Unfiltered Dialogues
Copyright© 2026 by SilkStories
Chapter 7
Narrative: Nathan Ellis
Kiara and I sat together at the café, sharing a casual lunch as easy laughter spilled between us. We traded jokes about everyday things, our conversation flowing naturally. Yet every time she smiled—her full, genuine smile—I found myself mirroring it unconsciously, my own expression lingering longer than usual.
She held my gaze intently as she asked, “So! What did you speak to your mom about?” The question caught me off guard, yet I found myself leaning forward, my eyes locked with hers.
“I mentioned you.”
Narrative: Kiara Washington
My eyes widened as he said that; he’d spoken to his mother before we went to lunch and had mentioned me.
“Me?”
He gave a quick nod. “I didn’t mention that we were working together,” he clarified, “but when I saw you by the copy machine, I brought up your name and asked if she remembered you.”
“Hmm,” I murmured, my tone light yet probing. “What did she say? Does she remember that black girl her son brought home?” I studied his reaction, genuinely curious how he would respond.
“She does,” he affirmed, “but she brushed aside my question about how she treated you.”
I can still recall that moment in Nathan’s house as vividly as if it had just occurred, his mother explaining why she thought I chose him over someone from my own community, someone Black.
My eyes wondered down to my food while still holding my knife and fork, “They still hold those views I suppose” I said softly.
“Perhaps,” he offered, his voice quiet. “I’m so sorry, Kiara.” As I raised my eyes to meet his, I noticed the faint glimmer of unshed tears.
“I know I’ve apologized countless times, but I can’t escape it—it haunts me still. I failed you, Kiara. I failed you and lost you.” He paused, his voice strained as if each word weighed heavy on his conscience.
My eyes welled up as the memory surfaced. “We were young and stupid Nathan,” I said softly. He nodded, his expression pained. “And it still hurts just as much,” he admitted, his voice thick with regret.
“I came looking for you,” I confessed, noticing how his gaze sharpened as comprehension dawned on him. “When?” he pressed urgently. “The day you transferred to another university—Ava told me, I had no idea.”
Nathan’s head tilted, his scoff carrying self-reproach. “Oh my god,” he muttered, disgust twisting his words.
As I leaned closer, I reached out and gently placed my hand atop his, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath mine.
Narrative: Nathan Ellis
As Kiara placed her hand over mine, I realized just how much I had missed her. The Kiara I’d heard on the podcast wasn’t the real her - this warm, genuine woman before me was the Kiara I remembered. She hadn’t changed one bit, and the weight of our shared history settled upon me like a comforting blanket.
“I have a girlfriend, Kiara,” I said as she froze, slowly retracting her hand. “I didn’t know,” she responded quietly. Disappointment flickered across her features. Having Lyra made everything so complicated.
Although I had kissed Kiara yesterday—and would never take back that tender moment—the reality of my relationship with Lyra now loomed over us, an undeniable truth.
I took her hand in mine, her gaze locking onto mine. “If there’s a chance,” I paused, gathering courage. “I will never let you go again.”
Narrative: Kiara Washington
My pulse raced at Nathan’s words, the intensity of his confession making my breath catch. “What about your girlfriend?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as the weight of our tangled history hung between us.
With unwavering conviction, he declared, “There’s only one person in this world that could make me happy, and it’s not her.”
Could it really happen? Rekindling what we once had with Nathan? Now the complications extended far beyond just parental disapproval. Despite his unwavering insistence on wanting me, I couldn’t bear the thought of being the catalyst that would irrevocably alter someone else’s life.
I offered a gentle smile and suggested, “Let’s get back to work.” Nathan understood my meaning. I thought to myself, one step at a time. If there was even the slightest possibility of mending what we’d once shared, I refused to rush anything.
In the office, every time Nathan and I caught each other’s gaze, we’d share a fleeting smile—a silent acknowledgment of the electric charge that lingered between us. That familiar spark transported me right back to our university days, when every stolen glance had set my heart racing like the giddy twenty-two-year-old. Settling into my chair after fixing coffee, I kept smiling as I worked on spreadsheets, that quiet thrill lingering in every keystroke.
My mind drifted to those early days following Nathan’s transfer to another university, when I’d been devastated by the apparent finality of our separation. Convinced I still had time, I was stunned to learn he simply couldn’t endure it any longer—because of me.
That evening, I sank onto the sofa with a glass of wine cradled in my hands, replaying the day’s events. A persistent smile lingered on my lips as thoughts of Nathan filled my mind. Normally I would have recorded a new podcast episode, but tonight I lacked my usual fervor; something about the day had softened my edge.
