Concrete Roses

Later that night, Maya sat on Zora's couch, a glass of wine in hand and a legal pad filled with scribbled notes on her lap. Across from her, Zora scrolled on her iPad, already in business mode.

"Alright," Zora said, tapping the screen. "First thing's first—what's the mission?"

Maya took a deep breath. "Concrete Roses is for women like us. Women building something from nothing, carving out their own space. Real stories. No fluff, no 'girlboss' nonsense—just truth."

Zora nodded. "Love it. Next—how do we make money?"

Maya chewed her lip. "I was thinking a mix of digital subscriptions, sponsorships, and maybe live events?"

Zora raised a brow. "Events?"

"Yeah," Maya said, her excitement growing. "Imagine panel discussions, networking nights, maybe even mentorship programs for young women trying to break into media."

Zora smirked. "Now you're talking. But first, you need a website. A strong brand. And writers."

Maya exhaled. "Right. So, where do I start?"

Zora grinned. "Lucky for you, you have me. And I know people."