Page 120 of Invisible Bars
“No. Let me talk. These girls? They live off weakness, feed off difference and they think they win when they make people like us feel small. But you’re not small, Naji. You’re art in motion—even when your body moves on its own… especially then.”
Ambria crouched down slightly so our eyes met.
“Your existence alone is enough to make them uncomfortable—and that’s their problem, not yours.”
I let out a shaky breath.
“Naji, you’re going to walk that runway like the lights owe you. And when they whisper? Let ’em. Because you’ll still be walking, and they’ll still be stuck in the same circle afraid to be anything other than what the industry tells them to be.”
Ambria smiled gently and reached into her clutch. “And just in case you need something to hold onto…”
She pulled out a small silver ring with a tiny pink stone in it.
“My mom gave this to me when I almost quit modeling. Told me it reminded her that I always rose, even when things got ugly. I want you to have it.”
I stared at her. “Ambria… I can’t.”
“It’s just a ring,” she shrugged. “But it’s yours now.”
I slipped it on and tried not to cry.
Ambria wrapped her arm around my shoulder. “May our success offend the shit out of people who can’t stand to see us win. Now come on. Let’s go remind these folks why they booked us in the first place.”
The music behind the curtain swelled, that dramatic blend of synths and strings pulsing through the air—meant to make every model feel powerful. Invincible. Like we were untouchable in heels that hurt like hell.
I didn’t feel powerful.
I stood just off to the side, barely breathing, my heart rattling against my ribs like it was trying to break free. My throat was tight and my palms damp. I could feel it coming.
Without my meds, my body was turning on me by the second. Every inch of me felt like it was pulsing with static. MyZA shoulder snapped upward on its own, sharp and awkward. My head tilted slightly to the left—once, then again. My lips twitched, then parted with an involuntary grunt that caught the attention of someone adjusting lights nearby.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to pull myself back in. But it was too late to walk off. My name had already been called. I was next.
The stage manager gave me a short nod, all business. He had no idea what was happening inside me; no clue I was seconds from unraveling.
The heels I wore felt like punishment—sleek black stilettos that pushed all my weight forward, forcing perfect posture. The black silk gown hugged every curve, elegant andsuffocating all at once. My makeup was flawless. My hair pulled back into a slick twist, sharp enough to cut.
On the outside, I was everything they wanted. On the inside, I was shaking.
Then it happened… a sound clawed its way from my throat.
“Fu-fu-fuck!”
Barely audible over the music, but loud enough to shame me. I swallowed hard, my chest tightening like a fist was closing around my lungs.
I turned, eyes searching around for Ambria—my anchor, my peace—but all I saw was chaos—makeup brushes flying, fabric rustling and stylists shouting. She wasn’t there.
My head jerked again. My right arm stiffened for a beat. Another noise—short, harsh—escaped before I could lock it down.
One of the stylists flinched, stepping back slightly like I might suddenly combust.
I could feel the spiral coming—fast, heavy.
Then the curtain shifted.
“Go!” someone hissed.
And somehow… I did.
