About Galaxy : The Worth of Million Stars

8 Coincidentally

It's been a week since I agreed to design and create clothes for Lady Note.I've made a strict promise to myself – 'just one piece and only this once.' I've drafted three distinct designs for her to choose from. They deviate entirely from my work at Kris.Tera. While I believe those initial pieces complement her well, my studio contract stipulates that all creations are copyrighted under their umbrella. Given my resignation, it seems more appropriate to craft something entirely new.
Crafting something distinct poses a challenge, but this time, I have the opportunity to gather more inspiration. I can schedule appointments with Lady Note, understanding her preferences to infuse them into my designs. However, this endeavor also unveils more about the somewhat vexing Her Highness Mom Rajawongse (M.R.) Netapsorn.
In light of this, let me share an example from our recent conversations.
One day, around noon, she took a lunch break, and we met at a different cafe than last time. I brought along the camera bag to return it, despite her initial refusal. After handing it back, I smoothly transitioned into the main topic, inquiring about her preferred and disliked styles.
"Could you share a list of your favorite things? Just 2-3 items will suffice."
Her response was surprisingly open-ended, "Whatever you recommend for me."
"'Whatever' seems quite broad."
"That's correct."
The compliance in her tone puzzled me. Closing the sketchbook filled with my self-drafted designs, I shifted to a more straightforward question for the woman in the aloha shirt.
"Do you have a favorite color?"
She paused briefly before replying, "Purple, maybe."
"Why 'maybe'?"
"Because I don't want to, but I still like it."
Was she intentionally trying to tease me? Gritting my teeth, I forced a smile and responded, "Alright, ma'am." I pressed for more information, hoping to gather details that could aid my designs. Additional measurements weren't necessary since her body proportions were already recorded in my journal.
This was my way of repaying my debts—I wanted to clear any lingering obligations. Later that day, upon returning home, I powered up my laptop to check my emails.
Alas, there was none... Not a single company I applied to has responded, and the reasons remain elusive—perhaps my limited experience compared to other candidates or some undisclosed preference. I don't know. Faced with this silence, a few days after completing a set of clothes for myself, I resolved to dedicate my time to crafting Lady Note's wardrobe. In essence, successful completion would provide another showcase project for my portfolio.
Two days post our meeting, I've devised two designs that I believe would complement Lady Note perfectly—band-collar shirts, often referred to as Chinese-style collars in Thailand. The design considers her style; my observations suggest she rarely buttons the first two buttons.

