Unfiltered Dialogues
Copyright© 2026 by SilkStories
Chapter 10
Narrative: Kiara Washington
After we landed Nathan and I navigated passport control. My smile grew wider as memories of bidding farewell to his parents that morning flooded back. The resentment and anguish they had stirred up during our very first encounter over a decade earlier finally faded away completely.
As Mrs. Ellis pulled me into a warm embrace, I felt my eyes brimming with tears. She had insisted I call her Mary now, and as she held me close, she whispered, “I’m so happy to have you as my future daughter-in-law.” Her words washed over me like a soothing balm, and in that moment, I couldn’t hold back the flood of emotions; I broke down crying right there.
Nathan seemed utterly content, and during our flight, we passed the hours with lighthearted conversation as we toasted each other with champagne, stealing kisses whenever possible. “My dreams have come true,” he murmured softly, his gaze locked with mine. “Have yours?” he asked gently. I paused for a moment, considering the question deeply before answering with a thoughtful “Hmm.”
Then Nathan quipped loudly, “Stewardess, I need another seat!” raising his arm high. I quickly pulled his arm down. “You’re making a scene,” I said playfully before locking eyes with him. “Yes, my dreams have come true,” I affirmed with unwavering conviction.
After we cleared the checkpoint, I hailed a taxi and Kiara slid in beside me. We settled into the backseat, our arms intertwined as the cab merged into traffic. I gave the driver the address, noting his Caribbean accent and locs as telltale signs of his heritage.
The driver made casual conversation, asking, “Where you guys coming from?” I answered straightforwardly, “Boston. Just met my parents.” He glanced at us in the rearview mirror and added knowingly, “Oh, you two together then?” His assumption was obvious given how close we were sitting. Yet as I turned to Kiara, I noticed a subtle tension in her expression—something uneasy sparked in her eyes at his probing questions.
“We’re engaged to be married,” I announced proudly, meeting the driver’s gaze in the rearview mirror. He simply responded with a flat “Oh”—no congratulations, no well wishes. I couldn’t help but think that a little enthusiasm would have been appreciated given our joyous news. Meanwhile, Kiara remained unusually quiet as we drove past the bustling city streets, her silence speaking volumes about something weighing on her mind.
As the afternoon sun climbed higher, the city streets teemed with activity. Yet our driver skillfully navigated away from the congestion, guiding us onto a quieter side street. Just as I began to relax into the rhythm of the ride, a sudden flash of blue light caught my eye in the rearview mirror. Kiara and I exchanged confused glances before I asked aloud, “Are they flagging us down?” The driver let out an exasperated “For fuck’s sake” and pulled sharply to the curb.
The two officers exited their patrol car. Our driver lowered his window and asked calmly, “Is there a problem, officer?” The second officer leaned toward the rear window near Kiara, scrutinizing us with an unnerving stare. My pulse quickened as I wondered what could possibly justify this stop.
I fixed my gaze on the officer’s eyes, searching for an explanation. He stood upright and directed his question to our driver. “Where you heading?” The driver replied calmly, “Downtown Atlanta, officer—it’s where my customers live.”
Kiara shot me a pointed glance, her eyes conveying silent urgency. “Don’t intervene,” she murmured, just as one officer barked from outside our window, “Step out of the vehicle.” His partner echoed the command to our driver with stern authority.
Kiara gripped my hand tightly as she guided me out of the cab. Stepping onto the sidewalk, I immediately addressed the officers. “What seems to be the issue here? We’re returning home after a flight,” I explained, trying to keep my voice steady despite the tension in the air.
Narrative: Kiara Washington
I had only one wish: to reach home without further trouble. I moved quickly to silence Nathan. The officers dismissed his inquiries entirely and demanded our details instead. “We’re passengers, why do you need our details?” he pressed. “Just give it to them,” I told him firmly, hoping to avoid escalating the situation.
We all retrieved our IDs and handed them over. Nathan’s frustration simmered visibly beneath the surface, while I remained composed alongside our calm driver.
The officers retreated to their squad car, leaving us standing tensely on the sidewalk. Nathan muttered under his breath, “What the hell are they doing back there?” Our driver glanced at him and replied calmly, “Let them run their checks—we’ll be moving soon enough.” I gave a slight nod in agreement, silently urging Nathan to remain patient despite the mounting unease.
After some time passed they returned our identification and informed us we were free to leave. Just as Nathan began to pose another question I swiftly took hold of him and guided him back inside the vehicle.
