The wind blew gently across the neighborhood that morning, but inside Sophie’s little home, her fingers worked quickly, threading needles and finishing up the last of David’s assignments. She had stayed up late the night before, making sure every button was secure, every hem even, every seam straight.
Rohan sat across from her, watching quietly. He wanted to help, but Sophie never let him touch the clothes—her pride was in her work, and she wanted every piece to carry her effort and sincerity.
“You’ve been at this since last night,” Rohan said softly. “You need rest, Sophie.”
She smiled tiredly. “Rest will come when I have my own machine, Rohan. For now, every stitch is a step closer.”
Rohan’s heart ached with admiration. He wanted to tell her who he truly was, that he could buy her a
