There was a round platform surrounded with mirrors, a changing screen, some half-made dresses on mannequins, other garments hanging on a rack. There was a counter with books, and shelves with fabrics and spools of thread. Another section had spools of different colored ribbons, along with boxes of buttons and rolls of lace. There was a table with a sewing machine, and a rack with empty hangers.
Sonya looked around, and Azam trailed behind her. He was very quiet. This must have been painful for him, and she was sorry to have asked to see the shop. She stopped in front of the rack of clothing.
‘What was your mother like?’ she asked, turning to look at him. He gave her a sad smile, touching one of the hanging dresses.
‘She was so full of life,’ Azam said. ‘Always laughing. I think that’s where Dania gets it from, though she didn’t get the chance to know her.’ He ran a hand through his hair, the waves falling back in place. ‘I’m a bit more like my father. He was quieter.’
‘They both sound wonderful,’ Sonya said.
He smiled as a memory entered his mind. ‘So many times Mama would be telling stories to friends or neighbors, and Baba would be sitting beside her, listening, a little smile on his face, even though surely he’d heard that story hundreds of times before. Sometimes, Mama even told his stories for him, but he never felt the need to be the one speaking, not if Mama was there. It was so easy to tell he just loved listening to her talk.’
‘That’s so lovely,’ she said, enraptured.
‘I had such an idyllic childhood,’ he said. ‘Even now, when I look back, those memories shine. I want that for Dania, as well.’He sighed. ‘I feel so sad for her that she never got to know our parents.’
‘I think you’re doing an incredible job,’ Sonya said.
‘It is difficult,’ he admitted, voice quiet.
‘Hey.’ She touched his arm. ‘Dania is lucky to have you. Anyone would be lucky to have you in their life.’
He smiled then, looking at her with a tender expression. ‘You say you don’t have magic,’ he said, ‘but kindness is its own magic.’
Her cheeks felt warm. ‘Tell me more about your magic,’ she said.
He went over to the desk, brushing aside the dust from the sewing machine. ‘It makes more sense to show you.’
He lifted one of the unfinished dresses from the mannequins. It was a beautiful sage-green color, and he set it down in the sewing machine, sitting on the chair. He checked the thread, but this must have been the last thing his mother was working on, for the threads matched.
‘Just like this,’ Azam said, and then he stitched the fabric into a skirt. After that was ready, he attached it to the bodice. The dress had three-quarter sleeves that he made and then attached, hands working so quickly with the scissors and the machine she could hardly keep up.
And then, with a flourish, he moved the dress from the machine and stood, showing her the final product.
‘Oh my goodness!’ She reached a hand out to touch the fabric; it was so soft, and fell down in a perfect bounce.
‘For you,’ Azam said, giving it to her.
Her mouth dropped open. He laughed, and she took the dress, holding it up. It was the perfect size. She hadn’t even realized he was stitching it for her.
‘But how did you do it?’ she asked, awed. She hadn’t even seen him take out a measuring tape.
‘It’s part of the magic,’ he said. ‘Stitching is very technical with the measurements and cuts, but with magic, I can just do it all intuitively. Particularly as I’ve already made a dress for you.’
Seeing how quickly he had worked, she was glad that he at least hadn’t been up too late last night fixing Kiri’s dress for her. Even so, she was astounded.
‘Can you teach me?’ she asked, excited. ‘Even without magic?’
He smiled. ‘Of course.’ He gestured for her to sit down on the stool and she did so, leaning forward to look at the machine. ‘Hm, but first.’ He pulled open a drawer and rummaged around before pulling out a light pink ribbon. It matched her dress.
‘May I?’ he asked. Her breath lodged in her throat, but she nodded. His hands were gentle in her hair as he pulled back the front pieces, tying them with the ribbon. ‘There,’ he said, coming round to look at her. ‘Now you can see.’
His gaze lingered on her face and her heart pounded, both from the intensity of his gaze and out of fear. For a moment, she was afraid he would recognize her as her hair was usually pulled back in portraits. But there was no deep recognition or shock.
She released a small breath, relieved.
He went to collect some lace then. ‘Let’s add this to the neckline,’ he said. ‘Very simple. Difficult to mess up.’
‘Don’t underestimate me,’ she joked.