A sudden realization struck me: Nathan’s girlfriend. The understanding that he would cast aside her life for mine sent a jolt through me. That awareness alone made my smile slip away as I rose from the couch and retreated into my studio.
I arranged my recording gear and pressed the record button. “Hey hey hey everybody, it’s Kiara Washington here on another episode of Unfiltered Dialogues,” I began. “Where whatever doesn’t kill you...” I deliberately paused, letting the silence draw listeners in before continuing with a playful twist, “ ... makes you stranger.” I couldn’t suppress a chuckle as I added, “I just couldn’t resist that one, y’all.”
“Tonight my thoughts go out to those women whose men ... I paused, letting the weight of the words settle ... are seeing someone on the side.” I hit play on the dramatic sound effect - DUN DUN DUN. “That’s right y’all, I’m talking about straight-up motherfucking cheaters. Do you suspect your man’s got some ‘salad’ tucked beside his beef? Some mayonnaise hidden behind their fries?” My voice dripped with disdain. “It makes me sick.”
“They can all be so tender and attentive one moment, then when someone new appears, honey, you’re dumped on the sidewalk faster than a hot potato. Anyone feeling me?” This message was unmistakably meant for Nathan.
“If you’re one of those ladies that the man has chosen you over their woman, you better believe you’ll be treated just the same when the fire sizzles out. Don’t be fooled,” I said as my anger burned through me, this was a message to myself more than anyone else. “You’re not that special!” I said.
Narrative: Nathan Ellis
As Lyra slept undisturbed, I slipped quietly from beneath the covers. Padding softly into the living room, I settled onto the sofa and reached for my earbuds. With a few taps on my phone screen, I opened the next episode of Unfiltered Dialogues—still playing catch‑up. The familiar cadence of Kiara’s voice soon filled my ears, drawing out a heavy sigh from somewhere deep inside me.
Hearing her voice had a calming effect unlike anything else, and as she delved into her university experiences, my pulse quickened. Her words struck me with unexpected force: “I was the token black girl, the one where white folks saw me almost as one of them, almost.”
“I dated a white guy,” Kiara said, and my pulse raced with each word. “He even introduced me to his parents—you know what they saw?” She paused; I could hear her steady breath. “Not me. All they saw was a black girl taking away their precious son.” Another pause, heavier this time. “That’s when I realized—it wasn’t worth it.”
With trembling fingers, I halted the podcast and removed my earbuds. As I released a slow exhale, the weight of her words settled upon me—I finally understood how deeply that moment had carved itself into Kiara’s soul.
I yearned to mend things with her—to restore the Kiara I once knew. To reclaim my Kiara.
The next morning, I entered the kitchen to find Kiara brewing coffee. I approached her side, offering a cheerful “Good morning.” But she remained silent, focused solely on the drip of the machine. Concern creased my brow as I studied her profile. “Are you okay?” I asked gently.
“I’m fine,” she murmured, still facing away from me. My voice faltered as I asked, “Do you mind if I grab a cup of that?” She reached for the pot and poured herself some coffee before turning toward me. “It’s for everyone Nathan—you don’t have to ask,” she stated flatly, then gestured dismissively toward the cupboard. “You know where the cups are,” she added before leaving the kitchen.
I arrived at my desk with my coffee and powered on the computer. While taking a sip, the mug briefly obscured my vision before I lowered it from my mouth—and suddenly Kiara stood directly in front of me.
At that jarring moment, the coffee caught in my throat. A stray drop escaped my lips as I struggled to contain it, worsening the fit. I directed my coughing toward the floor.
Narrative: Kiara Washington
I watched him struggle to regain his composure, a smirk tugging at my lips despite my best efforts to maintain a composed demeanor. Suppressing my amusement, I cleared my throat and adopted what I hoped was a professional tone. “You alright there?”
“Ohhh, that almost came out my nose,” he said, now fighting back laughter as my own grin threatened to break free.
After regaining his composure, he rested his forearms on the table, clasped his hands together, and met my gaze with steady calmness before responding evenly, “Yes, Kiara?”
I had intended to request case details from him, but instead, laughter bubbled up uncontrollably. I spun away and retreated down the hall, unable to suppress my mirth.
Narrative: Nathan Ellis
“Well Nathan, you still got it,” I muttered to myself as I pulled up the case files I’d been reviewing from yesterday.
Narrative: Kiara Washington
My phone buzzed with a text from one of my activist friends. Attached was a link to a breaking news article demanding immediate attention. The headline detailed the court appearance of the officers involved in Malik Johnson’s shooting—a case pitting the community against the APD. As I read further, it became painfully clear: the police were circling their wagons, shielding their own as the verdict unfolded.
