The morning after the white silk line sold out, the boutique felt different. Not loud different, not like a room full of clapping hands or flashing lights. It was the sort of different that slips into a space without announcement, the kind you feel in your shoulders before you notice it anywhere else. A kind of unclenching.

The air seemed warmer, though the heat hadn’t been turned up. It smelled faintly of brewed coffee drifting from the back and of silk that had been unpacked from its ...