When I first met Camai Roberson, I’ll be honest—I didn’t think too much of it. She wasn’t what I expected, not at all. At that time in my life, everything revolved around NBA—NBA was taking shape, and I was consumed by the Game, the Sports, the road ahead. Romance? It wasn’t on my radar. My days were schedules, film rooms, practices, scouting reports, and my nights were a blur of cities, buzzer-beaters, and locker room talks. Love felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford.
But—Camai Roberson—she walked into my life like a different kind of melody.
Not loud.
Not flamboyant.
Just real.
She didn’t fit the scene I was used to. I was surrounded by athletes and analysts, trainers and reporters, people who breathed stats and strategy. Camai? She wasn’t trying to impress me with knowledge of pick-and-roll defense or historical win shares. Instead, she asked questions no one else did. “When was the last time you slept eight hours?” “Do you still read books that aren’t about basketball?” “What makes you feel calm?”
It threw me off.
I was used to the chaos of the Sports, the wild nights, the constant movement. And she was steady—firm, thoughtful, sincere. She’d talk about music I’d never heard, childhood memories that made her cry and laugh in the same breath, and the importance of stillness. That word—stillness—I didn’t even know what it meant until she showed me.
The first time she came to one of my ga
