The afternoon sun shifted lower, casting long golden rectangles across the wooden floor. The students moved around the room, carefully placing sketches back on shelves or stacking fabric swatches by color and season. Each action was deliberate, as if handling history required reverence.

Elias held up a garment pattern, tracing the lines with his fingers. “Was this the one that nearly didn’t make it onto the runway?” he asked, looking at me.

I nodded, remembering the sleepless nights and ...