Chapter 16: Words That Hurt

The gala at the Ritz was loud and bright, with music bouncing off the fancy walls and lights twinkling like stars.

Gaesha walked back inside with Kent, her arm looped through his. Her green dress was all wrinkly now, the fabric creased from sitting and moving through the crowded room.

Her scarf, once neatly tied, hung loose around her neck, swaying as she walked. She was tired, her feet sore from her tight shoes, and she really wanted to go home.

The noise and the people were too much, and her head felt heavy. But Kent looked at her, his eyes kind, and said, "Just one more drink, okay? Then we'll leave."

Gaesha nodded, staying close to him. She felt safe with him, like he was a shield in this big, fancy place where she didn't quite belong.

Across the room, Claire stood watching them. Her red dress looked like it was glowing under the shiny chandeliers, the fabric catching every bit of light.

She held a glass of wine, her fingers tight around the stem, and her eyes were small and mean, like she was plotting something.

Gaesha could feel Claire staring at her, like a cat watching a mouse before it pounces. It made her stomach twist, and she pulled on Kent's sleeve, her voice low.

"She's looking at us," she whispered, her words shaky.

Kent glanced over, then back at Gaesha. "Don't worry about her," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "She doesn't matter."

"It's hard," Gaesha said quietly, her eyes flicking to the floor. "She feels so… important. Like she owns this place."

"No way," Kent said, shaking his head. "You're the important one. Inside, where it counts. Not her."

Gaesha gave a tiny smile, her lips barely moving. "Thanks," she said, her voice soft. "I'm really trying to believe that."

They walked to the bar, weaving through people in sparkly dresses and sharp suits.

Gaesha's shoes clicked on the polished floor, and she kept her head down, feeling out of place.

At the bar, Kent ordered water because he didn't like alcohol, and Gaesha asked for orange juice, craving something sweet to lift her mood.

She took a sip, the cold juice refreshing, and looked around at all the people.

"Everyone's so shiny," she said, her voice full of wonder. "Like they're in a movie or something."

"They're fake," Kent said, leaning against the bar. "You're real. That's better."

"Being real doesn't feel like enough here," Gaesha said, her voice soft.

She looked down at her glass, watching the juice swirl.

"I feel so dumb, Kent," she added. "Like I don't belong."

"Stop that," Kent said, his tone sharp but kind. "You're not dumb at all. You're you, and that's enough."

Just then, Claire came over, her heels clicking loudly. She wasn't alone—she had a group with her, three women and one man, all dressed in fancy clothes that sparkled under the lights.

Their jewelry glinted, and their smiles were too perfect, like they practiced them.

"Kent," Claire said, her voice loud and sharp, cutting through the noise. "Introduce your friend to everyone."

Kent didn't hesitate. "This is Gaesha," he said, putting his hand on her arm, his touch steady.

"Hi," Gaesha said, waving a little, her hand trembling. "Nice to meet you all."

Her voice was small, but she tried to sound friendly.

The man in Claire's group looked at her, his eyebrows raised.

"You're with Kent?" he asked, his tone surprised, like he couldn't believe it.

"Yeah," Gaesha said, smiling despite her nerves. "He's my… well, he's my Kent."

She blushed, realizing how silly it sounded, but it was true.

Claire laughed, and it sounded mean, like a sharp blade.

"Your Kent?" she said, her lips curling. "That's cute. Where'd you find her, Kent? Some tiny village?"

"No," Kent said, his voice hard, his jaw tight. "Her bakery."

"A bakery?" Claire said, raising her eyebrows, her tone dripping with mockery. "Wow, how… provincial."

Gaesha frowned, confused, her heart sinking.

"What does that mean?" she asked, her voice small.

"It means simple," Claire said, her smile cold, like ice. "Small. Not like Paris at all."

"I'm in Paris," Gaesha said, standing a bit taller, trying to hold her ground. "I live here."

"Barely," Claire said, looking Gaesha up and down, her eyes scanning the wrinkled dress and loose scarf.

"Look at you," Claire added. "Cheap dress, messy hair. You're like a tourist trying to play pretend."

