The first guests settled into their seats, small wooden chairs arranged in a semicircle around the central display. I stood quietly at the back, letting my eyes linger on the designs one last time. Each piece told a story I had lived: the folded sketches of sleepless nights, the flowing dresses that had been stitched with hope and tears, and the sharp-edged jackets that had been forged in defiance.

Julian slipped in beside me, offering a calm smile. “You’re trembling,” he whispered ...