the same old tears

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-☆°☆_-_-_-_--_-_-_-_-_--_-_-_-

(Sorry for using this pic,I didn't have any other pics to use,)

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-☆°☆_-_-_-_--_-_-_-_-_--_-_-_--_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-☆°☆_-_-_-_--_-_-_-_-_--_-_-_-

March -28-1995

Two days later....

The screen flickers — the midday news broadcast cuts into regular programming. The anchor’s face appears, visibly shaken. A photo of Korina slowly fades in: her signature soft smile, big curls framing her face, eyes full of life. It hangs in silence for a beat too long.

ANCHOR (somber, measured):“This afternoon, tragedy struck the heart of the music world. Beloved RnB singer Korina — known to millions as The Dutchess of RnB — has died in a plane crash while traveling back to California. The aircraft went down shortly after takeoff. There were 16 out of 18 survived.”

Cut to: raw, trembling footage of the crash site — thick smoke rising into a gray sky, the charred skeleton of the aircraft visible behind yellow caution tape. First responders move carefully through debris. Someone cries out faintly in the distance.

Scene shift: A small, sunlit apartment in Atlanta.

A teenage fan, Mikaela, sits cross-legged on the carpet, eating cereal with the TV murmuring in the background. The words don’t register at first — then she hears Korina’s name.

She turns.

Frozen.

The bowl slips from her hands and crashes to the floor. Milk seeps into the carpet, but all she sees is the screen.

ANCHOR (voice continuing faintly in the background):“Korina had just finished filming the music video for her anticipated single Blind...”

Mikaela’s eyes fill with tears. Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Her hand flies to her chest as if trying to hold something in place — something breaking.

“She was supposed to perform at Essence Fest,” she whispers. “She was just here...”

The camera zooms in on her tear-streaked face. Behind her, the news announces:“A memorial will be held tonight at the Rose Garden Memorial in Los Angeles. Fans, celebrities, and loved ones are expected to attend.”

Mikaela grabs her jacket.

Scene transition: Evening falls over the Rose Garden Memorial.

The golden glow of dusk washes over a quiet, heavy crowd. Hundreds gather in silence, their faces lit by flickering candles. Posters and handwritten notes blanket the entrance gates. Fans wear Korina’s merch — shirts that read “Dutchess Energy” and “Real Soul Never Dies.”

Soft music plays from a speaker — one of Korina’s ballads. The air is thick with emotion.

Among the crowd: artists from across genres. Ice Cube stands at the edge, wearing all black, his jaw tight and eyes hidden behind dark lenses. T-boz  and Left eye  whisper prayers together. Whitneys  mascara is running, even though she hasn’t shed a visible tear — she just stares.

The camera pans slowly, settling on the massive mural behind the altar: Korina with angel wings, holding a mic like a scepter. A crown made of music notes hovers above her.

A quiet, intimate VOICEOVER begins. It’s calm and personal — like a close friend telling a story in her honor.

VOICEOVER:

“Korina wasn’t just another artist. She was a soul stitched together by survival, melody, and magic. She came from pain — from the kind of loneliness that writes its own lyrics — but you’d never know it. She laughed like the world hadn’t touched her. She sang like it never could.”

Soft footage plays in black and white: Korina laughing behind the scenes on set, hugging fans, dancing during rehearsals, sitting cross-legged on a studio floor writing lyrics. Her voice, in a past interview, echoes:

KORINA (recorded):“I just want to make people feel something real... even if I’m not here one day, I hope the music stays.”

Scene: Mikaela walks forward now, clutching a folded letter. Her steps are slow, careful. She places it beneath a candle. Her voice trembles as she reads it quietly, just for Korina.

“You were my peace in the chaos. You saved me when no one else noticed. Thank you for existing.”

Behind her, the crowd begins to sing — a soft, unplanned chorus of Korina’s most soulful song. Their voices tremble. It’s not perfect, but it’s real. It rises into the night air like a prayer.

VOICEOVER (closing):“She was the Dutchess of RnB — not because of fame or charts, but because of the way she ruled hearts. The world didn't just lose a voice today… we lost a healer.”

Naviras pov:

I. Couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.Every part of me — hands, chest, voice — shook like I was made of something brittle. I had screamed until my voice gave out.

Now, all that was left was crying. Loud, ugly, choking sobs that wouldn’t stop no matter how hard I tried.

My fingers were trembling as I drove. I barely remembered putting the keys in the ignition. The radio was off, thank God. If they played her voice… if I heard her voice…

I wouldn’t make it.

When I pulled up outside Eazy’s house, the sky felt like it was mourning too — heavy clouds, no light, like even God couldn’t smile today.

I stumbled out of the car, wiping tears from my face, but they wouldn’t stop. My legs felt weak. I could hardly stand. And then I saw her — Tomica, standing at the front door. Not moving. Like a statue.

Our eyes met, and for a moment, it was like she didn’t want to let me in.

"Move," I whispered, barely able to speak.

She didn’t say a word. She just stepped to the side.

