The old leather strap that remembers the dream

Dear Delyara, I was moving some old boxes in the loft today and found the leather satchel I used to carry through the streets of London during my university days. Inside, tucked between old lecture notes on marketing frameworks, was a small black sketchbook packed with hand-drawn designs for high-end, contemporary neckwear—intricate layouts incorporating precious stones like emeralds, focused on a distinct gold-and-black aesthetic. Looking at those drawings tonight made my throat tighten with a sudden, intense wave of emotion. That twenty-year-old version of me had so much raw, uncompromised fire; he looked at the luxury industry not as an impossible mountain, but as an empire he was born to establish. I held that old bag against my chest in the dark, whispering a quiet promise to the boy who drew those lines: I haven't forgotten you. The night shifts are long, and the path is steep, but the dream is still completely alive.