New York in the nineties was not just a city. It was a fever dream, a kaleidoscope of ambition, grit, and untamed energy where fortunes were made and hearts were broken in equal measure. I arrived in Manhattan searching for something, though I was not sure what. A new beginning, perhaps, or a place to disappear. Then I met Habib. He did not walk through the city. He owned it, moved with an unshakable confidence that bent the world around him. He had a way of turning the ordinary into something electric, as if life itself was a performance and he was always center stage. Being around him felt like stepping into the current, exhilarating and unpredictable. Our story unfolded in the hidden corners of the city, in its underground clubs, smoke-filled rooms, and quiet spaces that existed only for those who knew where to look. It was intense, reckless, something neither of us could name but both of us understood. This is a story of love and exile, of the ghosts we carry and the cities that shape us. Some places change you. Some people define you. And some stories never truly end.