Jayson Tatu: “When I first met Ella Mai, 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. But—Ella Mai—she walked into my life like a different kind of melody. Not loud, not flamboyant, just real… I was used to the chaos of the Sports, the wild nights, the constant movement. And she was steady—firm, thoughtful, sincere. At first, I didn’t know what to..

Jayson Tatu: “When I first met Ella Mai, 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. But—Ella Mai—she walked into my life like a different kind of melody. Not loud, not flamboyant, just real… I was used to the chaos of the Sports, the wild nights, the constant movement. And she was steady—firm, thoughtful, sincere. At first, I didn’t know what to..,

“When I first met Ella Mai, 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. But—Ella Mai—she walked into my life like a different kind of melody. Not loud, not flamboyant, just real… I was used to the chaos of the Sports, the wild nights, the constant movement. And she was steady—firm, thoughtful, sincere.

At first, I didn’t know what to make of that.

We met at some mutual friend’s gathering. Nothing extravagant, just a casual event in L.A. She was standing near the back, half-listening to the music, sipping from a glass, almost like she was there and not there at the same time. I was making the rounds—talking stats, deals, agents, coaches. The usual. When I saw her, she didn’t look at me like I was someone she recognized, someone she was supposed to be impressed by. That alone made me stop.

She didn’t chase conversations. She didn’t try to be seen. In a room full of people trying to be something, she just was. And that did something to me.

I went over, introduced myself—not like “Jayson Tatu,” just Jayson. She gave a soft smile, nodded, and said, ‘Hi.’ That’s it. No big fuss. No questions about my contract or my numbers that season. Just a ‘Hi’ like I was anybody else.

And I remember thinking, What is that? What is it about her that makes everything feel… quieter?

We talked for a bit. She asked me what I liked to do outside of basketball. That threw me. I hadn’t really thought about it in a long time. My world had gotten so small—court, gym, travel, repeat. I told her I liked music, and her eyes lit up. That’s when she told me she was an artist.

I knew the name vaguely. I’d heard her song on the radio once or twice. But sitting there, hearing her talk about lyrics and production, about how vulnerability was a strength and not a weakness—it changed something in me. I started to see the world outside of basketball again.

Not overnight, of course. I was still me. Still wrapped up in the league, trying to prove myself, chasing greatness. But her presence lingered.

We didn’t jump into anything fast. That’s the thing about Ella—she moves with intention. Nothing is rushed. She taught me how to slow down without even saying it. Just by being herself.

There were nights I’d come back from a game, adrenaline still pumping, mind racing—and she’d be on the couch, legs curled under her, humming something soft. Not even singing full out, just humming. And I’d sit beside her, and for the first time in forever, I’d feel my shoulders drop. Like I could breathe again.

She brought that kind of peace.

People always assume athletes have it all figured out—fame, money, fans. But no one talks about the loneliness. The pressure. The constant need to stay ahead. You start to lose sight of who you are when everything is performance.

But Ella never asked me to perform. She just wanted me. The real me.

We had hard moments, too. I’m not going to lie. My schedule was brutal. I’d miss her shows, and she’d miss my games. We had to learn how to love each other from a distance sometimes. But even in those stretches, she never made me feel guilty. She understood the dream because she had one too.

We respected that about each other.

I remember one particular night—we had a rare evening off in the same city. We ordered takeout, sat on the floor, and watched some old Soul Train reruns. She was laughing, imitating the dancers, pulling me up to try moves I had no business trying. I hadn’t laughed like that in years. It was stupid and beautiful and perfect.

I looked at her in that moment and thought, This is it. This is the life I want.

Not the trophies. Not the cameras. Just her.

Ella made me realize that life isn’t about running toward the next big thing—it’s about being still enough to enjoy what’s in front of you. She brought balance into my chaos. Where I was fire, she was water. Where I was loud, she was calm. And it worked. It worked because it was honest.

I think the biggest lesson she taught me—without ever preaching—was that strength isn’t just about domination. It’s about patience, grace, presence. She didn’t need to shout to be heard. She spoke in quiet ways that landed deeper than noise ever could.

Being with Ella made me a better man. Not just a better player. A better brother. A better son. She reminded me of the values my mom tried to instill in me before all this fame.

People ask me sometimes what our secret is. I tell them, there’s no secret. Just two people willing to grow together, even when it’s hard. Two people who chose each other over and over, no matter how loud the world got.

That’s the kind of love you don’t plan for. It just… happens.

And I thank God every day that it did.”

Would you like a version from Ella Mai’s perspective too?