The soft chime of the doorbell stirred Amara from her focused stitching. She didn't look up immediately—customers came and went, and she wasn't in the mood to plaster on a welcoming smile.
When she finally glanced at the door, her hands paused mid-fold.
It was him again.
Xavier.
Something about him—still neat, still carrying that quiet confidence—seemed a little lighter today. Maybe it was the way he walked in without hesitation this time.
"Back already?" Amara asked, her voice calm, almost uninterested.
"Yeah, I… I came to pass along something. The bride finally had a suggestion."
Amara raised her brows slightly. "Oh? Thought you said she wasn't the type to care about the details."
Xavier offered a soft smile, not the guarded one from before but something more genuine. "Turns out I underestimated her. She asked for something specific."
Amara set her fabric down, mildly intrigued. "Let's hear it."
"She wants red roses sewn at the bottom of the dress."
That made Amara pause. "Red roses? That's… unusual. Most brides want them at the waist, the chest, the veil… not at the hem."
Xavier's smile grew, almost proud. "It was the first flower I ever gave her. It's… it's how our story began."
For a brief moment, Amara's steady exterior wavered. She hadn't expected that.
Most people forgot the little things.
"I see," she said quietly, picking up her pencil and starting to sketch. "That's a pretty personal touch."
"Yeah," Xavier's voice softened, his eyes momentarily distant. "I guess it means something to her."
"Guess so," Amara murmured, not looking up.
There was a pause, long enough to hear the faint ticking of the old clock on the wall.
"You know, I don't usually get requests like that," she added, her pencil gliding over the paper. "But it'll make the dress… unique."
"Unique sounds good."
"Alright then, I'll add the roses."
"Thank you, really."
Amara gave a small nod, already returning to her work.
Xavier turned toward the door, but just as he reached for the handle, Amara's voice followed him—calm, almost like she wasn't really thinking about what she was saying.
"I think the threads in your story… are finally starting to make a piece."
Xavier glanced back, caught off guard but strangely warmed by the comment. "You think so?"
She didn't look at him, but there was the faintest trace of a smile in her voice.
"Maybe."
His smile widened a little. "I hope you're right."
"Well… time will tell."
Without waiting for more, she bent over her sketch again as Xavier pushed the door open and stepped out into the sunlight.
They didn't know it yet, but a delicate thread was quietly weaving between them, stitch by stitch—not too close, not too distant, just enough to hold the story together.