"Stop it," Kent said, his voice sharp, like a warning shot. "Right now."

"Let her talk," Gaesha said, even though her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it. "I can handle it."

Her voice shook, but she wanted to be strong.

"Can you?" Claire said, stepping closer, her perfume strong and overwhelming. "You don't belong here, darling. Kent needs someone with class. Not… this."

She waved her hand at Gaesha, like she was nothing.

"I'm me," Gaesha said, her voice shaky but firm. "That's enough."

"No, it's not," Claire said, her voice loud, making sure everyone nearby could hear. "You're provincial, Gaesha. Just a little baker girl lost in the big city."

The women in Claire's group giggled behind their hands, their eyes glinting with amusement.

The man smirked, like it was all a joke, his lips twitching. Gaesha's cheeks felt hot, like they were burning, and her throat tightened.

"I'm not lost," she said, trying to sound sure, but her voice cracked. "I'm good."

"Good?" Claire said, laughing again, the sound sharp and cruel. "At what? Burning cakes? Kent told me about that."

"Claire," Kent said, his voice low, like a growl. "That's enough."

"She asked," Claire said, shrugging, her smile smug. "I'm just being honest."

"You're being mean," Gaesha said, her voice wobbling, and she hated that it did. "I'm not nothing."

"You're less," Claire said, her words like a slap across Gaesha's face. "Kent deserves better. Someone like me."

"No," Kent said, loud and clear, his voice cutting through the tension. "I want Gaesha."

Everyone went quiet for a second, the air heavy. Gaesha's eyes stung, and tears started to well up, hot and heavy.

"Please stop," she said, her voice small, barely holding together. "Just stop."

"Why?" Claire said, not stopping at all, her voice mocking. "Truth hurts, doesn't it, provincial girl?"

Gaesha's hand shook, and her glass slipped from her fingers.

It fell to the floor with a crash, orange juice splashing everywhere, making a big, sticky mess.

"I'm not!" she said, almost yelling, her voice breaking. "I'm Gaesha!"

She couldn't stay there anymore. Her chest felt tight, like she couldn't breathe.

She turned and ran, pushing through the crowd of fancy people, their faces blurring as tears streamed down her cheeks.

She heard Kent call her name—"Gaesha!"—but she didn't look back.

She needed to get out, away from Claire, away from the laughter, away from the shame.

The air outside hit her like a cold wave, sharp on her skin, making her shiver.

She stumbled to a quiet corner near the building and slid down against the wall, her dress catching on the rough stone.

She hugged her knees and cried hard, her sobs loud in the quiet night.

"Why?" she said to herself, her voice breaking, her hands covering her face. "Why is she so mean to me? What did I do?"

Kent found her a minute later, his breath fast, like he'd run to catch up.

"Gaesha," he said, kneeling down next to her, his voice soft. "Are you okay?"

"No," Gaesha said, sobbing so hard she could barely talk, her words muffled. "She hates me, Kent. They all laughed at me. I felt so small."

"She's wrong," Kent said, putting his hand on her shoulder, his touch warm. "You're not less than anyone. Not her, not anyone."

"I feel like I am," Gaesha said, her voice shaking, her face wet with tears. "She called me provincial. Like I'm trash or something."

"You're not trash," Kent said, his voice soft but sure, like he meant every word. "She's jealous of you, Gaesha."

"Of me?" Gaesha said, looking up at him, her eyes red and puffy. "Why would she be jealous of me? She's got everything—fancy clothes, fancy friends."

"Because you're real," Kent said, his voice steady. "She's not. She's all fake, hiding behind her dress and her mean words."

Gaesha wiped her cheeks with her hands, her fingers cold.

"They all heard her," she said, her voice small. "Everyone there. I'm a joke to them, Kent."

"No, you're not," Kent said, shaking his head. "Claire's the joke. She's the one who looked petty and mean. I'll make this right, I promise."

"How?" Gaesha asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "She won, Kent. She made me feel awful, like I'm nothing."

"She didn't win," Kent said, his voice firm. "I'm here with you. That's what matters. You matter."

Gaesha pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them tight, her scarf slipping to the ground.