The title blared in stark letters: “Cops Cleared of Excessive Force Charges in Malik Johnson Case.”
My fury simmered beneath my skin, a bitter truth I’d anticipated yet still felt its sting keenly. Seeing the words in stark print turned cold certainty into a fresh wound.
Without hesitation, I tapped out a response. “We’re organizing another march.” Within moments, she replied, “I thought you might. I’ll spread the word.”
I swiftly sent messages to Tanya and Nia, then hesitated a moment before composing one to Derek. I hoped the awkwardness from our last encounter wouldn’t undermine his commitment; this fight against systemic oppression required solidarity—I needed every ally at my side.
In the days that followed, I orchestrated the march scheduled for Saturday—an unexpectedly swift timeline that caught everyone off guard. I secured all necessary permits and watched the participant count climb steadily into the hundreds. And once again, I would stand at the forefront leading our voices through downtown Atlanta.
Narrative: Nathan Ellis
I sat at home beside Lyra watching the evening news, and when they announced the march planned for tomorrow, she scoffed. “Another march?” she asked with a dismissive roll of her eyes. “They never seem to stop complaining—always something,” she remarked, her thick Serbian accent coloring each word.
“Well, it’s a second march because of the verdict—the cops who shot that black teenager were found not guilty of excessive force,” I explained. “They went to court and justice was served, right? It just wasn’t what they wanted. Why can’t they accept it?” she replied.
“I know it seems like a lot,” I tried explaining, “but the black community feels the judgment was unjust.” Lyra responded with a scoff, her voice laced with irritation. “It’s always something, isn’t it? They always playing the race card.”
“Because it is about race,” I stated plainly, meeting her gaze as her eyes narrowed. “Do you think they’re right?” she questioned, her tone probing.
“I can imagine that black people in America live a very different life than us because they are treated differently,” I said, bracing myself for her reaction. She waved her hand dismissively and retorted, “All I know is I won’t be able to leave my home tomorrow, in case they attack me.”
I couldn’t help but feel a pang of resignation, knowing Lyra wouldn’t grasp the full weight of it all without experiencing it firsthand—and truth be told, neither could I. Yet one certainty remained: we’d watch the unfolding events together from the balcony, just as we had before.
Narrative: Kiara Washington
We assembled on the streets, hundreds gathering behind me as I turned to face them, megaphone raised. “All right, people,” I announced through the mouthpiece. “We’re back again—for Malik Johnson and his family—to keep fighting for justice. Those racist cops were found NOT GUILTY!” The crowd erupted in boos.
“But we know it’s woven into our very being—we will keep fighting and won’t stop until those racist cops face the consequences,” I declared as the crowd erupted in cheers.
“Let’s go y’all.” Turning, I led the march with resolute steps as the crowd surged forward behind me, their unified footsteps drumming a determined cadence against the pavement.
“Justice for MALIK” I thundered into the megaphone, the chant echoing from hundreds behind me as we thrust our fists skyward.
“Send those cops to JAIL!” my brothers and sisters all shouted the same rallying cry.
Narrative: Nathan Ellis
I caught the distant rumble of feet pounding pavement and the rising chorus of voices. Drawn by the commotion, I stepped onto the balcony. Below, a sea of protestors marched closer, their numbers swelling with each passing moment.
I leaned against the cold metal railing, captivated by the organized chaos below. It never ceased to amaze me—how so many people could unite so swiftly for a common cause. Their sheer numbers, gathered in mere moments, spoke volumes about their shared resolve.
As they drew nearer, my attention locked onto the figure spearheading the demonstration. With each resonant shout into her megaphone, she thrust her fist defiantly toward the heavens, her voice booming out again and again, “Justice for Malik.”
My gaze lingered on the protestor leading the charge—a woman with a striking chic afro that immediately brought Kiara to mind. As she drew closer, I found myself leaning forward, scrutinizing her every feature. And then, like a jolt of recognition, it hit me: Kiara?
My pulse quickened as realization struck. Was she the organizer? As Kiara led the march, her gaze lifted to meet mine.
Narrative: Kiara Washington
As I looked up, I saw Nathan on the balcony, my eyes widened as I noticed a girl come up beside him as she placed her hand on his shoulder. Momentarily startled, I missed the rythm of my words, shaking my head I continued, “Justice for Mailk...” looking up again, “send those cops to jail” the protesters roared behind me as I passed by him as my eyes never left his.
Then, squaring my shoulders with renewed conviction, we pressed onward down the street as officers lined the sidewalk.
