After Celine entered her room, she quietly closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment as she breathed in the stillness. The faint hum of the ceiling fan above her head, the soft scent of lavender from her diffuser, and the warm golden hue of her fairy lights wrapped the room in a calm, dreamy atmosphere. Her sanctuary.
At just seventeen, Celine was already a force of creativity. Her room was a beautiful mess of inspiration — sketches taped to the walls. Shelves were filled with fashion magazines, color theory books, and photos of runway shows. Her designs weren't limited to just one category — she could whip up sleek suits for men, design sporty or elegant shoes, and create ladies' handbags with bold statement pieces. It wasn't just a hobby; it was her passion. Her life.
She walked to the bathroom, her steps light with the satisfaction of a good day. Her award from school — a shiny plaque that now sat proudly on her dresser — was a tangible reminder that she was finally being seen. She took her shower slowly, letting the warm water wash away the stress of the day and settle her excited nerves. Wrapped in a fluffy towel, she changed into her favorite pyjamas — a soft cotton set printed with little sewing machines and needles — and padded over to the full-length mirror that stood beside her closet.
She stared at her reflection, her face glowing, her eyes soft and full of emotion. She ran her fingers through her damp curls and whispered to herself, as if to reaffirm what she was feeling inside.
"I'm very proud of you today," she said, smiling through her words. "You did it. You really did it. You fulfilled the promise you made to yourself — to win an award before leaving senior high."
She bit her lip to hold back a wave of emotion. It hadn't been easy. Between being overlooked, misunderstood, and sometimes even dismissed by her own parents, Celine had pushed through. Her smile widened. It wasn't just about the award — it was about everything she had become despite the odds.
Turning away from the mirror, she walked to her bed and picked up her oversized design book. The cover was thick and worn, the corners slightly bent from years of use. She sat down cross-legged and flipped through the pages slowly. Each sketch held a memory — a moment of creativity, frustration, or triumph. Her pencil strokes told stories. Her color palettes reflected moods. Then she found it: the dress — the one she envisioned for her 18th birthday. It was a high-low satin gown with a corset bodice and intricate hand-beading, designed to shimmer under the lights. Bold, feminine, and unapologetically her.
With the book in hand, she descended the stairs, the soft thuds of her slippers echoing in the quiet house. The dining room light was still on. Her parents were there, sitting close, their dinner plates cleared away. It seemed they were lost in quiet conversation.
"I think we should plan a better birthday celebration for Celine," Pauline said, her voice almost a whisper. "Loveth was right. It's never too late to make amends."
Mr. Kester sighed, rubbing his hand across his jaw. "You're right. We've missed too much already. Her birthday is next week — if we're going to do something meaningful, we need to start now."
Celine paused at the foot of the stairs, her heart tightening in surprise. She hadn't expected to hear her name — not like this. Quietly, she stepped forward.
"Mom?" she said gently.
Both parents turned, startled but relieved.
She approached and placed her thick sketchbook on the table, opening it to the page with the birthday dress. "Can I wear this to the party?"
Pauline blinked, then leaned forward, eyes widening as she flipped through the pages. "Where... where did you get this?" she asked, her voice laced with awe.
Celine hesitated. "I... I designed them," she said softly. "All of them. During my free time."
Pauline gasped slightly, her fingers lingering over the intricate lines and delicate patterns. "You mean... you created all of this? These shoes, these suits... this bag — Celine, this is... this is incredible."
"She really did all of this?" Mr. Kester asked, peering over Pauline's shoulder.
"Yes," Celine answered, standing straighter now. "This is what I do. It's what I love to do."
There was a beat of silence, the kind that seemed to stretch into eternity. Then Pauline stood up and looked at her daughter — really looked at her.
"I had no idea," she whispered. "We've been so busy with work, with everything else... we didn't see you. We didn't see this."
She stepped forward and wrapped Celine in a tight, heartfelt hug. "We are so, so sorry. We should have been more supportive. More involved. Please... give us the chance to make things right."
Tears welled up in Celine's eyes. She blinked them away quickly, but a small sniff escaped her.
Mr. Kester rose too, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "We'll be better, Celine. From now on, we'll really be here for you."
Celine swallowed hard. Her voice was thick when she finally replied. "I look forward to that."
Pauline wiped her eyes and smiled, her voice soft but full of hope. "We'll be visiting Mr. Andrew tomorrow. You should bring this design book. He knows people — he could help you become the designer you're meant to be."
Celine's heart skipped a beat. Mr. Andrew. That name stirred something deep inside her. Though she knew her secret crush — Mr. Andrew's charming, stylish son— wasn't around, just hearing the name made her heart flutter. She felt the blush rise in her cheeks and quickly composed herself.
"Let's do just that then," she said, nodding.
Pauline beamed. "Now, go get some rest. I'll have Loveth send you a snack so you don't sleep on an empty stomach."
"Okay, good night!" Celine chirped, her spirits light. She picked up her sketchbook and skipped away happily, like a little girl whose world had just been painted in brighter colors.
Mr. Kester drew his wife into a gentle embrace as they watched her disappear up the stairs. Both of them were smiling, their hearts lighter than they had been in years.
"She's going to be amazing," Pauline whispered.
"She already is," Mr. Kester replied.