The project hall smelled like polish, fabric starch, and nerves.
It wasn't a hall in the traditional sense; it was more of a rehearsal studio built specifically for fashion students. High ceilings with exposed beams, mirrors stretching from one end of the wall to the other, and portable runways stacked along the side filled the space. Garment racks lined neatly with half-finished creations surrounded us, while bolts of muslin and satin rested on cutting tables pushed toward the far end. Sewing machines sat in disciplined rows like obedient soldiers waiting for orders.
Today, though, none of us were touching any fabric.
Mr. Huffman insisted that preparation for the London Fashion Fest wasn't just about designs. It was about discipline, presentation, and stamina. He believed that London didn't care how talented you were if you crumbled under the lights. So here we were.
