CHAPTER 18
The First Win
The moment I stepped into the tiny yet bustling studio, I felt the weight of the past weeks clinging to my shoulders. I had fought tooth and nail to get here—to be taken seriously, to prove that I wasn't just some outsider playing pretend in this new world. Now, standing before a woman with sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue, I held my breath.
"Your work is... decent," she finally said, flipping through my sketches with the kind of nonchalance that made my stomach twist into knots. "But decent won't cut it here."
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I can do better."
She raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into something that wasn't quite a smirk, nor was it approval. "We'll see." Tossing the portfolio onto her cluttered desk, she nodded toward the sewing station. "There's a rush order. If you want a chance, prove yourself."
This was it. No grand welcome, no applause—just a threadbare chance. I took it without hesitation.
---
The hours bled together as I worked. My fingers trembled, not from exhaustion but from the sheer magnitude of what this meant. Every stitch was a step forward, every misstep a reminder of how far I still had to go. The studio hummed with the chatter of designers and assistants, the air thick with urgency. I felt out of place, yet more alive than ever.
At one point, a girl beside me—Ava, if I remembered correctly—nudged my elbow. "First day and you're already in the fire. Brave or stupid?"
I let out a breathy laugh. "A bit of both, I guess."
"Don't mess it up," she warned, but there was something in her tone—something almost encouraging. Maybe I wasn't entirely alone in this.
The supervisor circled back, her hawk-like gaze scanning my progress. I tensed, waiting for the inevitable critique. Instead, she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. My chest swelled with something close to pride. Maybe, just maybe, I was getting somewhere.
---
By the time I finished the piece, my back ached, and my eyes burned from staring too long at the fabric. I stepped back, inspecting my work. It wasn't perfect, but it was good. More than good. It was mine.
"Not bad," the supervisor admitted, her voice devoid of its earlier skepticism. "You have potential."
Relief crashed over me like a tidal wave. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. The real test is whether the client likes it. If they don't, you're back to square one."
The reminder sent a shiver down my spine, but I nodded. "Understood."
---
The next day, I barely slept, barely ate, barely breathed as I waited for the verdict. When the call finally came, I almost dropped my phone.
"They liked it," the supervisor said, and for the first time, there was something resembling warmth in her tone. "You're hired."
The words echoed in my mind, foreign and unbelievable. Hired. I had done it. Not as a favor, not as a stroke of luck—but because I had earned it.
I barely registered Ava's smirk as she passed by. "Told you not to mess it up."
I grinned. "And yet, I somehow managed."
---
That evening, I sat alone in my tiny apartment, letting the moment settle in. It was a small victory, but it was mine. For the first time since stepping into this world, I wasn't just surviving—I was winning.
And this was only the beginning.