The Chose to Rise
1438 Words
Amara stood in front of her full-length mirror, holding up the silk gown she planned to wear for the investor mixer. It was deep emerald, hugging her curves in a way that felt both elegant and commanding. She hadn’t felt this confident in weeks. Not since Jason kissed her and then cut her out like a stain.
But things were different now.
She had options. Opportunities. A future that didn’t revolve around Jason Kingsley or his mood swings.
Still, as she turned slightly to admire the dress from the side, a thought crept in, uninvited what would Jason think if he saw her in this?
She scowled and forced the thought away. This was her night.
The mixer was being held at a rooftop lounge in central London, a favorite among the fashion elite. Her invitation had come directly from Alain Dumas, the investor with an eye for innovation and an interest in merging African elegance with European precision. The moment she walked in, heads turned.
She didn’t flinch.
Amara’s confidence was stitched into every step she took. She greeted designers, PR reps, and a few influencers she had only seen in magazine articles. But her eyes were searching for one person Alain.
She found him near the bar, engaged in quiet conversation with another investor. As soon as his gaze met hers, his face lit up.
“Amara Obi,” he said, embracing her lightly. “You are more stunning in person than in your sketches.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Dumas. It’s an honor.”
“Please, call me Alain. Come, let’s talk.”
The two of them found a quieter table by the glass wall overlooking the city. Alain pulled out a sleek portfolio from his case and laid it before her. Inside were mockups of a Lagos-based fashion line sleek, colorful, deeply influenced by West African roots, but trimmed with a European silhouette.
“I want you to be the face behind this,” he said. “Creative director. You’ll have full design freedom. We’ll fund the infrastructure in Lagos and London. You’ll travel, lead, innovate.”
Amara’s heart thudded in her chest.
It was everything she’d ever dreamed of control, freedom, representation, and a global platform.
“I”she started, voice trembling slightly. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes,” Alain said with a charming grin. “I’ve been in this industry too long to overlook talent like yours.”
Before she could respond, a shadow moved in the glass behind him. Her breath caught.
Jason.
He was here.
She hadn’t expected him why would she? This wasn’t his scene, and yet, there he was. Dressed in a black suit, no tie, hair slightly tousled like he had run a hand through it too many times. His eyes scanned the room until they found hers.
Their gazes locked across the rooftop.
The air thickened.
Alain noticed the shift in her posture and followed her gaze.
“Friend of yours?” he asked.
Amara tore her eyes away and forced a smile. “Something like that.”
Alain’s brow lifted, amused. “Ah. Complications.”
“You could say that,” she said, her voice low.
“Well, if he’s here to fight for you, he’s a fool. You deserve someone who doesn’t let you slip away.”
Jason didn’t approach right away. He lingered by the edge, talking to someone from the press, but his eyes kept flicking back to her. Watching her. Measuring the distance he had created.
Alain continued explaining the business model, the launch plan, the projected budget but part of her was tuned out. Jason’s presence was like static in her bloodstream.
She excused herself gently after a while and stepped out onto the balcony, the London skyline glittering before her.
Moments later, she felt him behind her.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” she said without turning.
“I wasn’t invited,” Jason replied. “But I heard Alain was in town.”
“Of course you did.”
A beat passed.
“You look…” Jason began, then stopped. “Powerful.”
She turned to face him, arms crossed.
“You don’t get to say things like that anymore,” she said. “You gave that up.”
He exhaled slowly, stepping closer. “I made a mistake.”
“No,” she corrected, “you made a choice. You chose silence. You chose distance. And I chose to move forward.”
He stepped even closer, so close she could smell his cologne dark, expensive, familiar.
“I came here tonight to see you. To remind you that you matter. That you’re not just someone I kissed and walked away from.”
She stared at him, her heart betraying her resolve with every beat.
“Then why did you?”
“Because I was scared,” he admitted. “Of what it meant. Of what you meant. And because I thought I was protecting you from me… but I was only protecting myself.”
Her eyes shimmered, but she blinked the emotion away.
“I don’t need protecting, Jason. I never did.”
“I know,” he said quietly.
They stood in silence, the city humming beneath them. Music floated from inside the lounge, soft and jazzy. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to let the weight of his words pull her back into his arms.
But she also wanted more than love. She wanted respect. Consistency. A partner who didn’t choose fear when things got hard.
“You can’t keep coming in and out of my life like this,” she said finally. “I’m not a door you can open and close.”
“I’m not here to close it again,” he whispered. “I’m here to walk through it. And stay.”
Tears threatened again, but she held them back. This wasn’t the time.
“I have a meeting with Alain tomorrow morning,” she said. “It could change everything for me.”
“I know,” Jason said. “And I’ll be there. Not to interfere just to watch you shine.”
And then, without touching her, he stepped back.
For the first time, he let her go not to leave, but to give her space to fly.
That night, Amara stayed on the balcony long after Jason walked away.
The wind whispered around her, cool against her arms, but her skin still burned with the intensity of his presence.
Her phone buzzed.
Kemi Calling…
She smiled and answered. “Kemi?”
“Babe! Are you dead or in love?”
Amara laughed. “Neither. Just… figuring things out.”
“You sound tired. What’s going on?”
“We kissed. He ghosted me. Now he’s back. And I just got offered a creative director role for a new fashion house that’s launching in Lagos.”
There was a long pause.
“ARE YOU MAD?! You’re supposed to be shouting from rooftops, not whispering like someone in confession!”
Amara burst into laughter. “I guess I’m scared. Of it being real.”
“Omo! You prayed for this. You cried for this. Grab it, Amara! And let that fine oyinbo watch you become everything he was too slow to hold on to.”
Amara smiled, tears in her eyes. “Thanks, Kemi. I needed that.”
The next morning, Amara arrived at Alain’s studio in Soho. He greeted her warmly, along with a few members of his team. Jason was already there, standing silently in a corner.
Alain motioned her forward. “Pitch your vision. Don’t hold back.”
Amara stood tall, shoulders back, and spoke from her heart. She talked about Yoruba motifs, Ankara reinvention, and stories sewn into every stitch.
When she finished, Alain clapped softly. “You don’t design clothes. You build legacies.”
He handed her an envelope her contract.
Creative Director. Six figures. Lagos-London-Paris.
Jason stepped forward as everyone left the room.
“Why are you really here?” she asked.
“To say what I should’ve said weeks ago,” he replied. “I want to build something with you not because you need me, but because I can’t imagine watching you rise from the sidelines.”
Amara met his eyes.
“You broke me,” she whispered. “But I didn’t stay broken. I grew.”
“I see that. And I love that.”
For the first time, she didn’t feel powerless in his presence.
She felt seen. Desired. Respected.
And maybe just maybe ready to let him try again.
- Writer
