This series will be divided into multiple parts, the next parts are coming soon, stay tuned and subscribed to get alerted when new stories are released.
- The insider (part 1)
- The insider (part 2)
- The insider (part 3)
- The insider (part 4)
- The insider (part 5)
- The insider (part 6)
- The insider (part 7)
- The insider (part 8)
A month had passed since the first collective lighting-up in the large conference room, and the National Lung Health Association’s headquarters no longer smelled of coffee and printer ink. It smelled of smoke.
Thick, sweet, menthol-laced smoke hung in every corridor like a permanent haze. Ashtrays — elegant crystal ones Angela herself had ordered — now sat on every desk, every side table, every windowsill. The once-pristine glass building had transformed into a smoker’s paradise. People no longer stepped outside for breaks; they lit up at their desks, in meeting rooms, even during conference calls. The soft click of lighters and the quiet crackle of burning tobacco had become the new background music of the organization.
Today was the big meeting to conclude the month-long “Empathy Through Experience” experiment.
The main conference room was packed. Twenty-eight members sat around the long oak table, many with cigarettes already burning between their fingers or dangling casually from their lips as they chatted. The air was blue with smoke. Empty packs and overflowing ashtrays littered the table. No one coughed anymore. No one wrinkled their noses. This was normal now.
Angela Harrington stood at the head of the table, poised and radiant in a tailored charcoal suit that hugged her still-athletic figure. Her chestnut hair was pulled back in a neat chignon, but a few strands had escaped, framing her face. Her fingers — now deeply yellowed at the tips — held a freshly lit Vogue. She took a long, luxurious drag, cheeks hollowing gracefully, held the smoke deep in her lungs for several seconds, then exhaled a thick, elegant plume toward the ceiling. The nicotine rush made her eyes flutter for a brief, pleasurable moment before she composed herself.
She smiled at the room, voice warm and confident, the slight huskiness from constant smoking only adding to her authority.
“I am so incredibly proud of every single one of you,” she began, lighting another Vogue from the glowing end of the first without missing a beat. “When we started this program a month ago, many of you were hesitant — even afraid. You trusted me, and you trusted the science. You took this journey with open minds and open lungs. Today we conclude the official experiment, but I believe we have only just begun to understand what true empathy and effective advocacy really mean.”
She took another deep drag, held it, and exhaled slowly through her nose while the room murmured in agreement. Several members were already nodding, cigarettes dangling from their lips as they listened.
“I’d like to open the floor,” Angela continued, smoke curling from her mouth as she spoke. “Please, share your experiences honestly. How has this month changed you? How has it changed the way you think about the people we are here to help?”
Dr. Patel, usually the most cautious voice in the room, was the first to speak. He had a cigarette burning between his fingers and took a casual drag before answering.
“I have to admit… I exceeded the schedule almost immediately,” he said with a sheepish laugh. “By day five I was already smoking eight or nine a day. I told myself it was just for the data, but the truth is… I was enjoying it too much. The way it calms the mind after a long meeting, the little ritual of lighting up — it’s surprisingly pleasant. I don’t feel guilty anymore. I feel… informed.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled around the table. Susan from education, who had once been one of the most vocal opponents, spoke next while lighting a fresh Vogue.
“I stopped counting after the second week,” she said, inhaling deeply and holding the smoke before exhaling a thick stream. “I just… smoke when I feel like it now. During lunch, during calls, even while writing reports. It helps me focus. And honestly? I look forward to it. I never thought I would say that.”
One after another, the testimonies flowed. A researcher admitted she now kept a pack in her desk drawer and would chain smoke at her desk. An educator said the program had made her more compassionate toward the parents she worked with. A former smoker who had quit fifteen years earlier spoke with tears in her eyes.
“I had forgotten how good it felt,” she said, voice trembling as she took a long drag. “The pleasure came back even stronger than I remembered. I thought I would hate it, but… it’s like welcoming an old friend. I’m smoking more now than I ever did before I quit.”
The room was alive with smoke and open conversation. Cigarettes dangled from lips as people spoke. Lighters flicked constantly. No one tried to hide it. Angela watched with quiet pride, her own Vogue burning steadily between her yellowed fingers. She lit another from the end of the first, inhaling deeply and sensually, letting the pleasure show on her face for a moment before composing herself again.
She celebrated the moment by chain-smoking openly at the head of the table — three cigarettes in quick succession, each drag deeper and more luxurious than the last. The room watched her with respect and a new kind of admiration. Their leader was no longer preaching from a smoke-free pedestal. She was in the trenches with them, inhaling right alongside them.
After the main meeting concluded, Angela called a smaller group into the private strategy room: Rachel, Dr. Patel, Susan, and three other key board members. The air was already thick before anyone lit up.
Angela stood at the front, a fresh Vogue between her lips. She lit it with a steady hand and took a long, luxurious drag before speaking.
“I believe we have proven the value of this approach,” she said, smoke curling from her mouth as she talked. “The data we’ve gathered — both scientific and personal — is compelling. I want to take the next step. I propose we launch a new, expanded experimentation program. This time we will enroll non-smokers — carefully selected volunteers from within the association and perhaps even from partner organizations. We will study how addiction evolves from the very first cigarette. Real-time data on cravings, pleasure responses, tolerance development. This will give us unprecedented insight into how to help people.”
She paused, exhaled a thick plume, and continued. “Marta has volunteered to lead the program.”
All eyes turned to Marta Delgado.
Marta was forty-one, a single mother of two young boys, and until a month ago had been one of the association’s most passionate non-smokers. She had never touched a cigarette in her life. Now she sat with a Vogue already burning between her fingers, taking frequent, hungry drags as she listened. Her once-pristine white blouse showed faint yellow stains on the cuffs. Her nails were tinged the same color. She had a soft, wet cough that appeared every few minutes, yet she lit up again the moment one cigarette burned down.
Marta had dived into the program with furious intensity. What began as reluctant participation had become an all-consuming habit. She now smoked nearly two packs a day, often chain-smoking during meetings, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure as she inhaled. The single mother who once lectured parents about secondhand smoke now carried a pack in her handbag at all times.
“I’m honored to lead it,” Marta said, voice already noticeably huskier than it had been a month earlier. She took a deep drag, held it, and exhaled through her nose. “I’ve seen the transformation in myself. I understand now what we were missing. I’m ready to guide others through the same journey.”
Angela smiled warmly at her, lighting another Vogue from the end of her current one. “Perfect. We’ll begin recruitment next week. Small groups, carefully monitored. This is how we move from empathy to real scientific progress.”
The smaller group discussed logistics for another hour, the room growing hazier with every passing minute. Cigarettes were lit constantly. Angela and Rachel exchanged knowing glances across the table, their shared secret fueling the quiet excitement between them.
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