Chapter 204

• The morning began without hurry. I unlocked the boutique, turned the sign, and breathed in the familiar scent of wood and fabric. The air carried the same hush it had held for weeks, the kind of quiet that allowed me to notice every small sound—the kettle humming in the back, the soft shuffle of Aisha arranging displays, the faint murmur of the street outside.
• I settled at the counter with a stack of notes I had been meaning to answer. The boutique had become a place not just of dresses but of letters. Customers left thank you cards, suppliers sent updates, and sometimes strangers wrote after seeing a photograph in a magazine. Most of the time, I answered them with brief replies, careful not to let words carry more weight than the work itself.
• That morning, as I reached the bottom of the stack, one envelope stopped me. It was heavier than the others, the paper thick, the handwriting both firm and elegant. I knew it before I even read the name.