We Were Destined

In Chicago, high-rise business buildings surround the headquaters of Dickson Technologies owned by Donald Dickson.

With his legendary intellectual achievments and tenacious spirit that he possessed, he was able to single handedly amalgamate an empire brick by brick. But as he turned around to grab a glimpse of the beautiful scene there was an emptiness between this intriguing and abuzz city full of tall buildings and brightening lights.

But with such success comes a dead weight, buffoonery, business was cut-throat and everything came with a price.

Being a high esteemed individual, everything was accessible to Donald, but none of that was appealing to him. All he did was put on paper all he was ever passionate about and 'earned' what he disliked. While sitting around the advance decor of his office surrounded with piracy and might, he couldn't seem to recall an instance where he sat around with people and cracked a real laugh.

Shaking off the encroaching feeling of isolation, he turned his back on the window. To his right hand were the trophies that bore witness to his victories, the high-end coffee machine, while to the left, he observed his dedicated employees as they rushed around to tend to his needs. Finally decided to settle into his well-designed chair, at the back of his mind was an unsettling thought that, had it been catered, the equation could have been complete.

On the other side of town, Clara Maxwell who was all about her fashion business, a fashion label named after herself "Clara's Couture." The small little unit she rented out had an impressive vibe to it. The place had energy as there was an assortment of possibilities in her head as the walls were filled with sketches and color ideas.

Coming from rough beginnings, Clara was born with the designer's instinct of being able to speak of spaces which we most often ignore.

Having a working-class background, she always wanted a better life for herself. Her mother used to say "You can get anything you want as long as you pour your heart into it" which stuck with her as she steadily began working on a new idea. They were words that she did not forget easily, and while Draping the fabric over the mannequin, she skillfully draped fabric to marry innovation and grace into a dress.

But, there were obstacles that the dreams had to offer. Clara's sparse studio was all amenities and a hotpot of fabric disposition, yet, still was a rough time to survive through. So, she had to bear harsh working conditions, particularly not having enough sleep or going out with people, to achieve the level of perfection she was looking for. The high fashion world felt out of reach, but Clara wouldn't give up on reaching the top of that mountain. With every single stitch that she made, her visions were one step closer to reality.

As the sun began to set, lowering itself and elongating the already deep shadows, Donald's attention was drawn to the screen of his mobile phone. This was just a notification about an important charity gala that he was going to be the host and the aim of the event was to provide support for education in poor areas. Don was beginning to feel the burn for it all. To welcome his guests in the most fitting manner, his appearance had to be perfect, and the 'usual' designer was elsewhere.

The bubble of annoyance wished to explode and so he couldn't refrain himself from cursing. "Does it have to be all at once?" His fingers twisted some of his messy hair and approached his lips.

Feeling pressure at the chest where his anxiety has always been hiding, him looking at the calendar combined with multiple meetings, tasks and deadlines only exacerbated the feeling.

"Mr. Dickson?" his inner concentration was broken by a voice. It was Anne Scott, his dutiful and diligent secretary.

She had always been with him at crossroads time and again but more often than not he was mute because she spoke on his behalf.

"Anne, I need a new designer for the gala. Is it something you can work on?" Call for help! Or one could sense Donald's voice was raised without willingness to take help.

"Yes, sure sir, I have someone in mind," she suggested, her eyes lit up. "My friend Clara is an amazing designer. She has her own fashion company and I am sure she will design something great for you."

"Five days," Donald said with a frown," that is all the time we have."

"I have faith," Anne said with authority, her faith was robust.

"She is good and very hard working. I will contact her now."

Leaving his decision in the slack, decision making sounded gross to Donald.Knowing this is probably going to be a bad move. Part of him was questioning himself as he has only ever known the comfort of working with industry heavy weights, but his other side was slightly more excited by the idea of working with an unknown.He thought, Why not? So yes, just set it up, filled with excitement and anticipation and lots of apprehensions.

As Anne went out of the office, Clara came to his mind once again. He had only heard about her work through Anne, but he had never seen it. Now, he wondered if she could rise to the occasion. The pressure of the gala loomed large, but there was something refreshing about working with someone new. Maybe this unplanned collaboration would just bring that much-needed bubble of creativity into his very structured life.

