A Soft Place To Land

People always said Aneesah had a peaceful presence.

Clients whispered it after facials, friends mentioned it in passing, even strangers commented on her softness-as though it was something she had been born with, a fragrance that lingered when she walked away.

But no one ever asked where the peace came from.

No one saw the nights she cried into a pillow she bought with her own money at seventeen-because softness was not something she inherited. It was something she fought for.

They didn't see the way her mother's words still echoed years later.
"You're too sensitive."
"You're not good enough."
"If you don't learn to be strong, no one will love you."

So she learned to be strong.
She learned to be silent.
She learned how to soothe everyone-everyone but herself.

And yet, every morning she walked into her clinic and breathed in the scent of lavender oil and freshly laundered towels, something inside her loosened. Here, she had built something with her own hands. Here, she had control. Here, the past couldn't touch her.

Or so she thought.

Until he walked in.

With eyes that didn't look past her.
With a voice that didn't rush her.
With questions that didn't feel like interrogation, but invitation.

And suddenly, the stillness she had built began to ripple.

Not from fear.
But from the terrifying possibility...

That she was finally safe enough to fall-and someone would be there to hold her when she did