Chapter 139
My eyes were fixed on the intricate embroidery of the chiffons. The delicate patterns, the shimmering threads, the tiny pearls. They were mesmerizing. Each stitch seemed to tell a story, a story of tradition, of artistry, of faith. It was a language I understood, a heritage woven into every fiber.
I reached out, gently touching one of the samples. The fabric felt cool and smooth against my skin, a stark contrast to the nervous heat prickling my palms. It was more than just a piece of cloth; it was a work of art, a tangible representation of dreams and expectations.
"This is it," I said, my voice filled with a fragile awe. "This is the one. This is the fabric I want." The words tasted like a promise, a commitment to this moment, to this path.
