for nearly an hour, unsure if he would come. But when she finally looked up, Zavion was walking toward her.
His shoulders were tense, his face unreadable.
“Hey,” she said softly.
“Hey.”
They sat in silence for a beat. The sounds around them filled the gaps.
“I’m not mad,” Zavion said finally. “Just… hurt. We were building something, Chaka.”
“I know.” Her voice trembled. “I never meant to let anything come between us.”
He turned toward her. “So why do it?”
Chaka struggled for the right words. “I got scared. Things were moving fast. You wanted us to live together, and I wasn’t sure I was ready.”
“But you were ready to feel something for someone else?” he asked, bitterness edging his tone.
“No,” she said quickly. “It wasn’t about that. It was… connection. Unplanned. But I didn’t act on it, Zavion. And I didn’t want it to become anything. I chose you.”
Zavion leaned back, exhaling deeply. “Choosing me shouldn’t feel like guilt.”
That struck her hard.
“You’ve always been solid,” she said. “And I appreciate you more than I can explain. I just… I’ve spent so much of my life shaping myself to meet expectations. This was the first time I had to ask—what do I really want?”
Zavion was quiet. His jaw clenched and unclenched. “And do you know yet?”
She nodded slowly. “I want peace. I want to grow. I want to be with someone who challenges me, yes—but also gives me space to breathe.”
His eyes darkened. “And is that me?”
She hesitated.
“I’m still figuring that out,” she admitted.
Zavion stood. “Then maybe we both need time. I love you, Chaka. But I won’t beg you to love me back the way I deserve.”
Her heart clenched as he walked away.
—
That night, Chaka sat by her window journaling. Her words came like rain—fast, messy, cleansing.
> “I’ve always feared being the villain in someone else’s story. But what if I’m just a woman trying to understand herself before making promises she can’t keep?”
The following weeks were a journey inward. Chaka started therapy again, something she had paused during her relationship. She carved time for morning walks, started meal prepping, and spent weekends visiting her sister’s family. She even joined a local book club just to meet people outside of work.
Anthony respected her space, and eventually, their interactions returned to professional. One afternoon, as they wrapped up a long client call, he lingered at her office door.
“You look lighter,” he said gently.
She smiled. “I feel lighter.”
He nodded. “Good.”
Spring melted into early summer, and one Friday, Chaka received a text that made her pulse quicken.
Zavion: Coffee? No pressure. Just catching up.
They met at a cozy spot they used to frequent. He wore a soft gray hoodie and jeans. His energy was calmer, more grounded.
“You look good,” she said.
“So do you,” he replied.
They talked for hours. About work, family, the books they were reading. Not once did they bring up the past—until the end.
“I’m proud of you,” Zavion said, stirring the last of his coffee. “For taking time to know yourself.”
“Thank you. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
He gave a small smile. “Sometimes hurt is part of growth.”
Chaka reached for his hand. He let her hold it.
“I still care about you,” she said. “I just think we were loving each other from different spaces.”
Zavion squeezed her hand. “Maybe we’ll meet again in the same space. Or maybe we won’t. Either way, I’m grateful we loved at all.”
They parted with a hug—long, warm, and bittersweet.
—
Weeks later, Chaka found herself walking through an art exhibit. Alone. Content. Her phone buzzed.
Anthony: There’s a jazz night at 42nd Street Café tonight. If you’re up for live music and awkward swaying.
She grinned.
Chaka: I’ll meet you there.
She didn’t know what the future held, or whether Anthony was meant to be a friend, a flame, or just a chapter. But she was no longer afraid to find out.
She was no longer between choices.
She was finally choosing herself.
—
End of Part 2
Thee Juju Aura 