We are not going back

Chapter one

[Dear madam President, I humbly ask to be protected from prosecution for this creative process. I hope you find it in your heart to have mercy on my soul and the individuals who will feast upon this beautiful piece of literature.]

《First meeting》

I was running late, my heels echoing against the polished marble floors of the West Wing. I cursed under my breath as I clutched the file to my chest, weaving through the corridors with the grace of someone who had done this countless times before. Today was different, though.

Today, I was going to meet President Kamala Harris.

I had worked in the legal department of the White House for three years now, and while I had been in proximity to the President at various events and meetings, this would be my first one-on-one. I had been summoned to brief Harris on a delicate piece of legislation, and I’d been preparing all week. But no amount of preparation seemed to calm the flutter of nerves in my chest.

The door to the Oval Office stood open, and as I approached, a sharp voice called out, “Misses Coleman, the President will see you now.”

I nodded at the staffer, took a deep breath, and stepped inside.

The Oval Office always seemed larger than it looked in pictures. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting a warm glow over the room. But it wasn’t the grandeur of the office that caught my attention—it was the woman standing by the Resolute Desk.

Kamala Harris turned, a smile already playing at her lips. She wore a perfectly tailored navy suit, her hair swept back, and her eyes—sharp, intelligent, warm—locked onto mine.

"Misses Coleman, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you," Harris extended her hand, her voice carrying the weight of authority but with a softness that set me slightly at ease.

“Madam President,” I replied, shaking her hand, my skin tingling from the contact, “The pleasure is mine.”

She gestured to a pair of chairs by the window, “Please, have a seat. I hear you’ve been doing some impressive work in the legal department.”

I sat, carefully placing the file on my lap, “Thank you, Madam President. I’m just doing my job.”

The President’s eyes lingered on me a beat longer than necessary, and for a moment, the air between us seemed to still. Perhaps I was deluded therefore I swallowed, forcing my attention back to the task at hand. This was not the time for distractions.

The elegant woman leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, “Let’s get into it. I understand you have some concerns about the new voting rights bill?”

I opened the file, my fingers brushing against the crisp pages, but my mind was racing, still replaying the way Harris had looked at me. Focus, El, “Yes, Madam President. There’s a clause in Section 5 that could be interpreted in a way that limits access rather than expands it. I’ve highlighted some possible amendments.”

I handed the file over, my fingers brushing against Harris’s as I did. Oh my God, weirdo. Stop it. The contact sent a spark through me, and I quickly pulled my hand back, hoping I reaction wasn’t too obvious.

Harris, however, seemed unfazed—or perhaps she was just that good at hiding it, “Thank you for this,” she said, her voice measured, but there was a subtle shift in her tone. More... personal.