KIMANI
Two weeks.
That’s how long I lasted before finally snapping.
Two weeks of whispers every time I walked past, of sly comments dressed up as “jokes,” of side glances that said more than words ever could.
At first, my sarcasm had worked like a shield. I’d turned their digs into punchlines, laughed louder than they expected, left them speechless with comebacks that should have won me a comedy award. But gossip was like weeds—cut it down, and it just grew back, thicker and uglier.
And by the end of week two, I was tired.
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That day, I was in the break room grabbing my lunch when she struck again.
Ada.
Office queen bee. My personal mosquito. Persistent, buzzing, impossible to ignore.
She strolled in with her entourage two coworkers who followed her around like puppies and lean
