Chapter Title: "Fate in Fabric"
Antonio's POV;
It was supposed to be a quick visit.
Just a business collaboration meeting with a local design house—an investor meet-and-greet, handshakes, polite smiles, routine. I didn't even plan to stay long. But as I entered the exhibition hall where local fashion creatives showcased their work, something froze me in place.
A dress.
Not just any dress.
Her dress.
It was the style—minimalist yet rich with emotion. Soft shades of blue melting into ivory, the edges detailed with thread-work that looked like wind patterns. It carried silence and grace in the same breath. I didn't need to read the designer tag to know—it was hers.
I followed the name printed beside it:
Atasha Selene.
Atasha.
She hadn't fully let go of her old name.
I stood in front of her collection, heart racing, praying she would appear. And then—I saw her, across the room. She looked the same and yet different. Stronger posture, more poised, but those same eyes. The ones that haunted my nights.
I didn't hesitate.
I walked toward her, each step heavier than the last, as if my guilt dragged behind me.
And when she finally turned and saw me—her expression unreadable—my voice almost failed.
"Atasha… your designs are incredible."
She blinked, emotion flickering behind her cool composure. But she didn't smile. Not yet.
"I didn't design them for admiration," she replied calmly. "I designed them to survive."
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Then maybe... maybe I came to the right place. Because I'm done surviving without you."
Selene's/Atasha's POV;
I didn't expect to see him there.
I didn't expect him to look at me like that—like I was the answer to every question he'd buried beneath success and silence.
The moment our eyes met, time didn't freeze. No, it moved faster. Every memory came rushing back—his voice saying my name, our last conversation, that smile he gave before everything fell apart. And now, here he was. In front of my sketches, my healing, my armor disguised as fabric.
And when he spoke, saying I designed them to survive—he wasn't wrong.
I had designed to survive. Through loneliness. Through rejection. Through aching hope that he might appear in a crowd one day and finally see me. But now that he had—I didn't know what to do with the ache resurfacing in my chest.
"You look different," he said softly.
I crossed my arms, steadying myself. "I don't. Still charming. Still wrecking my balance."
He laughed under his breath, a little brokenly. "I deserve that."
I wanted to yell. To cry. To ask him why now. But instead, I whispered, "Why didn't you tell me sooner about your sisters? Why did you let silence grow between us?"
His eyes flickered. "Because I was scared. That if I reached out again… you'd slam the door. And I deserved it."
I exhaled slowly. I couldn't deny it—he looked honest. Worn. Not from failure, but from longing. And I wasn't immune. My heart still betrayed me, beating faster just by his nearness.
But I wasn't the same girl he left behind. I had become Atasha.
"I'm not asking for anything," he said at last. "I just wanted to see you again. And maybe… if it's not too late, earn back a small corner of your life."
I didn't reply. Not yet. Because part of me still didn't trust it. But another part—the louder one—was already threading the fabric of hope again.