The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of Boylen Keens Media Company, painting golden streaks across the polished floor. I entered the office, adjusting my blouse, feeling the familiar hum of activity envelop me. Phones rang intermittently, keyboards clicked, and the soft chatter of colleagues created a rhythm I had come to associate with focus and purpose.
Today, my priority was overseeing the live video session for Roslyn, a popular influencer whose platform tackled pressing issues in society. From mental health to societal pressures, she was known for speaking boldly, and today she wanted to focus on cancer, not as a distant medical term, but as a lived experience.
Roslyn was already in the conference room when I arrived, her laptop set up, camera angled, microphone tested. She greeted me with a wide smile that carried warmth and reassurance.
"Esme! Perfect timing," she said. "Everything ready for the panel discussion?"
I nodded, placing my tablet beside her. "Yes, the tech team is ready. The panelists are all settled, and the live stream has been tested."
Roslyn's eyes gleamed. "Good. Let's make this session meaningful. We're not just talking to an audience; we're talking to people who need hope."
The camera went live, and viewers from different parts of Nigeria began joining the stream. Roslyn started by introducing the theme of the session, her voice confident yet compassionate.
"Good morning, everyone. Today, we want to talk about cancer, the emotional toll, the physical challenges, and how to live with hope even when everything seems bleak. We have with us Mrs. Adenike from Nigeria, who has walked this path for eight years and emerged stronger. She will share her story, her struggles, and how she navigated isolation and criticism."
Mrs. Adenike smiled warmly at the camera, her demeanor calm but reflective. She began her story with measured words that carried the weight of lived experience.
"I was diagnosed with cancer eight years ago," she began. "At first, I was terrified. The word itself carries so much fear. Chemotherapy, surgeries, and constant hospital visits became my new reality. But the most difficult part wasn't the treatment itself. It was how people reacted to me. I faced isolation, judgment, and unsolicited advice. Some friends disappeared; some family members treated me like a fragile object. It was lonely, and there were times I doubted if I could continue."
Roslyn nodded, listening intently. "How did you cope with the fear, the stigma, and the emotional weight?"
Mrs. Adenike took a deep breath, her hands resting on her lap. "I had to learn to separate the illness from my identity. Cancer was a part of my life, yes, but it didn't define me. I started journaling, expressing my fears and frustrations on paper. I found therapy to talk through my trauma and joined support groups where others understood my journey. I celebrated small victories – surviving chemotherapy, walking without pain, regaining my strength. Each small win reminded me that I was capable of continuing."
As she spoke, I took notes diligently, feeling a mixture of awe and empathy. Her words were more than a story; they were a lesson in resilience, teaching courage in the face of uncertainty.
Roslyn leaned forward slightly, her tone gentle yet probing. "Mrs. Adenike, you've survived the physical ordeal. But how did you deal with the criticism, the whispers, and the isolation? Many people retreat when the world seems unkind."
Mrs. Adenike smiled faintly, her gaze steady. "I learned that my strength came from within. I reminded myself every day that life is not measured by others' approval but by my own capacity to endure and grow. I spoke publicly, sharing my story online and at events. I wanted to give hope to people who might be where I was. Facing criticism and isolation wasn't easy, but I discovered that when you live authentically, fear and judgment lose their power over you."
I felt a lump in my throat. The calm authority in her voice carried a lesson I could relate to, not in cancer, but in the way life often measured me by my illness, by other people's standards. I had faced judgment, isolation, and fear, and hearing her story made me reflect on my own battles.
Roslyn turned to the camera, addressing the viewers. "Many of us may never face cancer, but we all face challenges that make us feel powerless. This discussion is about resilience, about finding the strength within ourselves to rise after every fall, and about realizing that vulnerability can coexist with courage."
