The Final Stitch
Country: Aurivelle
City: Cressford
Alvara
The first thing I noticed when I glanced at the clock was that I was already late.
Not a little late.
Very late.
“Great,” I muttered under my breath.
I pulled open my wardrobe and grabbed the first outfit that felt presentable enough for a rushed morning…a beige knit top and my black baggy trousers. Comfortable but neat. I shoved my feet into my white sneakers, then reached for my mini crossbody bag hanging on the chair beside my desk.
My reflection in the mirror looked as rushed as I felt.
I quickly twisted my hair into a loose braid over my shoulder and clipped in my small hoop earrings.
I had just slung the bag across my body when my phone started ringing on the bed.
Isabella.
Of course.
I answered while still hopping on one foot trying to pull my sneaker fully on.
“Tell me you’re not still in your house,” she said immediately.
“I’m leaving,” I said quickly.
There was a pause.
“You said that ten minutes ago.”
“I mean it this time,” I insisted, grabbing my sketchbook and shoving it into my bag.
“I’m already on my way out.”
“You better be,” she said. “I’m at the bus stop.”
“Already?” I groaned.
“Yes, Alvara. Already.”
“I’m coming!” I said before ending the call.
I rushed out of my room and nearly collided with the edge of the hallway table on my way to the sitting room.
Mom was there, sitting comfortably with her morning tea like.
She looked up as I hurried past.
“Good morning,” she said calmly.
“Morning!” I said, already reaching for the bread on the table.
I took a quick bite, grabbed her cup for a sip of tea before she could protest, and nearly choked trying to swallow too quickly.
“Alvara,” she said, watching me with amusement, “you could sit and eat like a normal human being.”
“I will!” I said, already moving toward the door. “When I come back!”
She shook her head, smiling faintly.
“Be careful.”
“I will!”
Then I was gone.
The morning air outside was cool and sharp as I hurried down the street. The city was fully awake now…cars passing, people heading to work, the distant noise of shops opening for the day.
I walked fast. Then faster.
By the time I reached the bus stop, Isabella was already sitting on the bench, one leg crossed over the other like she’d been there long enough to get comfortable.
“Took you long enough.”
I bent slightly, trying to catch my breath.
“How long have you been waiting?” I asked.
She tilted her head thoughtfully.
“Long enough to start wondering what exactly you were doing in that house.”
I frowned at her.
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” she said slowly, “you said you were leaving ten minutes ago.”
I dropped onto the bench beside her.
“I was leaving.”
“Clearly.”
She handed me one of the wrapped breakfasts from the paper bag.
“I got us something from the café near the corner,” she said.
My stomach immediately approved.
“You’re a lifesaver,” I muttered.
“Obviously.”
The bus finally pulled up in front of the stop with a tired hiss of brakes.
I stood immediately.
“Finally.”
We climbed aboard together and found two seats by the window.
As the bus pulled away from the stop, the city slowly began to slide past outside the glass.
And for the first time that morning, I finally exhaled.
Today was going to be a long day.
The boutique doors rang softly as Isabella and I stepped inside.
The familiar scent of fabric, polish, and fresh steam from the pressing stations wrapped around us immediately.
I dropped my bag on my workstation chair with a quiet sigh of relief.
“Finally,” Isabella muttered, doing the same beside me.
I had barely loosened my shoulders when Clara’s voice carried across the room.
“Everyone, please gather here for a moment ”.
Some designers exchanged quick glances before slowly moving toward the center of the boutique.
Isabella and I joined them, standing side by side.
Clara waited until the last person arrived before speaking.
“As you all know,” she began, folding her hands neatly in front of her, “the Hawthorne Luxury and Fashion Institute selection process is extremely competitive.”
The room grew quiet.
“Ten major boutiques across the country have been invited to participate in this selection.”
A murmur rippled through the group.
“Each boutique will send 10 designers.”
My mind did the math instantly.
Hundred.
“ At the end of the selection only fifty designers will be selected”
“Which means,” Clara continued calmly, “there will be a total of fifty designers competing for a place at the institute.”
The murmurs grew louder now. Someone behind me let out a quiet whistle.
Clara raised a hand slightly, and the room settled again.
“Before the judges arrive on Monday, every designer must submit their work digitally.”
She began pacing slowly as she spoke.
“The submission must include your completed design, along with your full personal details…your name, age, contact information, and a clear headshot.”
I felt Isabella shift beside me.
Clara continued.
“The judges will review these submissions online and give preliminary scores.”
A few people exchanged nervous looks.
“This process ensures that only qualified designers will move forward to the in-person evaluation on Monday,” she said.
Then she paused slightly.
