Above The Runway
Country: Aurivelle
City: Auremont
Alvara
I had spent days thinking about this day long before it even arrived.
The senior designers before us had made it look effortless in their first runway shows…how they moved through the gallery, how they carried themselves, how they even seemed to anticipate every glance of the audience.
I wasn’t sure we’d ever reach that level, not yet.
But today, at least, I would see it all from above, get a real sense of the spectacle we had stepped into.
Isabella was already tugging me along as we approached the gallery entrance, her energy almost bouncing off the walls.
“Come on, slowpoke. We’re missing the opening act,” she chided, a smirk playing on her lips.
I rolled my eyes but followed, letting her drag me toward our seats.
They had reserved a small section upstairs, angled perfectly so we could see the entire runway, the audience below, and, of course, the VIP section.
When we finally settled in, I let my gaze wander, taking in the rows of chairs, the polished runway stretching out before us, the hum of conversations, and the glimmering lights above.
And then I saw them.
The Hawthornes.
Marceline, in a flowing emerald gown that caught every flicker of light, her posture elegant and effortless.
She was speaking softly with a few of the event organizers, but her smile, her presence…it made the room tilt slightly, as though gravity itself bowed to her.
And then there was Grayson.
He wasn’t with her at first, though my eyes found him immediately.
Standing slightly apart, tall, sharp, commanding, and impossibly calm.
The way he scanned the room, his expression unreadable but alert, made everything else fade around him.
Isabella’s sigh beside me reminded me I wasn’t imagining things.
He’s not handsome. Handsome is too small a word. He’s… intimidatingly attractive.”
I chuckled softly, shaking my head.
“You say that about every handsome man you see.”
“Not every man. Just the ones worth noticing,” she teased, poking me lightly.
Before I could respond, Leonora leaned toward the girls beside her, practically sparkling.
“That man could break my heart and I’d apologize to him.”
“Do you see him?” she hissed, almost vibrating with excitement. “I swear…if I could just…oh, I would eat him raw. Every inch. Every damn inch.”
The other girls around her giggled, some rolling their eyes, but I noticed how almost everyone’s attention had shifted.
Even Helena, who had been quietly observing the opening, couldn’t keep her composure.
“I swear if that man looked at me for three seconds straight I would forget my own name.” Helena whispered to someone beside her, her voice low.
Side comments bounced all around…tiny murmurs, soft gasps, little squeals from the designers who hadn’t yet seen someone like him in person.
The air felt charged, heavy with anticipation, and for a moment, I could see why Grayson had that effect on everyone.
Isabella leaned closer to me, her voice playful but teasing.
“You’re staring too, admit it.”
I tilted my head, letting a small smile tug at my lips. “I’m not staring.”
Her laugh was soft, mischievous.
“Sure. You’re pretending. I can always tell. Don’t even try.”
I rolled my eyes, though my thoughts betrayed me.
It wasn’t that I liked him, not exactly.
I just…noticed. Observed. And in a way, that was dangerous, because the kind of presence he carried made it hard to ignore anything he did.
The show began, and the lights dimmed.
Music swelled, and models began to glide down the runway.
I was mesmerized, not just by the clothes…the textures, the colors, the daring cuts…but by the energy, the rhythm of it all.
Isabella leaned against me lightly, whispering, “See, this is why they do it like this. Every move calculated, every glance a statement. It’s all a performance.”
I nodded, silently taking in each detail, noting the discipline behind the glamour.
I couldn’t help but think of our own journey…the long nights, the lessons, the small victories in our personal studios. We weren’t here yet, but one day…maybe.
Between the models, Marceline stood and addressed the audience.
Her voice was smooth, warm, and commanding all at once, wrapping everyone in attention.
“Thank you for joining us tonight,” she began, her tone light yet deliberate.
“Every designer here has shown extraordinary promise, and we are proud to share their work with you.
Remember, creativity and vision are just as important as technique and precision.
And to the students of Hawthorne Institute, never underestimate the power of your imagination.”
Applause swelled as she I couldn’t help but admire her…the elegance, the effortless authority, the smooth cadence that made every word feel like a gift.
Even when she smiled, it was strategic yet genuine, the kind of presence that filled a room without demanding it.
As the show continued,my eyes flicked back to Grayson.
He sat slightly to the side, attentive, observing her as much as everyone else.
Calm.
Unfazed.
But his subtle attention showed respect and…something else.
I couldn’t put my finger on it.
And then, from the corner of my eye, I caught sight of someone else.
A younger man, sitting beside him.
Taller than most, poised, but with a playful glint in his eyes that Grayson didn’t always have.
His posture relaxed, casual.
Could that be…Grayson’s younger brother?
Isabella leaned closer, whispering, “See that one? The one beside him? That’s the younger Hawthorne.
Handsome, sure…but nothing like his brother.”
I gave her a small nod, eyes drifting back to Grayson. He didn’t need to be flashy to hold attention. And yet, even sitting there quietly, his presence dominated the
Meanwhile, the girls around us…Leonora, Helena, and a dozen others…continued their quiet commotion.
Leonora was practically vibrating, whispering and gesturing, while Helena tried to maintain composure, though her wide eyes gave her away.
I couldn’t help but smirk slightly at the spectacle.
It was amusing, really, how a single person could unravel so many otherwise composed young designers.
Isabella poked me again, softer this time.
“You’re still pretending you don’t notice him. I swear, Alvara, you’re a liar.”
I gave her a sidelong glance, shrugging lightly.
“Maybe I just notice people, that’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.”
She snorted.
“Sure. Keep telling yourself that. But admit it…you care a little.”
I laughed, letting the moment pass without explanation.
The show started winding down, the final models making their slow, deliberate walk, showcasing the culmination of months of work and preparation.
Applause echoed, some reserved, some thunderous. It was intoxicating to be part of it, even from the gallery.
Finally, Marceline returned to the podium, her smile radiant, acknowledging the designers, the audience, and the team behind the scenes.
She spoke briefly, appreciating everyone’s hard work, and her words felt personal, genuine.
I noticed how she looked at the students, scanning the gallery, pausing on some faces…a small nod here, a brief smile there.
And yes, she noticed the elegance, the attentiveness, the small signs of potential in so many young eyes.
I leaned back slightly, letting the warmth of the moment sink in.
The show had been overwhelming, dazzling, and a little surreal.
I could feel the energy of the institute itself, buzzing, alive, and demanding.
Isabella whispered again, softer this time, almost reverent.
“One day, we’ll be up there too. Not just watching.”
I let the thought linger, knowing she was right.
One day.
Not yet.
But one day.
I couldn’t help noticing the younger Hawthorne again, sitting beside Grayson, watching quietly.
Calm.
Observant.
Present.
Less…intimidating, but clearly a Hawthorne in presence and posture.
And then, finally, Isabella whispered, soft, almost to herself, “Alright. Let’s go before the crowd swallows us.”
I nodded, letting her lead the way toward the exit, still letting my gaze linger on the figures below.
The crowd began to thin, applause fading into background chatter, and slowly, we made our way out of the gallery.
The city lights spilled through the tall windows, reflecting off the polished floors.
Even as we descended, I caught one last glimpse of Grayson, Julian beside him, and Marceline, all poised, all powerful, all impossibly composed.
The night had been a revelation…not just of talent, but of ambition, discipline, and the subtle, magnetic pull of those who truly commanded a room.
And as Isabella chattered beside me, teasing, commenting, and gushing in her own way, I felt that same quiet resolve settle inside me.
This institute wasn’t just about learning.
It was about being seen.
Being measured.
Being remembered.
And I wasn’t going to let it pass me by.