A Private Rehearsal For Rumi

I slipped back inside and made my way to the bedroom for some quiet after hours in the city. You talked about letting down my guard, unzipping, and winding down, but a true leader never drops her signature look so easily. My yellow jacket stays on—firm, zipped, and perfectly in place. Up on the bedside table, I found an open paperback propped against a brass bookend. Standing on tiptoe, I leaned against the printed pages, skimming through a tense scene before testing a hushed, melodic line into the quiet corner. It felt just like finding my own rhythm in a secret backstage greenroom.