Finding Kiara Pt. 5

The click-clack of Kieran's—now Kiara’s—heels echoed through the quiet morning streets, each step reverberating in his chest, making him acutely aware of every movement. His feet, which had never worn heels before, now felt clumsy, awkward. He was hyper-aware of how his hips swayed with each step, of how his body seemed to move in a rhythm that was foreign to him. It felt like every eye in the world was on him, that every person passing by was noticing him, scrutinizing him, judging him.

He couldn't help it—he kept checking his reflection in every window they passed, adjusting his stance to make sure his makeup was still intact, his posture still graceful. It was all too much, too overwhelming, but he couldn’t escape it. Every detail was under a magnifying glass, every moment an examination of whether or not he was "doing it right."

His heart was pounding, his breath shallow. He could feel his legs quaking beneath the tight skirt, the soft fabric of the dress catching against his skin with every sway. He wanted to pull the hem down, make sure everything was in place. His brain kept running over everything he’d learned: the way he was supposed to walk, the way he was supposed to carry himself, the voice he was supposed to use.

This wasn’t just a walk. This was a performance, and he was terrified of messing it up. He felt like he was being exposed in ways that were impossible to hide. He was a guy, dressed like a girl, walking through the world like an imposter. The very act of walking felt like a crime.

"You’re fine, Kiara," Celeste said, her voice steady, reassuring. She must have noticed the tenseness radiating off him, the way his shoulders were bunched, the way his hands were holding the straps of his bag a little too tightly. "Just relax. You’re doing great. Let go of all those nerves. Take a deep breath and let yourself be in the moment."

Kieran glanced up at her, her calmness infuriating and comforting all at once. He wanted to believe her. He really did. But how could he relax when everything about him—his clothes, his makeup, his entire demeanor—felt so incredibly out of place?

He inhaled deeply, forcing his tense shoulders to drop, willing himself to look more natural. He focused on his breathing, trying to calm the storm inside of him, trying to push the self-doubt aside.

As he exhaled, his shoulders finally loosened, and his posture, though still careful, became a little more fluid. But then, the worst thing happened—he felt himself slipping. His anxiety gave way to a strange comfort, and before he knew it, his voice had dropped back into its natural register.

"Is it really necessary to do all this?" he asked in his usual, deeper tone, his words sounding like a jagged rock cutting through the soft cadence he had been trying so hard to achieve.

Celeste froze, her eyes narrowing as she looked over at him. “Kiara," she said, her voice smooth but firm. "Do not, under any circumstances, ever talk like that again. Do you understand me?”

Kieran’s stomach dropped as the reprimand hit him harder than expected. The warm, reassuring moment he’d allowed himself to have slipped away as quickly as it had come. The change in his voice had been so easy, so natural—but Celeste was right. He couldn’t afford to let it slip.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, cringing at the way his voice sounded. “I didn’t mean to... I just...”

“No excuses,” Celeste interrupted, her gaze sharp and unwavering. “You’re Kiara now. Everything you do, everything you say, has to be in line with who she is. We don’t have time to go backwards.” She softened a little, her expression gentler. “I know it’s hard. But you have to stay in character. Always.”

Kieran nodded, chastised. He’d felt a flicker of relief when he had spoken like himself, but Celeste was right—he had to stay true to the transformation. He wasn’t Kieran anymore, at least not here, not like this. He was Kiara. And he had to act the part, even if it felt like it was suffocating him.

They continued walking, the tension still clinging to his every step, but Celeste’s presence beside him was calming in its own way. He was aware of every passing person, every glance, but Celeste’s steady pace and confidence were like a silent anchor, pulling him forward, reminding him that he wasn’t alone in this.

They reached the café, a small, cozy place that was already beginning to fill with people sipping their morning coffees. Kieran hesitated at the door, his nerves flaring up again. Celeste gave him a small, encouraging push in the back. “Go on, Kiara. You’ve got this.”

His stomach twisted in knots. This was it. This was the moment where everything he’d been training for would either click or crash. The thought of stepping inside, ordering a coffee, and facing real people made his throat tighten.

But there was no backing out now.

With a deep breath, Kieran—Kiara—stepped through the door, the bell above ringing softly as they entered. His heels clicked on the floor as he moved toward the counter, each step feeling heavier than the last, but he made himself keep going, his eyes locked on the barista behind the counter.

Celeste stood back a little, her arms crossed, watching him carefully. “All you have to do is order,” she said, her voice like a quiet nudge. “Make it sound natural. Use your voice. Keep the look. Everything counts.”

Kieran nodded, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. The weight of the moment settled heavily on him, but he tried to push through it. He stood there for a second, trying to compose himself, the barista waiting patiently, a small smile on her face.

