CHAPTER 18
1204 Words
THE FIRST STEP**
It started with a pair of clean jeans.
They didn’t hug her hips the way they used to. She’d lost weight, but she didn’t care. As Amara stood in front of the mirror, pulling the fabric over her legs, she stared at the girl in the reflection. Barefaced. Bruised beneath the eyes. Still here. She had woken up on her bed, when she remembered dozing off in Kai's arms at the living room, she knew he had carried her to her room, when she dozed off.
She wasn’t dressing to be pretty.
She was dressing to exist.
Her arms trembled as she reached for the pink hoodie hanging on the edge of the wardrobe. She held it for a moment, breathed in the faint scent of vanilla and something that used to feel like home, then slid it on.
She had to start her life again, After Kai’s words last night, she'd felt a sudden urge to try to fix things. She had the power to start all over again and make it count for Jane. "She would want that". She told herself.
Take Small steps.
She opened her door and stepped into the hallway. The clink of a spoon in a cereal bowl echoed from the kitchen. Ethan was crouched in front of the fridge when he looked up—and froze.
“Amara?” he blinked. “You’re—up.”
She offered a short nod. “I’m going to class.”
He stared, cereal forgotten in his hand. “Wait—class class?”
“Just one. I need to… try.”
Kai came out of his room, rubbing the back of his neck with a towel, still slightly damp from the shower. The moment his eyes landed on her, his breath hitched.
She didn’t look well. But she looked alive.
His voice softened. “You sure?”
“I need to.” Her voice was steady, even if her fingers weren’t. “Even if it’s just for forty-five minutes.”
Kai stepped forward instinctively. “Let me drive you.”
She shook her head. “I need the walk. The air.”
He didn’t argue.
Instead, he opened the door for her.
And for the first time in weeks, she stepped into the sunlight—not just to breathe, but to begin again.
---
The university campus buzzed like a hive of too much energy. Students strolled in groups, some laughing, some scrolling through their phones, some lost in thought. Amara kept her hood up.
She felt exposed.
Like every gaze might cut her open.
A few classmates glanced her way, recognition flashing across their faces. A girl whispered something to a friend, pointing slightly. Amara turned her face, heart pounding, her palms clammy.
Her seat at the back corner of the economics lecture hall felt like a hiding place.
The professor’s voice sounded distant, warped. Her notes remained blank for the first ten minutes. But when her name was called during attendance—“Miss Okoye?”—she raised her hand and managed to whisper, “Present.”
And something shifted.
She didn’t shatter.
She was still here.
---
That afternoon, she had a therapy session, which Kai had booked for her. The building was quiet. Clean. Intentionally warm.
Amara sat stiffly on the edge of a tan suede couch, the clock ticking louder than her heartbeat. Her eyes scanned the peaceful office—shelves of books, soft abstract art, and a candle burning lavender and something earthy.
She felt out of place.
Like a jagged object in a room of rounded corners.
Then the door opened.
A woman stepped in—Chinese-American, maybe mid-40s, with soft crow’s feet and a calm smile that didn’t try too hard.
“Miss Okoye,” she greeted. “I’m Dr. Lin. You can call me Mei.”
Amara gave a polite nod but said nothing.
“I’m glad you came,” Dr. Lin added, taking the chair across from her. “Sometimes just showing up is the hardest part.”
Amara’s hands twisted in her lap.
“I’m not here because I’m brave,” she said. “I was warned. Something about being shipped off if I didn’t come.”
Mei didn’t flinch. “You’re still here. That’s a start.”
Silence fell. Amara’s eyes darted around, avoiding the woman’s gaze.
Then—softly—“Do you believe broken people can be fixed?”
Mei leaned forward just a little. “I believe people aren’t glass, Amara. We don’t shatter and stay in pieces. We bruise, we crack… and then we heal.”
Amara swallowed, throat tight.
“I hear voices,” she whispered. “Not in my head. Just memories. My mother. Jane. The gunshot. I wake up with it in my ears.”
“Do you feel safe?”
She looked away. “Never.”
Dr. Lin paused, then asked gently, “Do you want to feel safe?”
The question broke something loose.
Tears sprang without warning. Amara clutched her hoodie sleeves and shook as sobs escaped her.
“I feel like I ruin people,” she said. “Jane… my mother… Kai… Everyone. Everything I touch either leaves or dies.”
Mei handed her a box of tissues. “That sounds like shame speaking, not truth.”
“I just want to stop feeling like I deserve it.”
A beat passed.
“You don’t,” Dr. Lin said. “And I’ll help you remember that. Let's start from where it all began, can we?
Amara gave a faint nod.
---
That night, she sat on the balcony, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Her journal rested in her lap, open but blank.
Kai stepped out, holding a cup of tea.
He didn’t speak, just handed it to her, and sat in the opposite chair.
After a while, she said, “I went to therapy.”
He looked at her, eyes soft.
She took a sip. “It didn’t fix me.”
“It’s not supposed to,” he replied. “But you’re trying. That’s what matters.”
She gave a tiny nod.
Then her phone buzzed.
A message from Bella.
> “Hey babe. Fred and I are inviting you, Kai, and Ethan to dinner tomorrow. We’ve missed you so much. Let’s just laugh again—even if it’s just for one night. Please come. ❤️”
Amara stared at it for a long moment.
“You don’t have to,” Kai said gently, watching her.
But after a long breath, she replied:
> “Okay. I’ll come.”
Then turned to Kai and added, “I think I want to try... being around people again. Just a little.”
Kai smiled.
“Whatever you need, Ama. We’ll be there.”
Then she said. "Thank you, Kai, for everything, for yesterday, I know I wasn't supposed to put you in that bad position. I just needed someone badly"she said.
Kai looked at her wanting to tell her how much he loves her, the lengths he would go for her.
He wanted her to know, but he couldn't put the words together. "It's nothing Ama, I'm here for you at any time."
- Writer