Narrative: Nathan Ellis
“Was she looking at us?” Lyra asked softly. My pulse raced wildly; her voice seemed distant, almost drowned out by the roaring in my ears.
Narrative: Kiara Washington
As I chanted, my anger surged—no longer solely fueled by the injustice of Malik’s case but now tinged with raw frustration over Nathan’s presence. I raised my voice, projecting with fierce determination. “JUSTICE FOR MALIK!” I thundered into the megaphone, deliberately aiming it at a nearby officer whose stern expression hardened as he met my gaze. “SEND THOSE COPS TO JAIL?” The question hung heavy in the air, and I watched as fury flashed across his face.
A gas canister suddenly detonated before me, unleashing a cloud of tear gas that stung my eyes and throat. Instinctively covering my face, I inhaled the acrid fumes and coughed violently as the crowd erupted around me.
Immediately, rough hands seized me without warning, their grip brutal as they dragged me down. I cried out in shock and pain as my cheek slammed against the unforgiving concrete. Through blurred vision, I glimpsed officers swinging batons wildly at protesters scattered around me.
My arms were yanked violently behind my back. The cold, unyielding metal of the handcuffs clamped around my wrists, digging into my skin with familiar cruelty. Two officers then hoisted me upward without care, hauling me away from the chaos as I struggled against their iron grip.
“Fuck you!” I screamed, knowing full well my words wouldn’t change anything yet refusing to let those bastards feel like they’d broken me. They shoved me into the back of the police cruiser with rough hands that bit into my flesh.
Narrative: Nathan Ellis
“Oh my god,” Lyra gasped, hands flying to cover her mouth as disbelief washed over her. My own eyes widened in horror at the sight of the thick, billowing smoke from the tear gas. “Kiara?” I blurted out louder than intended, my voice trembling with alarm despite standing so close to Lyra.
Narrative: Kiara Washington
I found myself locked in a holding cell, the cold bite of steel cuffs still digging into my wrists behind my back. Those damn cops hadn’t even bothered to release me. Huddled on the hard bench, my whole body shook as I wept, the sobs tearing from deep within me.
I winced as a sharp sting radiated across my left cheekbone; the unforgiving concrete most likely left its mark.
A chill ran down my spine as I realized my career in accounting had likely ended. Warren would undoubtedly hear of this debacle, and if I wasn’t released by Monday morning, I knew my position at Sedgewick & Marlow would be history.
Narrative: Nathan Ellis
I pushed through the dwindling crowd, my frantic gaze darting among faces half-hidden by masks and cloths. With each step I took toward the dissipating chaos, my pulse quickened. Desperation clawed at my throat as I stopped one person after another, demanding to know where Kiara had gone. Their muffled responses only confirmed that she was no longer among them. My stomach twisted into knots until finally—a shaky voice cut through the din, revealing that she’d been dragged away by police.
My fingers trembled as I pulled out my phone. With a deep breath, I dialed the police department, my voice steady as I lied, claiming to be her lawyer. My pulse raced as I demanded answers. The officer on the line replied flatly—she’d been booked for disorderly conduct and obstruction.
At the police station I confronted the officer responsible for booking her, my tone urgent as I insisted on her release. The officer remained impassive, informing me she would be taken before a magistrate with potential bail.
The officer’s words hung heavy in the air. They informed me that the court system automatically schedules hearings, so Kiara’s would take place tomorrow morning at ten o’clock at Atlanta Municipal Court. And there, I could post her bail.
Narrative: Kiara Washington
I stood in the courtroom as the judge pronounced the misdemeanor charges, setting bail at fifteen hundred dollars. It wasn’t an issue for me—I could cover it myself.
But what tomorrow held remained a mystery, and I dreaded facing Warren. Perhaps, just maybe, my arrest might somehow escape notice.
I finally got my chance to post bail, only to learn someone else had beaten me to it. “Who paid my bail?” I asked sharply, my gaze fixed on the clerk. She glanced down at the receipt, then back up at me. “A Mr. Nathan Ellis,” she said with cool detachment from behind the counter.
My brow creased in confusion, the question burning silently in my mind: how had Nathan possibly known about this?
I emerged from the jailhouse, my body still shaking from the ordeal. Outside, I froze mid-step when I spotted Nathan waiting for me.
As he drew near, my vision blurred by tears, I tilted my head up to meet his gaze. Sobs wracked my body as warm trails slid down my cheeks. Trembling uncontrollably, I sank into his embrace, pressing my face against his chest while his arms enveloped me tightly, cradling me until the storm of grief passed.
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