“But passing the virtual stage does not guarantee you will be selected.”
The words landed heavily in the room.
“After the online review,” she continued, “designers who qualify will present the physical version of their work.”
She gestured toward the workstations surrounding the boutique.
“You will bring the completed design for physical submission and verification.”
Someone raised a hand.
“So the judges will see the actual dress?”
she asked.
Clara nodded.
“Yes. The judges will examine the piece themselves and score the work officially. Those scores will then be updated in a centralized system under each designer’s profile.”
The room was silent now.
Then Clara added something that made several people straighten.
“When the selected designers arrive at the Hawthorne Luxury and Fashion Institute, they will be registered using a biometric system.”
A few brows lifted.
“Fingerprint or facial recognition.”
She gave a small, knowing smile.
“Once scanned, the system immediately pulls up the designer’s full profile…your submitted work, your scores, your personal details, and even your assigned room.”
That definitely got everyone's attention.
For a moment, everyone simply stared at her.
Then she continued in her usual calm tone.
“For those who are not yet finished with their designs, I strongly suggest you complete them today.”
Her gaze swept across the room.
“Tomorrow is the final day for virtual submission.”
The announcement hung in the air for a moment before she dismissed us.
“You may return to your work.”
And just like that, the atmosphere in the boutique changed.
The calm from earlier vanished almost instantly.
Designers rushed back to their stations.
The room filled with nervous energy.
Deadlines had a way of doing that.
Beside me, Isabella let out a quiet breath.
“Well,” she said, “that escalated quickly.”
I glanced at her.
“At least we don’t have to panic like that.”
Our designs were already safely stored in Clara's office.
After what had happened the last time
..when my sketchbook mysteriously disappeared…Clara had insisted that both Isabella’s design and mine be kept in her office until submission day.
Safe.
Untouched.
Protected.
For once, we weren’t scrambling to catch up.
Instead, we simply stood there watching the chaos unfold around us.
And for the first time since the competition was announced…
I felt slightly ahead of the storm.
The next morning arrived quieter than the chaos of the boutique the day before.
I didn’t wake up in a rush today.
Sunlight slipped through the curtains, spreading softly across my desk and the stack of sketchbooks beside it. My design notebook sat on top, closed, like it had finally earned a moment of rest.
Today wasn’t about sewing or stitching.
Today was submission day.
I was halfway through tying my hair back.
When Leo called to tell me someone was looking for me.
Right on time.
I stepped out of my room and opened the door to find Isabella standing in the sitting room with her laptop bag slung over one shoulder.
“You’re punctual,” I said.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Please. I’ve been waiting for this moment since yesterday.”
Mom was already in the sitting room when we turned. Leo was sprawled across the couch with his phone.
“Good morning,” Isabella said politely.
Mom smiled warmly.
“You must be Isabella.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mom gestured toward the couch.
“Alvara talks about you often.”
Isabella shot me a quick sideways look.
“Oh really?”
I ignored her.
“This is my mother,” I said, “and that’s Leo.”
Leo lifted a hand in greeting.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” Isabella replied with a smile.
Mom looked between us knowingly.
“So you two are the famous designers competing for Hawthorne designer selection ”?.
“That’s the plan,” Isabella said lightly.
Mom nodded approvingly.
“Well, I wish you both the best.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Isabella said sincerely.
I glanced toward the hallway.
“We should probably submit before the website crashes from over hundred nervous designers refreshing it at the same time.”
Isabella laughed.
We slipped down the hallway and into my room.
My laptop was already sitting on the desk.
Isabella set hers beside it, the two screens glowing softly as we opened them.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
We typed in the website and the submission page for the competition filled the screen.
I filled in my information first.
Name.
Age.
Contact details.
A headshot.
Then I uploaded the digital images of my design.
The dress appeared on the screen .
Seeing it there made it feel suddenly real.
Across the desk, Isabella was doing the same on her laptop.
I glanced up briefly.
“You ready?” I asked.
She nodded slowly.
“As I’ll ever be.”
For a moment, the room went quiet except for the faint tapping of our keyboards.
Then we both hovered over the final button.
I took a breath.
“This is it,” Isabella said.
I nodded.
“Yeah.”
Three.
Two.
One.
We clicked at the same time.
The loading bar appeared.
For a few long seconds, neither of us moved.
Then the screen refreshed.
Submission successful.
I leaned back slightly in my chair, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
Across from me, Isabella stared at her screen before slowly breaking into a grin.
“Well,” she said.
“It’s official.
”
I nodded, still looking at the words on my screen.
Our designs were out there now.
Somewhere in the world, judges would soon be looking at them.
Deciding our future.
And there was nothing more we could do.
The waiting had begun.