"Hi,” Kiara said, forcing the words to come out in the soft, feminine tone Celeste had drilled into him. His voice felt a little high, a little ****, but he fought through it. “I’d like two medium iced coffees, please. And a croissant.” His words felt stiff, but he was trying. He was trying so hard to sound like Kiara.

He could feel his heart racing, the sweat collecting at the back of his neck. Every movement, every word felt scrutinized, as if the entire café was watching him, waiting for him to mess up. He could feel his hands shaking as he placed his order, trying to keep the perfect posture, his feet pointed slightly inward, the slight bend in his knees, just the way Celeste had shown him.

"Is that all for you today, Kiara?" the barista asked, her voice warm.

Kiara nodded, her voice barely above a whisper, “Yes, thank you.” She **** a smile, feeling her cheeks flush under the weight of the attention.

She turned to Celeste for reassurance, but Celeste’s expression was unreadable. She was watching, observing, waiting. “Good job,” she said, her voice quiet. “You’re doing better. Just remember to keep the tone smooth. Don’t let the nerves show. Don’t let your voice drop. You’re Kiara now. Own it.”

Kieran’s heart thudded in his chest. This was the moment. This was where everything had to come together.

As the barista handed over the coffee, Kiara took it with a small, grateful nod, clutching the cup in both hands. She turned, her heels clicking once more as she moved to stand beside Celeste. She had done it. She had taken that step into the real world, and it wasn’t as terrifying as she’d feared.

But there was no going back now.

As they walked out of the café, Kiara glanced around, still acutely aware of every glance, every person they passed, but something had shifted. She was still nervous, still unsure, but there was a flicker of something else too. A tiny glimmer of possibility. Of belonging.

"Ready for the next step?" Celeste asked, her voice light but filled with an edge of challenge.

Kiara took a deep breath, nodding slowly.

"Let’s go."

The late morning sun filtered down in golden shafts between the buildings as they made their way back toward the penthouse, the echo of their heels tapping rhythmically against the pavement. Every step still felt exaggerated, like he was under a microscope—even though they had already made it through the café alive. He glanced sideways at Celeste, who walked confidently at his side, her figure practically swaying with casual confidence. Meanwhile, he felt like a nervous wreck wrapped in lip gloss and mascara.

Celeste gave him a sly look and nudged his elbow with hers. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Kieran exhaled in a heavy, audible breath. “Honestly? I’m just relieved no one figured it out. I thought I was gonna get clocked the moment I opened my mouth.”

Celeste slowed her steps ever so slightly. “What’s that? Couldn’t quite catch that, sweetie.”

He paused, recognizing the trap immediately. Right. She was pretending not to understand him because he’d spoken in his regular voice. That casual, rougher cadence that didn’t belong to Kiara Laurent. That didn’t belong to her.

Kieran swallowed hard, adrenaline flaring up in his chest again, and corrected himself quickly. “I mean,” he said with a deliberate flip of his tone, raising the pitch and softening his consonants, “oh my god, thank goodness they didn’t figure me out, right?”

Celeste’s smile returned with ****, a proud little smirk playing at the edge of her lips. “That’s better. Much better.”

Emboldened by the compliment and the fact that the world hadn’t collapsed around him, Kieran leaned into the performance. “Ugh, I was, like, dying inside the whole time,” he said, adding a little dramatic flair to his eyes as he widened them. “I could’ve sworn the barista was staring straight at me like, ‘who’s this imposter?’”

Celeste snorted. “She was staring because you were acting like a squirrel on espresso. You’ve got the look, Kiara. But the vibe? That’s what we’re building. Today was a huge step.”

“Thanks, sis,” Kieran said sweetly, rolling the word around in his mouth like it was candy. It felt so unnatural, yet in the moment, it kind of buzzed with strange energy. The persona he’d been rehearsing, reciting, repeating in mantras—it had somehow become armor out there. He had played the part. No one had called him out. No one had pointed and laughed. He had survived.

Celeste beamed. “Now that’s the Kiara I want to see more of.”

Kieran turned his head away for a moment, still trying to keep his smile from crumpling under the weight of conflicting thoughts. It had gone well. Objectively. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t confusing. That it didn’t hurt a little, somewhere underneath. The praise felt good. That was the problem. It shouldn’t.

But he pushed that aside. He had performed. That was the job, wasn’t it?

As they reached the building entrance, Celeste touched his elbow lightly and said, “This is the version of you I want walking into every room from now on. Confident. Girly. Sure of herself.”

He nodded, offering a bashful little smile that felt so fake but looked so real. “Totally. Kiara’s got it under control.”

Celeste held the door for him. “Atta girl.”

And just like that, the next door opened.