“Alina?” he calls from the door with a voice that doesn’t sound the same either. Gone is all the confidence that Nas used to carry. He looks like a man just returning from war, suffering and struggling just to keep it together day in and day out.

I get out of my car after a deep breath, taking the binder with me as I make my way up the stairs. For reasons I don’t understand, I have to fight away an urge to hug him. Why has the urge to embrace him returned? It shouldn’t be here, and I don’t like it.

“Hi, Nas,” I say, approaching him with caution because of the pained expression on his face.

“Hi,” he answers, but I can’t tell if it’s a greeting or a question. “What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk,” I say, clutching the binder. Nas’s eyes drop to it and widen.

“How’d you get that?” he asks, and I tilt my head.

“What do you mean? You didn’t leave this for me?”

“No,” Nas answers coldly. “I gave that to Keisha. How’d you get it?”

I press my lips together before answering, because it makes me feel better knowing Nas didn’t set this all up. He didn’t write this just to leave it for me to read, weaponizing his writing to trick me into coming back to him. As far as I can tell, he gave it to his PA, and she decided to bring it to me.

“Well, assuming Keisha is the only person who had this, I think she left it at my doorstep last night,” I answer, and Nas lets out an exhale as he looks up at the sky like he’s asking the heavens for answers.

“Goddamn it, Keisha,” he whispers to himself, shaking his head as he steps into the house and gestures for me to come in. Part of me aches for him to extend his hand and command that I come with him, but I push it away and step inside.

Nas leads me past the steps to the second floor and into the library, where he leans against a bookshelf just like the first time I stepped foot into this house. His demeanor is not the same, however. He sticks his hands into his pockets and leans back with his head down, cutting his eyes up at me. It’s like he’s a completely different person. I recognize his appearance, but the personality that drew me in has vanished. I almost feel uncomfortable as I stand on the other side of the room and place the binder on the shelf next to me.

“Is all of this true?” I ask, tilting my head toward the manuscript.

“Which part?” Nas says. He locks eyes with me, and although I see nothing but pain radiating from them, he never looks away.