Introducing some creativity, I incorporated aloha patterns on the buttons and sleeves. To clarify, when worn formally, the sleeves resemble typical female office shirts. Yet, when folded, delightful aloha patterns emerge. Employing ocean green and purple as background colors,adorned with golden yellow flowers, adds a touch of subtlety. The buttons, each featuring distinct patterns forming a chronological story (requiring a special printing order), add an artistic flair.
The trousers are crafted with a sleek, straight design, ensuring a non-bulky fit. Cropped to showcase her well-balanced height, they accommodate the option of pairing with high-ankle sneakers.
Presently, my dilemma revolves around the shirt's color—cream or black. Each possesses unique merits, emanating different vibes. Unable to decide, I've opted to leave the choice to the wearer.
I proceed to sketch two identical designs, distinguished only by their color schemes. The straight pants, although sharing the same design, are rendered in different hues. Subsequently, I dispatch them to Lady Note via LINE, inviting her choice and any potential adjustments. Given the time, past 1 pm on a workday, her response takes until around three.
NoTe: No modifications needed. They look good.
NoTe: I like both colors.
As anticipated, my intuition proves correct.
HongYok: However, I'll only be making one. So please choose.
NoTe: Black.
HongYok: Certainly, ma'am. And regarding the fabric, you confirm that it's entirely at my discretion?
NoTe: Yes, please handle it.
Our conversation concludes, yet I find myself lingering on her profile picture—her back against the camera, gazing at a night sky adorned with dazzling stars. She exudes an air of loneliness, as though awaiting something peculiar.
Suddenly, I belatedly ponder—who captured this photo for her?
Her lover?
But what kind of person would propose to someone already committed?
Wait! Wait! Wait!
I need to move past this!
I should be strategizing the hunt for materials like fabric and a visit to the custom button shop. Initially planning for Sunday, I reconsider, realizing the inevitable crowds everywhere, including public buses. Consequently, I decide on a weekday, perhaps Thursday.
Pahurat, Thailand's Little India, serves as a comprehensive hub for dressmakers, offering an extensive array of fabrics and materials. While I can't speak for other designers or seamstresses, my visits here always captivate me, leading to hours of aimless wandering.
This time, I decide to commence with lighter purchases such as black threads and carbon papers before delving into weightier choices like selecting fabrics. That's when I contemplate the intricacies of internal patterns, seemingly inviting trouble. Having previously worked in a studio where my role focused on design, with a dedicated sewing department or outsourced factories handling the rest, transitioning to crafting individual garments feels financially burdensome, especially with the cost of single pattern prints.
As I mull over the challenges that lie ahead, I absentmindedly unroll a cream linen fabric with my fingers.
Damn it! I've really gotten myself into a bind!
Amidst my regret, I notice someone entering the same section. Given the store's spacious layout, customers can browse, choose fabrics, and then have them cut into specific lengths bythe shopkeepers, leading to a typically bustling atmosphere. However, since it's a weekday morning, and still relatively late, the crowd is thinner, and certain areas stand empty. While I don't necessarily need to make way, considering the ease with which others can navigate around, my attention is drawn to a middle-aged woman heading my way, her familiarity triggering a swift recognition in my mind. I blink and discreetly slip away.
"You..." She's the woman I coincidentally met in front of that clothing store, and she's still as stylish as ever.
The older woman halts her steps, eyeing the linen in my hand. "Huh? You again? Do you also own a tailor's shop?" After her words, she turns to me, locking eyes as if genuinely intrigued.
"Erm... Not really. It's a special order for an acquaintance. I used to be a designer under a fashion house, but I'm actually unemployed at the moment."
Her eyebrows furrow in thought before smoothing back to their original positions. She nods slowly, as if piecing together a puzzle, as if she now understands something, perhaps the reason for my presence in front of that clothing store, observing the Kris.Tera dress, and my subsequent resignation. Her discerning eyes seem capable of seeing through it all.
Despite her apparent understanding, she appears occupied. The older woman reaches for her luxury handbag, a different model from last time, and retrieves a piece of paper.
"Try submitting your resume and portfolio to this email."
I accept it reflexively. Upon closer inspection, it's a business card from a studio called Nij Greta. I've come across the name before, given my need to stay updated on the fashion industry. While it may not be as renowned as Kris.Tera, where I used to work, Nij Greta gained significant recognition after the release of its Spring/Summer collection last year. A foreign superstar choosing to wear one of their pieces garnered media attention.
Lifting my gaze, I'm about to inquire if the studio is actively seeking newcomers, as I haven't seen any job vacancies online, but she appears engrossed. She walks away, signaling the shopkeeper to assist her in another section. Not wanting to disturb her, I keep my doubts to myself.
Could she be... a designer at that studio?

Later that afternoon, I reach out to the printing shop to place an order for the custom aloha pattern for the inner part of the shirt I designed. The cost is surprisingly high since I'm only looking for a small quantity with very few meters. As is often the case with such printing, the larger the volume, the cheaper it gets, and conversely, the smaller the order, the more expensive it becomes.

Once the order is placed, I schedule an appointment to bring the fabric and the electronic file of my design to the printing shop. It seems I have ample time to draw the pattern with my stylus. Drafting and bolding the drawing lines typically take a short while, but coloring them might be time-consuming.
I fetch the business card I received yesterday, which contains the studio's contact details, including a telephone number, Facebook and Instagram accounts, and an email address. Additionally, on the reverse side, there's a graphic map illustrating the studio's location.
I open Google and type 'Nij Greta' into the search box. Within seconds, the results appear on the screen.

The first thing catching my eye is the collection that had previously stirred quite a buzz. An ad space displays a product directory, and scrolling down reveals the official website. Clicking to enter the homepage, I find it to be modern and luxurious, with designs that captivate my interest. I spend a considerable amount of time browsing and meticulously observing the details of each outfit on my laptop screen.
Surprisingly, when I click on the Brand History tab, the picture of the woman I encountered a few hours ago pops up. However, what elicits an "Oh!" from me is the revelation that...
The middle-aged woman who gave me the business card is the owner of the studio.
'Mom Rajawongse (M.R.) Nijcharee Ruthaithewin.'
A second wave of shock hits me as I finish reading her name because I distinctly recall her last name. It's the same as my one and only client's at the moment. Unable to resist my curiosity, I open another tab to delve into the royal house details. It turns out M.C. Napasdol and M.L. Jeerana have four children in total: two males and two females.
The first three are roughly the same age, while the youngest daughter is much younger than her siblings by at least a decade. In simple terms, 'Lady Nij' is Lady Note's older sister.
What kind of coincidence is this?