9th
430 Words
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Chapter Nine: “The Meeting”
It took her three tries to leave the house.
The first time, she stood in front of her wardrobe for an hour and ended up back in bed.
The second, she put on makeup and cried it off before she even reached the front door.
But the third time?
She didn’t overthink it.
She wore a soft blue dress. Clean, simple. The kind that felt like her — not the version she dressed up for content. Just… Jasmine.
The Uber driver tried to make small talk. She nodded politely. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Kora Publishing & Media was in a sleek glass building in the city center — the kind of place Kenzo would’ve bragged about filming in. She walked past the security, past the receptionist, past the voice in her head screaming “You’re not ready for this.”
And then the door opened.
Arinze.
Tall. Neatly dressed in a dark turtleneck and slacks. No ring. No fake smile. No patronizing “sorry for what happened.”
Just calm eyes. The kind that didn’t pry.
And a voice like steady rain.
"Jasmine," he said, standing. "You came."
She hesitated.
“I almost didn’t.”
“I know.” He gestured to the chair. “But you’re here. That matters more.”
She sat. Her knees were weak, but her spine stayed straight.
Arinze didn’t talk about her ex. Or the scandal. Or the trending hashtags.
He pulled out a folder.
Inside: pages of her old blog posts.
Screenshots of her poetry.
A short story she’d written three years ago that had maybe 500 views — but he quoted it like it mattered.
“You’re not just a social media personality,” he said.
“You’re a writer. One with scars, sure. But that just means you’ve bled enough to know how to make others feel.”
She blinked.
No one had spoken to her like that in months — maybe ever.
He slid a small booklet toward her:
“Proposal: Healing Through Story — A Book by Jasmine A.”
“Write what you’ve lived. All of it,” he said gently. “We’ll publish it. No rush. No pressure. But the world is quieter without your voice in it.”
For the first time in what felt like eternity, Jasmine smiled.
It was small. Shy. But real.
She whispered, “What if I’m not ready to tell the truth yet?”
Arinze nodded, warm and unbothered.
“Then start with the parts you can tell. The rest will follow.”
- Writer
