Amara came early to the shop that day, even though she had left late the night before. Sleep had barely brushed her eyes, but there was no room for rest. The dress still needed its finishing touches.
Without doing anything else—not even unlocking the front door or turning the sign to 'Open'—she went straight to her workspace and continued working on the dress.
She had thought of which color to use for the dress for a long time before she finally decided to go for a golden dress.
Based on the preferences of Mrs. Dravin, she seemed like a woman who liked something "outstanding but not too loud, something that adds a soft touch to her, to bring out her beautiful features."
"She really has a unique taste in fashion," Amara murmured.
That was why she decided to go for a golden dress.
"A long golden dress with its ends shaped like flower petals."
For the embroidery, she wanted a subtle design—soft curves, delicate lines stitched carefully around the waist and along the sleeves. It would draw attention gently, without overpowering the woman wearing it.
"She designed it with shimmering pink silk."
Because to her, the color mattered.
It mattered more than most people realized. Color told a story before anyone spoke. It could make a woman blend into the crowd, or make her glow without even trying.
That's why she considered every shade carefully.
To her, the golden dress with the pink embroidery would bring out Mrs. Dravin's character, her features, and her taste in fashion.
Amara closed her eyes briefly, visualizing the woman she had yet to meet—imagining how she would look in the dress.
"Yes," Amara whispered to herself. "It'll be beautiful on her."
It would be perfect.
Warm, elegant, not aggressive.
It caught the light but didn't chase it.
It made a statement, but it wasn't screaming.
Even though she hadn't met her, Amara believed she had made the right choice.
She pressed the last seams, running her fingers along the edge to ensure every stitch sat flat. There would be no mistakes.
She stepped back and finally let herself really look at the dress.
It was beautiful.
Golden and soft, flowing but structured. It held its shape with quiet confidence. The dress had a voice, but it didn't need to shout.
Amara allowed herself a moment of satisfaction, but it was quickly swallowed by the next practical step.
The meeting was in the evening.
And she had to prepare.
Not just the dress.
Herself.
She needed to present the dress confidently in a room full of people who might not look at her twice, but who would absolutely look at what she brought.
Amara knew exactly what to wear.
Nothing that would call attention. Nothing that would suggest she was trying too hard to belong.
Simple. Clean. Elegant.
Just enough to show she understood the assignment, but not enough to invite curiosity.
She walked to the back of the shop, slowly peeling off the protective apron she always wore when working. Her arms ached, her back protested the long hours spent hunched over the sewing machine, but she barely noticed.
Her mind was already shifting.
Soon, Xavier would arrive to pick her up.
She'd see him again.
She didn't know what to make of him—of the way he always spoke to her like her work was obvious, like her talent was the most certain thing in the room.
She didn't know what to make of how his words sometimes lingered longer than they should.
But she wouldn't think about that now.
She carefully packed the finished dress, handling it as if it were made of glass.
Satisfied, she turned off the sewing machine and made her way to the small dressing area in the back of her shop.
She would get ready now.
The evening awaited.