"I hate her," she said, her voice quiet but full of hurt. "She made me feel so small, like I don't belong anywhere."

"You're not small," Kent said, moving closer, his voice warm like a blanket. "You're everything to me, Gaesha."

She looked at him, her tears shining in the dim streetlight.

"Do you really mean that?" she asked, her voice shaky, her heart fragile.

"Yes," Kent said, looking right into her eyes, his gaze steady. "I mean it. Always."

Gaesha leaned against him, her sobs slowing, her body still trembling. She felt a little safer with him there, his arm around her.

"Take me home," she said, her voice barely a whisper, her throat sore from crying. "Please, Kent."

"Okay," he said, nodding.

He stood up and helped her to her feet, his hand gentle but strong.

He kept his arm around her as they started walking, her sobs getting quieter with every step.

Claire's words had cut her deep, like a knife twisting in her heart, sharp and painful.

But Kent was there, holding her close, his presence steady, and that gave her just enough strength to keep going.

Gaesha's shoes clicked softly on the pavement as they left the Ritz behind, the bright lights fading into the distance.

She kept her head down, her scarf now clutched in her hand, the fabric crumpled.

She felt embarrassed about crying, about running out like that, about the juice on the floor.

"I'm sorry," she said after a while, her voice small. "I made a mess back there. Everyone saw."

"You didn't," Kent said, his voice calm. "Claire did. She's the one who caused all this. Not you."

"I dropped my glass," Gaesha said, sniffing, her nose stuffy. "It was so loud. Everyone stared."

"Who cares?" Kent said, shrugging. "It's just juice. They'll clean it up. It's not a big deal."

Gaesha gave a tiny laugh, even through her tears, the sound weak but real.

"I guess," she said, wiping her eyes. "But I still feel silly. Like a kid who can't do anything right."

"Don't," Kent said, squeezing her shoulder. "You stood up to her, Gaesha. That's not silly. That's brave. Not many people would do that."

"Brave?" Gaesha said, looking at him, her eyebrows raised. "Me? I ran away, Kent."

"You tried," Kent said, his voice warm. "You spoke up. That's what counts. You didn't let her walk all over you."

She nodded, holding his arm a little tighter, her fingers gripping his sleeve.

The city lights glowed around them, the streets of Paris alive with cars and people, but Gaesha didn't feel part of it.

She felt like she was floating, lost in her thoughts, Claire's words echoing in her mind—provincial, simple, less.

They stung, like little thorns stuck in her skin, sharp and nagging.

But Kent's words were there too, warm and kind, wrapping around her like a soft scarf, helping her feel a bit stronger.

"I just wanted to be okay tonight," she said, her voice soft, her eyes on the ground. "I wanted to fit in, even a little. I thought maybe I could."

"You don't need to fit in," Kent said, his voice steady. "You're Gaesha. That's better than fitting in with people like Claire."

"Thanks," she said, her voice barely audible. "You always know what to say. It helps."

"Not always," Kent said, smiling a bit, his eyes crinkling. "But I try. For you, I always try."

They kept walking, the night air cool on Gaesha's face, drying her tears.

Her heart still hurt, heavy with the weight of Claire's words, but the pain was softer now, less sharp.

She thought about her bakery, her little shop with its warm oven and the smell of fresh bread.

It felt so far away from the Ritz, from Claire's glittering world. But it was hers, and she loved it. Maybe that was enough.

"I'll be okay," she said after a while, mostly to herself, her voice quiet but sure. "I will. I have to be."

"I know you will," Kent said, his voice full of belief. "You're tough, Gaesha."

"Tough?" Gaesha said, raising an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Me? I don't feel tough."

"Yeah," Kent said, nodding. "Tougher than you think. You're still here, aren't you?"

She smiled, just a little, and leaned her head on his shoulder, her hair brushing against his jacket.

The walk home felt long, the streets stretching out in the dark, but with Kent there, it wasn't so bad.

Claire had tried to break her, to make her feel like nothing, but Gaesha was still standing.

Maybe not tall, maybe not strong yet, but she was still here, still moving forward. And with Kent by her side, that was enough for now.