The morning began without hurry. I unlocked the boutique, turned the sign, and breathed in the familiar scent of wood and fabric. The air carried the same hush it had held for weeks, the kind of quiet that allowed me to notice every small sound—the kettle humming in the back, the soft shuffle of Aisha arranging displays, the faint murmur of the street outside.

I settled at the counter with a stack of notes I had been meaning to answer. The boutique had become a place not just of dresses but ...