36
The morning they say I can leave, I feel like I forgot how to be a person.
The hospital air still clings to my skin like plastic wrap - too clean, too bright, too fake.
The nurse takes out the IV and tells me I've "responded well to rehydration."
I nod.
Pretend that means something.
Mama's filling out papers. Luca's gone to grab my bag from the car. The silence feels too loud again.
And then I hear them.
"Where's my emotionally unavailable queen of sadness?"
That's India.
Seconds later:
"If she looks as bad as she sounded on the phone, I'm throwing hands with the entire hospital staff."
Egypt. Of course.
The door swings open and in they come - like a hurricane of locs, lipgloss, and judgmental love.
India's wearing the hoodie I left at her house three months ago.
Egypt's got her bonnet tied with gold ribbon.
They both smell like cocoa butter and righteous chaos.
"Babe," India gasps, hand over her heart. "You look like you were hit by emotional trauma, three truckloads of burnout, and capitalism."
"So basically every day," Egypt mutters, arms crossed, surveying me like I'm a patient and she's got the cure.
"We brought snacks."
"And gossip."
"And edge control."
"And holy water."
They collapse onto the edge of the hospital bed like they own it. The nurse gives them a look through the doorway.
India flips her hair.
Egypt waves.
Business as usual.
I don't mean to cry.
I really don't.
But the second India reaches for my hand and Egypt holds out the little box of mango fruit chews she knows I actually like - the tears just... start.
Soft.
But real.
"You're not allowed to cry alone anymore," India says immediately, crawling up beside me and wrapping both arms around my shoulders.
"We ugly cry together now," Egypt declares, already dabbing under my eyes with a tissue. "Girl code."
"You didn't tell us it was this bad," India whispers into my hair.
"We would've pulled up."
"We would've fought Luca."
"We like Luca."
"But we still would've fought him."
I laugh. It comes out wet and shaky, but it's the first real one I've had in what feels like weeks.
"You scared us, Sen," Egypt says softer now. "But we're here. And we're not going anywhere."
India adds:
"Also, you have so much drama to catch up on."
"Taylor from youth choir is pregnant."
"BY PASTOR JAMES' NEPHEW."
"We have the screenshots."
"And the group chat is a war zone."
They go on like that for fifteen minutes straight.
And it's perfect.
The gossip, the snacks, the off-key singing when India starts humming "No Air" by Jordin Sparks just to be extra.
It's the first time the hospital room feels warm.
When Luca comes back, they go silent.
Instantly.
Predator mode.
Egypt crosses her arms.
India raises an eyebrow.
Luca freezes in the doorway like he just entered a live interrogation.
"So," India says slowly, "you're the boy."
"The hoodie boy," Egypt adds.
"The 'we don't have to rush' boy."
"The I stayed all night boy."
Luca clears his throat.
"Guilty."
India tilts her head.
"You cute."
Egypt:
"Still watching you."
Luca nods solemnly.
"Fair."
Then he walks over, hands me my bag without looking at them, and presses a warm, grounding hand to my back.
Just enough.
Not too much.
And I remember again:
He stayed.
India leans over and whispers in my ear.
"Girl, he is husband material. Don't play dumb."
Egypt nods beside her, serious as ever.
"Let him love you. But if he hurts you, we set his car on fire."
I laugh again.
Louder this time.
And this time, it doesn't feel borrowed.
It feels mine.
Like maybe I'm still in here.
Like maybe - with them - I'm allowed to come back.