The city hit Mau like a fist to the chest.
Buildings towered, slicing the sky. Traffic roared like a river. Neon signs blinked incessantly, each one screaming for attention.
And she—barefoot only hours ago, the smell of earth still clinging to her—was in the middle of it all.
"Step here!" Lira exclaimed, tugging her away from the curb as a taxi nearly flattened them both. "The city is not the forest. Cars don't yield to anyone, not even to future queens of the fashion world!"
Mau blinked, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Future queens…?"
"Just go with it," Lira said, grabbing Mau's hand. "Survival first, city glamour second. And no more mud-streaked jeans. At least until tomorrow."
They arrived at a small, rented studio in the quieter part of the city. The air smelled of paint, fabric, and ambition. Mau's eyes widened: sketches, patterns, and color swatches covered every wall.
"These…" she whispered, brushing a finger over a familiar curve on a sketch. "…they're… mine."
Lira grinned, a little mischievously. "Mine too, if we survive the subway. But yeah… these are you. Somehow the city didn't eat your genius while you were gone."
Mau studied the designs. Every line, every texture, instinctively familiar, yet foreign. Her fingers lingered over patterns inspired by forest leaves and flowers, curves she had never consciously drawn—but recognized with instinctive certainty.
She muttered, almost to herself, "I… don't remember."
"Memory is overrated," Lira said cheerfully, slinging an arm around her. "Talent… that sticks."