I walked past her, shoulders brushing, and headed straight inside.

The house was too quiet. Too clean. Too still for a world where Korina was gone. Each step up those stairs felt like dragging a thousand bricks. I knew where I was going. I knew where he'd be. I could feel it.

I pushed open the door to his room.

There he was.

Eric.

Eazy.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. Shoulders shaking.

I didn’t even wait. I didn’t hesitate. The second I saw him crying, I snapped.

"You don’t get to cry for her!" I shouted, voice raw, shaking, soaked in pain.

His head jerked up. His eyes were red. "Navira—"

"No!" I stormed in, fists clenched. “You don’t get to sit here and act like you deserved her in your life! You— you pushed her away! You hurt her! You don't get to sit here and cry like you were some perfect f**king angel!”

"Navira, I didn't want this to happen—"

"Neither did she!" I screamed, getting in his face now. “She wanted to live! She had plans! A tour, an album! She had a future! And now she’s gone, and all you can do is cry? What the f**k does that change?!”

His lip trembled. “You think I’m not hurting?”

I shoved his shoulder.

Hard.

“You don’t get to hurt! Not like me. Not like us. You don’t get to feel this kind of pain. You didn’t show up for her when it mattered, so don’t you dare pretend you loved her right.”

He didn’t fight back.

He just stared at the floor.

And that made it worse.

Because I wanted him to yell. To say something. To scream back. Anything. Instead, he looked like a shell — hollowed out, broken, already punished.

And still, it didn’t feel like enough.

My chest cracked open. My knees gave out.

I collapsed right there on the carpet.

I buried my face in my hands and sobbed so loud, I swore the walls shook. She was gone. My best friend. My sister. My other half.

Gone.

No goodbye. No warning. Just… silence.

And for the first time in years, Eric reached over — slowly — and held me.

But it didn’t fix anything.

It just made it worse.

Because Korina should’ve been here to see us both — broken, bleeding in different ways — finally realizing that we loved her more than we ever showed.

And now?

Now it was too late.

His arms wrapped around me like a question he didn’t know how to ask. Soft. Hesitant. Full of regret.

I didn’t lean into it.

Not at first.

But I didn’t pull away either.

The silence between us said everything.

The pain of losing her was so heavy I could feel it in my bones. It was like grief had weight, like it sat on my chest and pressed until breathing hurt. I wanted to scream again, but there was nothing left in me. Just aching.

“She used to tell me she wanted to make music forever,” I whispered against his shoulder. “Said if the world ever stopped listening, she’d sing to herself.”

His breath caught.

I pulled back, wiping my face with shaky hands.

“She’s really gone,” I said, more to myself than to him. “She’s really gone.”

Eric didn’t speak.

He looked like a man who’d been hit by a train but kept walking. Broken inside but still somehow here.

And that’s when it hit me—

Korina would’ve hated this.

She would’ve hated seeing us like this — torn apart, grieving in shadows, too late to say what mattered. She wanted people to live while she was alive. Not mourn once she was gone.

But we couldn’t help it.

Because how do you move on from a force like Korina?

Eric’s POV

I couldn’t look at her.

Not for long.

Navira had every right to yell at me. Hell, I wanted to yell at me too. I deserved it. Every word. Every punch she didn’t throw.

Because I let her down.

I let Korina down.

I’d watched her grow — from that fiery girl sneaking into studios with big dreams, to a woman who lit the whole damn industry on fire. And what did I do? I pushed her away. I acted cold. I acted proud. And I thought I had time to fix it.

We always think we have time.

Now, all I had left were ghosts.

Ghosts of us in the studio. Ghosts of her laughing in the booth. Ghosts of a girl who used to call me out on my bullsh*t and still hug me after.

I gripped the edge of the bed, knuckles white.

Korina was sunlight. Even when she was hurting, even when the industry tried to twist her — she kept shining.

And I… I took her for granted.

I let silence grow between us when I should’ve picked up the phone.

Now I’d never hear her voice again.

Never watch her perform.

Never apologize.

Never say, “I was proud of you.”

Because I was.

Damn, I was.

I sat there long after Navira had gone quiet, just staring at the floor like it was supposed to give me answers. My hands wouldn’t stop trembling. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to go back — just go back and undo it all.

But life doesn’t rewind.

And death doesn’t wait for apologies.

I felt hollow. Like everything inside me had been scooped out, piece by piece, and all that was left was guilt. Regret. That choking feeling in your throat when you know the damage is permanent.

And then came the voice.

“Eric,” Tomica said gently from the doorway. “You should eat something. Or—at least come lie down for a bit.”

I didn’t look at her.

Didn’t want to.

She took a step in. “I know it hurts. We’re all hurting—”

“Stop,” I snapped, the word bursting from my mouth like fire.

She flinched.

And instantly, shame sank its claws in me.

I closed my eyes, rubbing them hard. “I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I just—” I let out a breath that sounded more like a choke. “I can’t think straight. I can’t breathe. She’s gone, Tomica. Korina’s gone.”