Mrs. Adenike continued, sharing the intimate moments that often go unseen. "There were days when I cried silently, when the fear of relapse consumed me. I had moments of bitterness, anger, and hopelessness. But then I remembered that living fully meant embracing every emotion, not suppressing it. I sought therapy, I surrounded myself with supportive people, and I found joy in small victories, a smile from a friend, a call from family, a sunny day that reminded me life was beautiful."
Roslyn's eyes softened. "You speak about joy in the smallest things. That's a powerful reminder. So many of us chase grandeur and forget everyday beauty. How did these small moments help you heal?"
Mrs. Adenike nodded. "They reminded me that life is not only about surviving. It's about living. When I took time to appreciate the ordinary, I found peace. I realized that my worth is not defined by my illness but by my courage, my choices, and my ability to continue despite fear."
I scribbled notes furiously. This session was more than content for social media; it was a lifeline for people feeling invisible or hopeless. I could feel myself growing, learning, internalizing lessons about resilience that went beyond any professional obligation.
Roslyn concluded the discussion with a message that resonated deeply. "To everyone watching: Your struggles are valid, your emotions are real, and your life has immeasurable value. Whether it's illness, judgment, or isolation, remember that hope is a choice, and courage is an action. Embrace both, and you will find strength in ways you never imagined."
As the live session ended and the cameras stopped rolling, I felt a weight lift from the room, replaced by a quiet, reflective energy. The panelists thanked each other, and Roslyn's smile remained warm and genuine.
I began packing the equipment, my hands steady but my mind racing with thoughts. Mrs. Adenike approached me quietly. "Thank you for coordinating this, Esme. You made it seamless. And remember, sharing and listening is how we heal together."
Her words lingered as I walked back to my desk. I realized that life's lessons often came from unexpected places, from strangers who had endured more than I could imagine and yet found hope.
As I organized the remaining files, the office door swung open. Mr. Boylen Keens emerged from his office, his presence commanding attention even without words. He scanned the room, his gaze finally resting on me.
"Esmeralda Augustine," he called. His voice carried that subtle authority that made everyone in the office pause. "I need you in my office, now."
My stomach tightened. I closed my notebook slowly, my fingers trembling slightly, and nodded. "Yes, sir," I whispered, more to myself than to him.
As I walked toward his office, the hallways felt unnaturally quiet. Every step I took echoed in my mind, the weight of anticipation pressing against my chest. Questions swirled, what did he want to discuss? Was it praise, a new assignment, or something entirely unexpected?
The office door loomed ahead, the polished wood reflecting the soft glow of the afternoon sun. I paused for a brief moment, taking a slow, deliberate breath. My heart pounded like a drumbeat I couldn't quiet.
I knocked lightly. "Sir?" I called, my voice betraying the slightest tremor despite my efforts to remain composed.
"Come in," his voice responded, calm but firm.
I opened the door and stepped inside. The familiar scent of leather and polished wood filled the space. Mr. Boylen Keens sat behind his massive desk, his hands folded in front of him, his expression unreadable.
"Sit," he said, gesturing toward the chair across from him.
I obeyed, placing my bag carefully beside me, my hands resting on my lap. The room seemed smaller now, tighter, as if the walls themselves were aware of the weight of what was about to happen.
"You've been coordinating the Roslyn project," he began, his eyes piercing yet calm. "I've been observing the engagement and the impact it's having. But I need to know something more."
I straightened in my chair, curious yet apprehensive. "Sir?"
He leaned back slightly, stepping his fingers. "I want to know what you learned from this experience. Not just the technical execution, but what you took from it. I mean the lessons, the growth. Be honest."
I swallowed hard, my mind racing. This was unexpected, and yet I could feel the significance. The chance to reflect, to share, to be seen beyond the role of secretary, weighed on me.
Before I could answer, the door creaked slightly, someone passing by in the hall, but Mr. Keens didn't flinch. His gaze stayed fixed on me.
The moment stretched, heavy with anticipation, the silence pressing against my ribs.