The cab driver shifted the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. A heavy silence filled the space between us, thick with unspoken tension. Finally, Nathan broke it. “What the hell was that?” he asked, his voice tight with confusion and anger. I turned to face him, my own weariness evident in my tone. “That’s what it’s like being black in America,” I said quietly. The cab driver met my gaze in the rearview mirror and nodded solemnly before adding, “Yep.”
Narrative: Nathan Ellis
This was something I planned to delve into more deeply with Kiara later; we had done nothing wrong, yet the mere fact of being black seemed sufficient grounds for such treatment. It struck me as utterly absurd. For years, I’d assumed that when members of the black community spoke about the challenges they faced—particularly during traffic stops—there had to be some valid justification from the officers’ perspective. Surely, I reasoned, there must have been a legitimate reason behind each incident.
This incident was entirely unjustified; absolutely nothing the cab driver did warranted that stop or suggested any cause for suspicion.
I had invited Kiara back to my apartment after the unsettling encounter with law enforcement. Though she had never set foot in my place before, I wanted to offer her a brief tour of my modest home and share a quiet evening together prior to our work commitments the following day.
Before we stepped inside, I pulled her close and brushed my lips against hers. “I’m sorry,” I murmured against her mouth, “I didn’t know how to respond to those cops.” Kiara shook her head gently, her fingers briefly touching my cheek. “Don’t think about it now,” she whispered back, her voice soft but firm. “Let’s just enjoy a quiet evening.” I smiled, grateful for her understanding, and reached for my keys to unlock the door.
As we crossed the threshold I froze, my body rigid with disbelief. There on the sofa sat Lyra, her presence catching us both off guard. Kiara stood motionless beside me, her expression mirroring my shock. It had been weeks since everything fell apart and now she was here again.
Lyra pivoted on the sofa, her gaze burning with contempt. “So this is her?” she spat. My throat tightened as I stammered, “Lyra? What are you doing here?” She smirked bitterly. “I still live here, remember? You look like you’ve already moved on to that whore—” Her words hung in the air as my eyes widened in disbelief.
“What did you say, bitch?!” Kiara snapped, her voice sharp and confrontational. I instinctively caught her arm to hold her back. “No, Kiara,” I urged, turning toward Lyra with a mix of anger and disbelief. “This is my apartment—Lyra, you told me you weren’t coming back.”
Lyra rose slowly from the sofa, her footsteps deliberate as she approached. The confrontation I’d dreaded unfolded before me, each second amplifying its impact. I had always sensed her departure was too simple; now she stood face-to-face with Kiara—the woman who held my heart entirely.
“I need you to go, Lyra,” I insisted, my voice strained with tension. She glared back at me, shaking her head defiantly. “Not until you explain why you picked her over me,” she hissed. Desperate to defuse the situation, I reminded her quietly, “We’ve already discussed this—I was involved with Kiara during our university years.”
Kiara was poised for battle, her muscles coiled tight as she glared at Lyra. “It’s simple, Lyra” she stated coldly, stepping forward with fierce determination. “You meant nothing to him.” I grimaced, pressing my palm against my forehead as dread washed over me—this shit isn’t going to end well.
I stepped between them, urging, “Listen, let’s just sit down and talk.” Lyra’s gaze remained locked on Kiara as she spat out, “Black bitch!” with her thick Serbian accent. My eyes widened in shock. “Lyra!” I exclaimed, but before I could finish, Kiara’s hand flew out and struck Lyra hard across the face.
FUUUUCK!!!
Lyra staggered backward clutching her stinging cheek, her eyes blazing with malice as they locked onto Kiara. Kiara’s body quivered with barely contained fury—her reaction had been pure reflex and I couldn’t blame her—but the line between defense and assault had blurred dangerously thin.
I held Kiara back, pulling her away from the fray. “Please be calm Kiara,” I urged, my voice strained with tension. She turned to me, her eyes flashing with indignation. “Don’t defend her,” she spat bitterly. “I’m not,” I insisted, my words tumbling out rapidly. “But we can’t do this—not like this.” She glared at me, her jaw tightening as she retorted sharply, “You didn’t tell me she might be back.”
Lyra yanked open the door, poised to leave. “I’m calling the police,” she announced icily. My stomach plummeted as I pleaded, “Lyra wait—please.” But it was futile; she slammed the door shut behind her without another word.
Turning to Kiara, I saw her trembling violently. “Nathan?” she whispered, her voice quivering as tears glistened in her eyes. I reached out and gently grasped her shoulders. “It’s okay,” I said softly, trying to soothe her. “We’ll figure this out together. Maybe we should head to your place.” She gave a small nod, silently agreeing as she fought to steady herself.
