The Thread That Brought Us Together

Amara stood quietly in front of the small mirror at the back of her shop. Her fingers rested lightly against the wooden edge of the dressing table as she examined her reflection, critically, carefully.

Tonight wasn't about her.

But she understood that people, especially people like the Dravins, noticed the smallest things. How you stood. What you wore. What you carried with you without speaking.

She had no interest in commanding attention. She wasn't looking to make anyone stare.

But she also wasn't going to fade into the walls.

She reached for the black dress she had set aside earlier—a simple, beautifully cut piece that clung to her figure in all the right ways. It wasn't flashy. It didn't sparkle. It didn't beg for notice. But it spoke in its own quiet language.

"She had to borrow it from Melody but luckily it fits her perfectly."

The fabric hugged her waist, curving gently around her hips and falling just below her knees with a subtle softness. It didn't reveal too much. It didn't hide too much.

It was deliberate.

Balanced.

Perfect.

Amara smoothed her hands over the fabric, her expression still, her mind ticking through each detail.

She pulled her hair back next—gathering the thick, dark strands into a loose, low bun. She didn't pin it perfectly. She left a few soft curls to fall, framing her face in an almost accidental way, though nothing about it was accidental.

Some strands brushed against her jawline, the gentle waves softening the edges of her cold, distant gaze.

Her lips, painted in a muted rose tone, were just enough to lift her expression without inviting unnecessary curiosity.

There was a comfort in the simplicity of it.

There was power in not overdoing it.

When she fastened the small pair of earrings—plain silver, delicate—she caught a final look at herself and allowed a faint nod of approval.

This would do.

She said hoping this will help her blend in.

Amara's eyes flicked briefly to the garment bag waiting by the shop counter.

The dress.

The real star of tonight.

She had packed it carefully, wrapping it in fine tissue, folding it with precision, tying the bag handles in soft, matching silk ribbons. Every layer of the packaging was neat, elegant, quietly beautiful.

Just like the dress itself.

She picked it up, cradling it gently as she stepped to the shop door.

The street outside hummed with the sound of evening traffic, the soft glow of streetlights catching in the distance.

She heard it then—the low, familiar purr of Xavier's car pulling up in front of her shop.

Right on time.

Without rushing, she turned the key in the door, locking the shop behind her.

Then, dress in hand, she stepped outside to wait.