Eyes That Still Burn
1007 Words
Amara arrived at the office early, earlier than anyone else.
Her curls were pulled back into a sleek bun. Her lips painted red, bold like her mood. Today wasn’t about Jason. Or Sophia. Or rumors.
Today was about her.
She sat at her desk, opened her laptop, and began to sketch. Her lines were sharp, her colors bold. Every brush of the pencil was a reminder that she came here to win not to weep over a man who couldn’t decide between loyalty and desire.
Her pain had been real. But so was her purpose.
By 10 a.m., the team rolled in.
Claire looked surprised to see Amara already buried in designs.
“Didn’t expect you so early,” she said.
“I’m still part of this team, right?” Amara asked, eyes not leaving the screen.
Claire hesitated. “Of course. Actually… I wanted to talk to you. Privately.”
Amara followed her into a small side office. For a moment, she braced herself for bad news.
But Claire smiled.
“There’s a new investor attending the preview a major one from Paris,” Claire said. “He’s also launching a sister fashion house in Lagos. I showed him some of your sketches, and he loved them.”
Amara’s breath caught.
“He wants to meet you personally after the show.”
She blinked. “Wait… me?”
Claire nodded. “Yes. He thinks your style brings something fresh. He called it ‘cultural boldness with elegance.’ I think you’ve got something big here.”
Amara’s heart swelled.
It was happening slowly, painfully but it was happening.
She returned to her desk, head held higher than it had in days.
Jason still hadn’t returned to the office. It had been nearly a week.
No calls. No messages. Just silence.
Fine.
He wanted distance? She would give it to him wrapped in dignity.
But life, as always, had a sense of drama.
That afternoon, as she adjusted pins on a mannequin in the studio, she turned and froze.
Jason stood at the doorway.
He was in a dark navy suit, no tie, his jaw tighter than usual. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on her.
They burned.
And for a moment, time paused.
Claire cleared her throat loudly. “Mr. Kingsley. You’re back.”
Jason nodded curtly, still staring at Amara. “Just for today. I have… unfinished business.”
He walked in like a storm quiet, cold, and dangerous. Amara tried to focus, but she felt his presence like fire at her back.
She kept her head down. Kept working.
But his voice still found her.
“Amara. A word?”
She turned, heart hammering. “I’m busy.”
Jason blinked, caught off guard. “Just a minute.”
She didn’t want to go. But the whole team was watching. So she followed him.
They stepped into his office the same space where everything had started. And cracked.
Jason closed the door behind her.
She didn’t sit. Neither did he.
“I saw the investor email,” he said. “Claire told me about your sketches being chosen.”
Amara folded her arms. “Is that why you called me in here? To congratulate me?”
Jason sighed. “No. I… I came to say I’m sorry.”
She raised an eyebrow. “For what, exactly? Kissing me and then pretending I don’t exist? Or removing me from a project I helped build?”
Jason stepped closer. “It wasn’t personal. I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?” she snapped. “From your fiancée? From your reputation?”
His eyes darkened. “From me.”
The silence between them pulsed.
Then Amara let out a bitter laugh. “You think you’re some kind of danger I need protecting from? Jason, I’m not some naive girl. I knew what that kiss meant. And I know what your silence meant too.”
“I wasn’t silent because I didn’t care,” he said, voice low. “I was silent because I cared too much. And that scared the hell out of me.”
Amara’s chest tightened. She hated how his voice still affected her.
“How convenient,” she whispered. “You get to feel something, run from it, and then return when you’re ready. But I was the one left to deal with the looks. The whispers. The shame.”
Jason took a step closer. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“But you did.”
They stared at each other, breath heavy. The tension between them was thick — not just romantic, but emotional, bruised, fragile.
Jason reached out, brushing his fingers against her hand.
She didn’t pull away.
But she didn’t melt, either.
“Don’t do this again,” she said softly. “Don’t come close just to leave again.”
“I don’t want to leave,” he murmured. “But I don’t know how to stay either. Not with everything I owe. Everything I’m tied to.”
“Then figure it out,” she said, voice trembling. “Because I won’t keep waiting in the shadows while you decide who you want to be.”
⸻
Later that evening, Amara walked home with the wind brushing her cheeks and her phone buzzing in her bag.
She ignored it.
Not until she reached her apartment did she check.
A new email.
Subject: Invitation – Paris x Lagos Fashion Fusion
From: Mr. Alain Dumas
Dear Ms. Amara Obi,
I would be honored to formally meet you next week regarding the Lagos branch of our fashion house. Your work reflects a rare brilliance.
Let’s build something powerful together.
– Alain Dumas
She sat on the edge of her bed, stunned.
This was real. This was hers.
For the first time since arriving in London, she felt truly in control.
Jason Kingsley may have kissed her, broken her, and apologized. But she had something bigger now — options. Power. A future beyond him.
And she planned to use it.
- Writer