As we entered Kiara’s apartment, the tension lingered with us like a third presence. The confrontation replayed in my mind—each word, each movement—and I couldn’t stop considering how her slap would ripple through everything.
As we sank onto her sofa, I pulled Kiara against me. Her voice trembled as she murmured, “I don’t know what to do, Nathan—the police will come for me.” I tightened my arms around her and replied softly, “I share the blame too, Kiara. We’re in this together; we’ll find a way through it.” A moment later she asked quietly, “Do you think she’ll actually call the police?”
“I’ll call and try to reason with her,” I said as Kiara nodded. Moving into another room, I dialed Lyra’s number, praying she would pick up. After a few agonizing rings, she finally answered. “Lyra?” My voice shook as I spoke. “What do you want?” she snapped back coldly. “Just me calling—can we talk?” I pleaded.
“Go on,” she said coolly, prompting me to continue. Taking a steadying breath, I began, “First of all, I’m truly sorry for what happened. I had no idea you’d be there and never would have brought Kiara if I had known. But the fact remains that this has occurred, and now we need to find some sort of resolution.”
Her voice turned icy as she replied, “She hit me, and I intend to have her arrested. There’s simply nothing left to consider.” Struggling to keep my composure, I paused before adding carefully, “I understand that she struck you, but it was because you made racist remarks toward her, Lyra. If you proceed with pressing charges, then I’ll have no choice but to provide a statement detailing exactly what you said to provoke her.”
“I wasn’t racist, I just called her a black bitch!” she retorted sharply. My voice remained steady as I countered, “That’s racist Lyra, regardless of your intent. Both of you were in the wrong.” The line went silent for a moment before I pressed gently, “I don’t want this to escalate further. Can we sit down and discuss this calmly?”
“She has to apologize to me,” Lyra insisted. A fragile sense of relief washed over me, though I knew full well that convincing Kiara would be another battle entirely. I hesitated for a moment before suggesting, “Let’s all sit down together and see if we can reach an understanding.”
“You hurt me Nathan, you left me for her,” she said, her voice trembling. My gut clenched—I’d never properly addressed how much I’d wounded her. “I know,” I admitted softly, pausing to gather my thoughts. “I don’t know what else to do Lyra, I know I hurt you and I’m sorry.”
I listened as her breath caught over the phone, the sound tugging at my conscience. Guilt gnawed at me for placing her in this predicament; I couldn’t blame her actions or how Kiara had reacted. “I don’t have anywhere to go,” she whispered, her voice frayed. “You can use my apartment for now—we’re not there,” I offered hesitantly. Yet even as I spoke, I sensed that my words only tangled matters further rather than smoothing them out.
Narrative: Kiara Washington
Looking at my hands, I saw them trembling. What was wrong with me? This feeling was unfamiliar—I’d never experienced it before. The great Kiara Washington, reduced to a coward because of a simple slap against a racist, and here I stood quivering. Pull yourself together woman!
I pushed myself up, steeling my nerves, and strode into my recording studio. With methodical precision, I powered up the equipment—sliding on my headphones, adjusting the microphone—and flipped the switch to start the recorder. Clearing my throat, I leaned in and began, “Hey y’all, welcome to another episode of Unfiltered Dialogues, with your one and only host Kiara Washington.”
I cued up a soulful R&B track, letting its smooth rhythm play for a few seconds before fading it down. Leaning into the mic with a wry twist in my voice, I announced, “Alright folks, tonight we’re diving deep into the messy world of racists—yeah, you heard me right. Can you believe I’m revisiting this topic again?” The sarcasm dripped from every syllable as I smirked at the irony.
“Tell me is it okay at any point to be racist to someone? Even if you think it might be? This is to y’all white folks, if you’re listening that is,” I challenged the airwaves. “I’ll give you a moment.” With theatrical flair, I cued up a pre-recorded soundtrack—a booming voice screaming “NOOO!”—then smirked as I added dryly, “Thank you.”
“Well today that’s exactly what happened to you know who” I paused, “have you guessed who yet? That’s right it was me! I was called a black bitch, right in front of my face” I said as anger seethed through me, “Not exactly the N word but more or less the intent was the same” I paused for effect “Well I won’t tell you how that ended exactly, but my hand hurts” I chuckled over the mic.
Narrative: Nathan Ellis
As I hung up the phone, my fingertips pressed firmly against my throbbing temples. A tentative plan had begun taking shape—perhaps the only way forward was bringing Lyra and Kiara together for a candid conversation.
