Episode 1: The Mannequin Suggestion

“Get a mannequin!”

“What did you say?” his mom asked, a measuring tape stretched across his waist.

“I said, get a *mannequin*!” he snapped. “Why are you using *me* like one of those display dummies just to fit the clothes you’re sewing?! I wouldn’t mind if you were making something for *me*—but *why* are you sewing women’s outfits?!”

His face flushed red with embarrassment, but his frustration poured out louder than his shame.

His mom paused, looking at him with a dead-serious expression. Then, without a word, her face broke into a calm smile.

“Oh, boy. You’re going to make me deaf,” she said lightly, as if she hadn’t heard a word he said—and simply went back to her work.

He let out a deep sigh. *Guess I’ll have to start saving up to buy Mom a mannequin…*

Then the doorbell rang.

His mom stretched her back and arms, groaning softly from being hunched over too long. “Check who’s there,” she said with a yawn.

“Ugh, okay…” he muttered. *At least I get to escape being her mannequin for a few minutes.*

He trudged to the door, still wearing the half-finished piece of clothing his mom had been pinning on him—a skirt, unmistakably a skirt. Fabric brushed against his legs awkwardly as he walked.

He pulled the door open.

Standing outside was someone tall—taller than him—and unfamiliar. A guy, maybe around his age, maybe a bit older. Sharp features, calm expression. He had never seen him before.

The guy’s eyes immediately dropped to the half-finished skirt around his waist.

He froze.

*Oh no.*

A wave of heat rushed to his face as he realized what he was wearing.

*He’s looking at it. He’s definitely looking at it. God—he must be thinking something weird! I should’ve taken this off! Why didn’t I take this off?!*

His thoughts spiraled in panic, but his body refused to move. He just stood there, blushing furiously, his mouth slightly open like he was trying to speak but forgot how words worked.

He scratched his cheek with an awkward smile. “Haha… you must have misunderstood—this isn’t what it looks like. My mom, she… she loves sewing, and, uh…”

He gestured vaguely at the skirt like it could explain itself.

The guy just stared, face unreadable—somewhere between confusion and amusement, but definitely not *convinced*.

*Oh god. His face. What is that expression? Is he judging me? Laughing inside?*

*I don’t even know anymore! Even I wouldn’t believe me if I saw myself like this!*

Inside, he was crying. *Please, just trust me. I swear I’m not—just—ughhhhh.*

He wished the earth would swallow him whole. Or at least the skirt would magically vanish.

Then, mercifully, his mom appeared behind him.

“Oh! It’s you, Mr. Hart! What brings you here?” she said, her tone suddenly bright and familiar.

*Mr. Hart?* he blinked. *Wait—does Mom know this guy?*

[ TO BE CONTINUED ]

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