Clara was also caught in the middle of her own storm. When Anne called, she almost dropped the fabric she was holding.

Designing for a billionaire CEO was beyond anything she had ever imagined. "Are you serious?" Clara exclaimed, her heart pounding. "What if I mess it up?"

"You won't," Anne replied reassuringly. "You've got this.

Just think of it as another project, and remember, this is a chance to showcase your talent." Clara took a deep breath, trying to quell the rising tide of anxiety. "Okay, I'll do it. But I have to see him first. I need to understand his vision."

"That's the spirit!" Anne exclaimed, her voice full of encouragement. "I shall book an appointment for you for tomorrow. Just be yourself and let your talent sparkle.

As Clara hung up, her emotions swirled between the thrill and the terror of it. This was the opportunity to break into the fashion elite, the stepping stone to the life she had always dreamed of. Still, the pressure weighed heavy on her too. What if she failed?

Undaunted, Clara had sat up late that evening toying with her ideas. In her mind's eye, she could see the cut, something sleek and modern, an outfit that would highlight Donald's stature but be essentially her. The hours melted away as she forgot all doubt in the fervor of work.

The next day, she woke up early and got ready, carefully putting on a simple yet elegant outfit that spoke volumes to her design sensibilities. On her way to Dickson Technologies, she was filled with both nervousness and excitement.

It was not about fashion; it was an opportunity to prove herself.

As she stepped into the polished lobby of the skyscraper, Clara was immediately struck by the contrast between her world and the corporate environment that now surrounded her. The sleek lines and high-tech decor overwhelmed her, but she pushed through the discomfort. Her heart pounding, she approached the reception desk.

"Hello, Good Morning

I have a meeting with Mr. Dickson," she said, her voice steady despite her racing heart.

The receptionist smiled and waved her toward the elevator. As the doors closed, Clara took a deep breath and mentally rehearsed her pitch. She had to make Donald realize that she was just the person for this project.

As she stepped out onto the executive floor, Anne greeted her and walked her down a long corridor lined with modern artwork. "You're going to do great," Anne whispered, giving her a reassuring smile.

When they approached the office door, Anne knocked lightly and opened it. "Mr. Dickson, I'd like to introduce you to Clara Maxwell."

Donald looked up from his desk, his expression changing from concentration to curiosity as his eyes landed on Clara. She was immediately struck by his presence-confident and commanding, yet with a hint of warmth in his gaze.

"Clara, nice to meet you," he said, rising to extend his hand.

Thank you for considering me for this project," Clara replied, forcing herself to maintain eye contact. She could sense the weight of the expectations resting on her shoulders.

"Anne speaks very highly of you," Donald said, gesturing for her to take a seat. "I need something exceptional for the gala. Can you deliver that?"

Clara nodded, gaining confidence as they spoke of the theme for the gala and his vision for the outfit. She could almost feel the passion in his eyes when he spoke of the cause they were supporting; refreshing, coming from a billionaire, indeed.

The more they talked, the more relaxed Clara became, sharing her ideas and inspirations. Donald listened intently. There was palpable chemistry between them, and Clara found herself enjoying the conversation far more than she had anticipated.

An hour later, Donald leaned back in his chair, a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips. "I think we're going in a solid direction. Let's make this happen.

Clara's heart swelled.

As she came out of the office, Clara was delighted with how the meeting had passed. She was energized; she was motivated and ready to plunge into her work: here was her chance, and she was going all out to make it her best.

As Clara walked away, Donald watched her, a mix of admiration and intrigue washing over him. There was something about her energy and passion that captivated him. He hadn't felt this alive in years, and he wondered if this project would lead to something more than just a successful outfit.

As the days passed, Clara put her heart and soul into the design. Late nights in her studio became the norm, filled with sketches, fabric swatches, and an innumerable amount of coffee cups. Each stitch was a step closer to her dreams, and the anticipation of the gala fueled her creativity.

But as the deadline loomed closer, Clara began to feel that the whole world rested on her shoulders.

What if she did not meet Donald's expectations?

The fear of failure was looming large, as if to overshadow her excitement.