Stepping into the living room, I discovered it deserted. For a moment, I wondered if Kiara had slipped away to the restroom. Settling onto the sofa, I waited in silence.
Narrative: Kiara Washington
“If you’re wondering how I got into this predicament in the first place,” I began, my thoughts drifting to Nathan as I offered a knowing smile. “Let me explain—I’m engaged now, y’all. And before you judge me, hear this: he was my very first love ... and,” I paused for dramatic effect, cueing the soundbite with a flourish, “he’s white.”
Narrative: Nathan Ellis
Concern creased my face. She’d been gone far too long, I realized. Rising from the sofa, I approached the bathroom door and knocked lightly. When no answer came, I slowly turned the handle—only to find the room empty. A prickle of unease spread through me as I checked her bedroom next, discovering it equally vacant. My gaze then drifted toward her studio recording booth, its padded interior designed to dampen all outside noise. Yet even through those soundproofed walls, I could have sworn I detected faint, muffled voices echoing within.
I pushed open the door and found Kiara wearing her headphones, speaking animatedly into the microphone. “My fiancé’s talking to her right now, trying to set things straight,” she said, her voice filled with admiration. “Aww, he thinks of everything. Hope he doesn’t go easy on that bitch!” My jaw fell slack; she was recounting everything that had just happened.
“Kiara?” I called out, my voice taut with apprehension. She glanced up at me with a reassuring smile. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she announced smoothly, “bear with me for just a moment while I play some background ambiance.” With that, she cued a brief burst of white noise. Removing her headphones, she gestured urgently toward the chair beside her. “Quick—sit here and put on a pair.” Bewildered by her sudden command, I nonetheless obeyed as she hurriedly motioned me into the seat and instructed me to don the headphones.
Narrative: Kiara Washington
I switched off the white noise, “Sorry about that everyone, but my fiancé just stepped into the studio. I’d love for you all to meet Nathan. Say Heeey babyyy,” Turning to him, I waved toward the microphone with a playful grin. He hesitated before leaning in, uncertainty written across his face. “Hey?” I laughed softly, teasing him. “Is that a question or a greeting, baby?”
“Aww, he’s a little shy, first time on a podcast baby?” I teased with a knowing look. He swallowed hard and shifted in his seat before finally replying, “Yeah.” I chuckled softly at his hesitation. “Wow, baby, you have a natural talent for this,” I praised him with playful affection. Leaning closer, I gave his cheek a light pinch. “So baby, I’ve just been discussing that situation we were in today—you know the one—with your...” I paused deliberately and coughed lightly into the mic before finishing with a dramatic flourish. “ ... racist bitch of an ex.”
“Is this live?” Nathan asked, “Now now Nathan, it’s not called Unfiltered for nothing.”
“How did the call go Nathan? Will there be cops waiting for me?” I asked, holding his gaze. “Uhh no!” I grinned triumphantly. “I told you ladies and gentlemen, do I have the perfect white man or what? Nathan handled the situation without fail, just like my sisters in En Vogue once said.” I cued up a track from En Vogue and let it play.
“Whatta man whatta man whatta man whatta mighty good man”
Then I stopped the music and said “Yes,” before declaring with a proud smile, “he is.”
“That’s a wrap, everyone. Thank you so much for tuning in. And since we’re ending on such a high note, I think we need a proper send-off—say bye bye, baby,” I prompted Nathan with an encouraging wink.
He obliged with a soft “Bye, baby,” and I couldn’t resist teasing him further. “Aww, aren’t you adorable? Anyway folks, catch us next week for another unfiltered episode of Unfiltered Dialogues. Peace and love to all of y’all.”
Narrative: Nathan Ellis
Kiara clicked off the recording, slipped off her headphones and began meticulously editing the podcast for uploading. Sitting there in disbelief after unexpectedly becoming part of the show, I waited for some acknowledgment, but she remained silent and kept her gaze fixed on the screen.
“Kiara?” I called out, breaking the heavy silence. A chill ran down my spine; I knew that icy stare all too well—she was furious about something. Why else would she have broadcasted today’s entire messy situation to thousands of listeners?
I realized it wasn’t the moment to bring up discussing matters with Lyra later on to untangle the chaos from earlier.
I moved closer, closing the distance until our faces were near. “I’m busy,” she stated flatly. “Busy broadcasting our whole mess before we even try to fix it?” I asked cautiously. Her eyes hardened as they met mine. “This is all your fault,” she accused. I gave a slow nod. “I agree,” I replied.
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