Clara’s POV
After dropping the kids off at school, I hurried to my workplace.
The street was already noisy with vendors shouting prices and buses honking as they sped past. Sweat gathered on my forehead, but I didn’t mind. It was another normal day — or so I thought.
My workplace was a tailoring shop on Commercial Street. The signboard above the entrance read Oli’s Stitches in bold red letters, though the edges had started fading. Inside, the familiar smell of fabric, starch, and machine oil filled the air. Threads of different colors hung neatly on the walls. Two sewing machines clicked softly in rhythm as the other workers bent over their work.
I hung my bag on the small hook by the door, tied my scarf tighter, and walked to my station. My hands moved automatically — cutting, folding
