The street where Aaliyah grew up wasn't much to look at—cracked sidewalks, faded shop signs, and houses that leaned a little too close together as though whispering secrets. But to her, it was home. And at the heart of every childhood memory stood Ryan Blake.
Ryan was the boy who taught her how to ride a bike, though he laughed so hard when she fell that she swore she'd never forgive him. He was the one who dared her to climb the mango tree in the schoolyard, then panicked when she nearly slipped. He was reckless, charming in the careless way of boys who believed the world would always bend in their favor.
Aaliyah loved him long before she even understood what love meant. It wasn't the fireworks kind of love the movies promised, not at first. It was the quiet kind—the way her heart tugged when he smiled, the way she noticed when he didn't eat lunch, the way she kept his secrets even when it got her into trouble.
By the time they were teenagers, Ryan had already started to chase bigger things. Money. Status. The glitter of a life beyond their small neighborhood. He talked about fast cars and fancy houses as though they were just waiting for him to claim. Aaliyah listened, believing in his dreams even when others rolled their eyes.
And when Ryan's charm started to fray under the weight of debts and bad decisions, it was Aaliyah who quietly stepped in. She was the one who slipped him the money to clear a loan, the one who helped him sort his paperwork when goods got stuck at the port, the one who patched the holes he left behind. No one asked her to. Ryan never thanked her the way she hoped he would. But she couldn't help herself.
Because to Aaliyah, Ryan wasn't just the boy next door. He was the boy who had her heart in the palm of his hand—and he didn't even know it.