Her-Self discovery and finding unlikely Love

I took the card out of courtesy, slipping it into my purse as he said, “Think about it, Anna,” his voice trailing off as he walked toward the train station. For a fleeting moment, the idea of becoming a fashion model flickered in my mind. But the reality of being a Black woman in a world that worships the pale beauty of white models quickly shut it down. Fashion had never been a dream for someone like me.

Instead, I tried to focus on the call I was waiting for—the call from the producer of the musical I’d just auditioned for. Maybe my performance had impressed him. But as much as I tried to hold on to hope, the familiar sting of rejection whispered louder. Pessimism settled over me, as it always did. I could imagine it now: another “no,” another setback. Maybe I was meant to be a model, not a dancer. The thought brought a bitter smile to my face. But I was a realist, not a dreamer. Black women like me were never going to make it in the world of fashion—a world built for white women.

I shook off the daydream, but it wasn’t easy. My thoughts spiraled as the train roared past, carrying with it my fleeting fantasies. Reaching my building, I rode the elevator up, every floor ticking away like the countdown to an uncertain future. Would I hear from the theater soon? And what about the rent I still owed? My mind was cluttered with anxiety, but then John’s face flashed before me. The photographer. Handsome, charming, a white man who had seen something in me I didn’t even know existed. Could I—someone like me—ever belong in his world? Could I ever be the woman he saw?

The elevator doors opened, and just like that, the dream faded into the back of my mind. Reality hit hard as I stepped into the hallway and saw him waiting for me—the building manager. My stomach clenched.

“Anna,” he said, his voice stern, “How’s everything going? Your audition?”

I didn’t want to tell him the truth, that I was still waiting to hear back. “It’s fine. They’ll call in a few days,” I answered quickly, avoiding his eyes.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You’re two months behind on rent. How do you plan to pay me if you don’t have a job? I care about you, but I can’t cover for you forever.”

I swallowed hard. “I’ll figure something out. I’ve got another job offer that should fix everything.”

He looked at me with a mixture of concern and resolve. “I hope so. I don’t want to have to ask you to leave.”

I stepped into my apartment, the weight of his words sinking in. No job. No money. No real future. What was I supposed to do? As I sat down, I opened my purse and saw the card from John. His offer still hung in the air, unanswered. Could I really make it as a fashion model? A Black woman in the cutthroat world of New York fashion? Was I just being naïve?

The questions flooded my mind, but I had no answers. I needed to talk to someone. I dialed Linda.

“Hey Linda, how’s it going?”

“Anna! Tell me everything. How was the audition?”

“I’m still waiting for the call.”

“You think they’ll call?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But right now, my financial situation is… well, it’s not good.”

Linda didn’t miss a beat. “You know, you could fix that in one day. Just take the job at the bar. It’ll solve everything.”

My stomach turned. “That’s not an option, Linda.”

“Anna, you’re too picky,” she said bluntly. “You need to be realistic. You either take a job, or you find someone to help you. You can’t afford to be choosy.”

I felt the sting of her words, but I wasn’t about to back down. “I don’t want to depend on anyone, especially not a man.”

Linda’s voice softened, but there was no avoiding the point she was making. “Can I ask you something? Do you really think you could be a professional model?”

I froze. Was this really happening? “I don’t know, Linda. John, the photographer, asked me, but I’m afraid it’s all just some big joke.”

Linda let out a breath, her tone steady. “Anna, you’ve always been beautiful, tall, and smart. You’ve got what it takes. You just need to believe it.”

The weight of her words hit me harder than I expected. “But… I’m Black. What chance do I have in a world that only seems to want white models?”

Linda’s response was blunt and powerful. “Anna, the color of your skin is the only thing holding you back. It’s in your head. Modeling is about pose, personality, and having a beautiful face. You have all of that—and more.”

I sat there in silence for a moment, absorbing her words. Was she right? Could I really do this? Was this my chance? I decided to voice the one question that had been haunting me since the audition.

“Linda… do you think I should accept John’s offer?”

Linda’s voice was calm but firm. “You don’t have anything to lose. No job. No money. No man to support you. If you don’t take a chance now, you might regret it. But be careful. There are men who offer dreams but want more in return. Be cautious.”

“I don’t think John’s like that,” I said quickly, trying to convince myself as much as her. “He seems different—calm, kind, trustworthy.”

Linda’s tone softened. “If you decide to go, I’ll be there with you. Friends are for supporting each other, Anna.”

I ended the call, feeling a strange sense of calm wash over me. Now, it was all about waiting—for the call that might never come about the theater audition, and for the decision that could change everything.

And then, just as I was thinking about how to handle my situation, I heard a knock at the door. Who could it be at this hour?

I opened the door, and standing there was the last person I ever wanted to see. Jimmy. The man who had destroyed my family. The man responsible for my mother’s addictions, my father’s downfall, and the toxic mess that was my childhood.

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice cold.

“Just checking on my favorite neighbor,” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

I closed the door, my heart pounding in my chest. My life was far from simple. The love story between John and me was only just beginning, but it was about more than love. It was about growth, acceptance, and the painful path to healing and forgiveness.