The Quiet Before the Storm

The sky outside my window looked deceptively calm. Streaks of orange and lavender painted the horizon, clouds softly curling at the edges like they had no care in the world. But inside me? A storm had already begun. And this time, I wasn't going to let it pass quietly.

I sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, my back resting against the carved wooden headboard, a tablet warming my lap. The soft lights of my new room in White Mansion gave off a golden hue, far too gentle for the fire simmering inside my chest.

Katherine's press interview was still playing in the background, the audio low but her smug tone unmistakable.

> "Yes, the idea came to me while I was observing trends in traditional medicine—particularly rural formulations. My team and I synthesized a scalable solution using that as the base. I believe Herbas has the potential to revolutionize access to affordable healthcare."

I paused the video. My jaw clenched. "Your idea?" My fingers curled into fists.

That word echoed and reverberated in my bones. "My team." She said it so confidently, as though her manicured hands had ever flipped through ancient botanical texts, or that she'd ever stood shoulder-deep in the mud to source herbs no lab had even cataloged yet.

I had lived and breathed that idea. It had grown inside me like a second heartbeat. Every research hour, every sleepless night, every hopeful submission—it had all been me.

And she knew it.

I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly, forcing myself to center. This wasn't the time for fury. This was time for focus.

I swiped open my digital workspace on the tablet and brought up the "Herbas_Origin" project files—layer by layer, every version of the submission saved with precise time stamps, each one matching the day I'd sent it to White Pharma's innovation portal. There was even a screen recording I'd made, pitching my idea in a late-night haze, dark circles beneath my eyes and determination thick in my voice.

The proof was all there. The digital trail was undeniable.

My thumb hovered over the "Download All" button before selecting a secure external drive sitting next to the tablet. I plugged it in and started the transfer.

10%… 22%… 41%…

I stood and walked to the window, needing to breathe.

From here, the city looked quiet, glimmering under a sky that didn't know the difference between truth and a lie.

But tomorrow?

The whole world would.

My thoughts were interrupted by the soft buzz of my phone. Raavi.

I answered immediately.

"Hey," I said.

"You okay?" he asked. "I saw the news. I can't believe she's—Kiefer, this is insane."

"I know," I murmured. "I'm gathering everything. I just needed confirmation from you—do you still have those emails I CC'd you on? From the lab? The drafts?"

"All of them. I'll forward the full thread in a few minutes. I also found the old document where we brainstormed the original structure of the formula, remember? The one you outlined in bullet points during that all-nighter."

A smile broke through despite everything. "Of course I remember. You saved me from falling asleep in the beaker cabinet."

He chuckled. "I still think you owe me for that. But I've got your back."

"Thanks, Raavi. Really."

We hung up and I turned back to my desk. The download was complete. The folder now held my voice memos, email confirmations, internal submission receipts, even the exact metadata tags tied to my student ID. All undeniable. All mine.

I reached for a small notepad from my drawer—one I hadn't opened since the day my mother passed. Inside was a folded piece of paper with her handwriting. A list of the healing herbs she used to treat the villagers. Her initials were signed at the bottom like a whisper from another time.

"I'll make you proud," I whispered.

Then I wrote a backup letter—something I hoped I wouldn't need.

> To the White Pharma Board,

If you are reading this, you are seeing the truth. This project was born from necessity, refined through struggle, and submitted with integrity. The rest is history—unpleasant as it may be. I am Kiefer Samuel. This is my voice. This is my work. This is my truth.

–K.S.

I sealed it in a labeled envelope and tucked it into the same folder as the drive. My next step was clear.

Davis.

I needed to see him. Not as a plea for help, but because his name—his company—was now tangled in this deception. He needed to know. And maybe... just maybe, I needed to know if I could still trust him.

The silence of the room returned, soft but weighty.

I turned off the tablet, picked up the folder, and stood in front of the mirror.

My reflection stared back—no longer the girl from B Town, lost in mourning and fueled by grief.

Now, I was a woman with proof, with purpose, and with a voice sharpened by betrayal.

Tomorrow would begin with the truth.

And I would no longer let someone else speak it for me.