Tomica stood still. Watching. Listening.

“I feel like the bad guy in all this,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “I wasn’t there for her. Not when it mattered. I kept letting pride get in the way. And now all I keep thinking is… what if I’d called? What if I had told her how proud I was of her, how much she meant to me?”

I laughed bitterly through the tears welling in my eyes. “I was so focused on old wounds and stupid beefs that I forgot how to be a damn friend.”

Tomica came closer then, slowly, like approaching a wild animal. She didn’t say anything right away — just placed a hand on my shoulder.

“You loved her,” she said softly. “That doesn’t go away, even if you didn’t say it.”

I nodded, swallowing the ache in my throat. “Yeah. But sometimes saying it too late is just as bad as never saying it at all.”

And then I broke.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just a quiet collapse — a man trying to hold himself together with duct tape and guilt.

And all around me, the silence of a world missing one of its brightest stars.

_______________◍⁠•◍✧__◍⁠•◍✧⁠________________-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-☆°☆_-_-_-_--_-_-_-_-_--_-_-_-The house didn’t feel like home anymore. Not without her. Not without Korina’s voice echoing through the halls, humming random melodies while making breakfast, or laughing at something stupid he said under his breath.

Eric sat in silence, surrounded by the stillness of her absence. The air was heavy. He hadn’t eaten. Couldn’t. He hadn’t really slept either. Every time he closed his eyes, it was her face he saw—lit up in the soft glow of studio lights or looking at him sideways when he’d say something slick. Her voice still lived in the corners of this place.

God, why didn’t I appreciate her more?

All the good she did, all the love she gave, and still he doubted her. Dismissed her. Made her feel like she was hard to love.

He stood up suddenly, pacing the room as that familiar guilt gripped him tight. Toxic. That’s what he had been. She never deserved that. All those nights she cried because he wouldn’t open up, all the times she begged him to be better. To show up for her. And when she finally did her own thing, when she stepped into her light without him—he resented it.

He walked over to the wall and pressed his forehead against it, breathing heavy.

“I ruined everything.”

Then the phone buzzed.

A reminder. It was time to pick up Kory.

Eric swallowed his grief. Shoved the pain deep, deep down. He had to hold it together—for Kory. That little boy didn’t deserve to grow up in sadness. And for now, Eric would carry the pain alone.

The PickupThe sun had just started dipping, casting orange streaks across the sky.

Eric parked in front of the house where Kory had spent the night. As soon as he rang the bell, he heard tiny footsteps running toward the door. When it opened, there he was—his son, her son. Smiling like nothing had changed.

“Papa!”

Eric knelt, arms wide open. “Come here, baby.”

Kory ran into his arms with a giggle. Eric squeezed him tight, like holding him could somehow keep the world from falling apart. The boy smelled like powder and faint baby shampoo. He clung to Eric’s neck, resting his tiny head on his shoulder.

“You ready to go?” Eric whispered.

Kory nodded sleepily, mumbling, “Yeah…”

Back in the car, Eric buckled Kory in, adjusting his hoodie to keep him warm. As he drove, his eyes were locked on the road, but his mind drifted again. To Korina’s last phone call. The video shoot. The plane. The horror of that day.

He clenched the steering wheel. His jaw locked up. If he had just told her not to go… If he had begged her to stay home, would she still be here?

Would she still be mine?

The Moment That Broke HimThe sky was dark now. Streetlights flickered above the windshield. The hum of the road was soft, calming almost, until—

“Papa?” Kory called.

Eric blinked and looked at the mirror. “Yeah, baby?”

Kory stared at the stars through the window for a second. His little voice was quiet, unsure.

“…Where’s Mok?”

Time froze.

Eric’s hands shook slightly against the steering wheel. His breath caught in his throat. The question. The question he had been dreading. The one he hadn’t prepared for.

He had no words. Just silence.

He glanced back at Kory—his face full of innocence, hope. Still too young to understand grief. Still too small to carry loss.

“…She’s resting,” Eric finally managed, choking on the words. “She’s… resting, baby.”

Kory blinked. “Mok sleeping?”

Eric’s voice cracked. “Yeah… sleeping.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Kory yawned, his head starting to droop. But Eric… Eric was unraveling.

Tears ran down his cheeks. He turned his head away, trying to hide it. But once the first tear fell, the rest came like a flood. Every part of him ached. His chest tightened until he could barely breathe.

Because lying to his baby felt like a second death.

Because holding it all in… was killing him slowly.

He wanted to scream. To break something. But he couldn’t—not in front of Kory. So instead, he pulled the car over.

He climbed into the back seat, unbuckled his son, and just held him there. Rocking him gently, arms wrapped around him like it was all he had left.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into his son’s curls. “I’m so sorry, baby… I promise I’ll do better. I promise…”

Kory drifted off in his arms, peaceful.

And Eric… sat in the dark, crying into the quiet.

                              ◍⁠•◍✧__◍⁠•◍✧⁠

Quick question should I end the story here or another chapter or a few more before I can actually say the story is finished???