Chapter 3: THREADS OF TRUST
563 Words
The days passed in a gentle rhythm. Michael kept returning to Fatima’s shop, not just to fix his jacket but because something in her presence seemed to draw him back. She always had a quiet way of listening—an art he hadn’t realized he’d been craving since his accident.
One afternoon, the sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over Tatale as Michael walked into Threaded Dreams. Fatima was working at the back, her sewing machine humming in the background. He paused at the door, watching her as she worked. There was a peacefulness about her, the kind of serenity that made him wonder if she ever felt lost, like he did.
She looked up and smiled, not surprised to see him. “Your jacket’s almost done. I thought you might want to stop by and pick it up before it gets too late.”
He nodded but didn’t move right away. The words that had been swirling in his mind for days finally tumbled out.
“Fatima, do you ever feel... like you’re running from something?”
She looked at him, her hands stilling on the fabric she was working on. Her eyes shifted, just slightly, as if she were weighing his words carefully.
“I think everyone is,” she said softly. “We all have something we’re running from. The trick is finding something worth staying for.”
Her answer hung in the air between them, a quiet challenge. Michael hadn’t expected the question to be returned to him, but somehow, it felt like she had seen right through him.
“What are you running from?” he asked, his voice low, curious.
Fatima’s expression faltered for a brief moment before she turned back to her work, her fingers resuming their careful stitching. “I don’t talk about it,” she said simply. “It’s not something I like to revisit.”
But there was an invitation in her words—an openness, even if only for a second. Michael didn’t press her. Instead, he sat down near the counter, his gaze drifting over the fabrics, the designs, and the delicate pieces she’d crafted.
“I don’t know who I am without running,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “It was everything. Now... I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
Fatima’s gaze softened, her fingers pausing once again. “Sometimes, you have to let go of what you thought you were in order to find out who you could be.” She met his eyes then, and for a moment, there was no distance between them, no pretense.
Michael exhaled slowly, her words settling into his chest. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”
Fatima smiled, but it was gentle, the kind of smile that seemed to carry a weight of its own. “I don’t think any of us are ever ready. But we have to trust that what’s meant for us will find us when the time is right.”
Michael sat in silence, absorbing the quiet wisdom in her words. Her presence was calm, soothing even, in a way he hadn’t felt in years. Perhaps it wasn’t just her craft that had captivated him—it was the way she seemed so sure of herself, even in her quietest moments. He longed for that certainty.
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- Writer