And in that pause, I realized that whatever I was about to say, whatever truths I would reveal, might change how he saw me, how the company valued me, or even how I saw myself.
The room seemed to hold its breath with me, and I knew, this was no ordinary conversation.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. "Sir… coordinating the session made me realize how much resilience and courage matter," I began cautiously. "It's not just about making sure the cameras are on, or that the sound works. It's about giving people a platform to share their truth. I learned that even when someone's life has been shaken by illness or judgment, their story can inspire, teach, and heal others."
Mr. Keens nodded slightly, his expression unreadable but attentive. "Go on," he said. "I want specifics. How did it affect you personally?"
I hesitated, glancing down at my hands. "Listening to Mrs. Adenike speak… It was humbling. She's endured so much, yet she found the courage to live fully. It made me reflect on my own struggles, on the judgments I've faced because of my health, the isolation, and the assumptions people make. It reminded me that even in moments of fear, there's a way to reclaim control, not by hiding, but by embracing your story and your strength."
He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the desk. "And how do you see that translating into your work here? This company thrives on storytelling, on connecting people, and influencing change. I know that's not just what we specialize in, but they're our major work. How will what you learned inform your decisions moving forward?"
I met his gaze, feeling a mixture of fear and determination. "I think it has to start with empathy," I said softly but firmly. "Every project, every influencer, every campaign, we need to think about the people behind the stories. Their struggles, their victories, their vulnerabilities. It's not just content; it's life. I want to make sure we approach each story with respect and authenticity, so that viewers don't just watch, they feel, they learn, and maybe even heal."
Mr. Keens leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled together as he regarded me thoughtfully. "Esmeralda Augustine," he said, his voice calm but carrying weight, "I have an invitation. There's an upcoming life session, attended by some highly influential people across the country. They're looking for someone from our company to participate, to represent us and share insight from our experiences."
I blinked, unsure I had heard him correctly. "Me, sir?" My voice was hesitant, disbelief lacing every syllable.
"Yes, you," he confirmed. "During the Roslyn project, I noticed how you handled everything, not just the technicalities, but the way you listened, the way you observed, the thoughtfulness with which you approached every interaction. You just spoke with sincerity and sense, Esme. That's rare. I believe you can represent this company with authenticity."
My chest tightened. The idea of stepping in front of high-profile individuals, of speaking publicly, made my stomach flutter nervously. Yet, beneath that fear, there was a spark of pride, a warmth that made my heart pulse a little faster.
"I… I don't know what to say, sir," I whispered. "I've never… I've never represented the company in something like this before."
"That's exactly why I want you," he said, leaning forward slightly. "People expect polished professionals who have rehearsed scripts. What makes you suitable is that you are real, Esme. Genuine. You think, you feel, and you act with understanding. That's what makes influence meaningful."
I swallowed hard, trying to steady my racing thoughts. The responsibility was immense, but the opportunity was even greater. "I… I'll do my best, sir," I said, my voice firmer this time.
He nodded. "Good. I'll send you the details. It's next week, and the session will be live. Influencers, business leaders, and thought leaders will be attending. You will need to speak clearly, listen actively, and respond with authenticity. Remember, your words will reflect both you and the company."
I nodded again, my mind already spinning with preparation ideas, questions to ask, and points to note. "I'll prepare, sir," I said, determination lacing my tone.
"Esme," he added, his gaze softening for just a moment, "this is not just an opportunity to shine professionally. It's a chance to show the world who you are, your insight, and your humanity. Don't waste it."
I nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle in my chest. This was more than work, more than coordination or technical skill. This was about representing truth, empathy, and intelligence, qualities I had honed quietly over the years, now finally recognized.
As I left his office, the hallway seemed brighter somehow, though the weight of expectation pressed against me. I knew the next few days would demand every ounce of focus and courage I had. Yet, for the first time in a long while, the nerves in my stomach were accompanied by something else: anticipation, hope, and the determination to rise to the challenge.