Dancing On My Own

Chapter 5: A Friend’s Counsel!

Two days later, she met Amina Rahman at their usual café on Collins Street. The air smelled of espresso and rain, the city outside blurred by drizzle.

Amina was more than a friend—she was a fellow barrister, sharp-tongued and unflinching, the one person who could tell Ismene the truth without fear of reprisal.

“You look tired,” Amina said, sliding into the booth opposite her. “Which is lawyer-speak for ‘you look like hell.’”

Ismene forced a smile. “I’ve had better weeks.”

“That’s one way to put it. The whole city’s buzzing. Half of the chambers think you’ll crush Jared in court, the other half are betting you’ll crumble.”

“Let them bet,” Ismene replied, wrapping her hands around her coffee. “I’ve already drafted the petition.”

Amina’s brow shot up. “You’re representing yourself?”

Silence stretched between them.

“Ismene, no.”

“I know the risks.”

“You think you know. But when you’re the client, you stop thinking like counsel. Emotion clouds judgment. You’ll miss angles, overlook strategy. Worse—you’ll let him get under your skin.”

Ismene’s jaw tightened. “Who else would I trust? Who else knows how he operates? He’ll weaponize every weakness, every memory. I can’t hand that to another lawyer.”

Amina leaned forward, her eyes sharp. “Then don’t. Work with someone. Guide them. But don’t stand alone at the table. You’ll bleed, and the court will smell it.”

Ismene looked away, her reflection fractured in the rain-streaked window. Part of her knew Amina was right. But pride was a stubborn thing, and hers was ironclad.

“Let me ask you this,” Amina said, softening her tone. “What happens if you lose?”

The question cut deeper than any accusation. Losing wasn’t part of Ismene’s vocabulary. She had built her identity on control, on victories. The thought of failure—of Jared walking away triumphant—was unbearable.

“I won’t lose,” she said, voice low, almost dangerous.

Amina sighed, leaning back. “I know that tone. It’s the one you use right before doing something reckless.”

Ismene smiled faintly. “Maybe reckless is what I need.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the café bustling around them. Finally, Amina reached across the table, resting her hand over Ismene’s.

“Just remember—strength isn’t only standing alone. Sometimes it’s knowing when to let someone stand with you.”

The words lingered long after their coffees had gone cold.

That night, back in her office, Ismene opened the petition again. Her name stared back at her, bold against the page. She traced it with her finger, hearing Amina’s warning.

But when she pictured Jared in court—smiling, smug, untouchable—her decision hardened.

If the courtroom was a battlefield, then she would not enter it as anyone’s client.

She would enter it as counsel.

Her own.