Nadia's renewal

 Nadia sat cross-legged on the floor, her laptop dimming as the editorial faded into the background. "Health is a sacred act of self-respect," it had said. She let the words settle like dust over the cluttered corners of her mind. The truth was simple, but it pierced deep: she hadn’t been respecting herself. Not lately. Not in years.

Her body felt like a stranger, aching knees, tired breath, clothes that pinched in places they hadn’t before. But it wasn’t about weight. It was about how far she’d drifted from herself.

She stared at her phone. Hesitated. Then called the one person she knew wouldn’t let her lie to herself.

“Hey, Darnell,” she said, voice soft. “I need a favor.”

A pause. Then her younger brother’s familiar chuckle. “What’s up, sis? You never ask for help unless it’s IKEA-related.”

“No boy, stop it nah!. I want you to train me,” she said. “Be my personal trainer.”

Silence.

Then, carefully, “You sure?”

“No.” She laughed, a bit nervous, but real. “But I’m sure I’m tired of feeling this way. I don’t want a makeover. I want my spirit back. And I figured… you’d understand.”

He didn’t tease her, not this time. “I do,” he said. “We’ll start slow. No bootcamp nonsense. We’ll build strength—physically, mentally. Together.”

The next morning, Nadia stood outside her apartment in sneakers stiff from disuse. Darnell met her with a grin and two water bottles.

“Today,” he said, “we just walk. We breathe. We listen.”

“To what?” she asked.

He tapped her chest. “To her. The part of you you’ve been ignoring.”

And so they walked. Around the block, slow and steady, no music, no phone. Just the rhythm of steps and the beginning of something sacred. Not a workout.

A ritual.

Not a punishment.

An act of self-respect.

And with every step, Nadia felt it: she wasn’t becoming someone new. She was finally coming home to herself.