Morning sun filtered through the leaves of the osmanthus tree as Nora stitched in silence, the tip of her needle gliding through a piece of mist-blue silk. Beside her, Aiden lay asleep on a mat, his little hand wrapped around a fabric bunny.
Her livestreams had picked up traction in recent days—mostly thanks to Aiden's surprise appearances. The soft back of his head had become famous, with viewers sending fan art and nicknames like "Thread Baby" and "Little Cloud."
Still, Nora remained cautious. Internet fame was fickle. And money was still tight.
That afternoon, a neighbor collapsed in her courtyard. Nora had rushed over with Aunt Maria, bringing a bowl of soup and a spare blanket. The old woman—sharp-eyed and sharp-tongued—eyed her with suspicion but allowed the help.
Her name was Madam Ruan Qinghua, a former master embroiderer with a reputation for brilliance and bitterness.
Nora returned again the next day. And the day after that.
Aiden's presence softened the woman more than Nora's kindness. Within a week, Madam Ruan no longer scowled when they arrived.
Then, one afternoon, she spotted the embroidered bib around Aiden's neck and narrowed her eyes.
"You stitched this?"
"Yes," Nora replied.
The old woman studied the threadwork. "Your technique is flawed," she muttered. "But your hand is steady."
The next day, she tossed Nora a worn wooden box filled with silver needles.
"If you're going to embarrass yourself online," she said, "you might as well learn properly."
From that day on, Nora became her unofficial apprentice—strict lessons, no praise, and mountains of unpicking stitches. But beneath the gruffness, something warmer began to take root.