The old sketchbook under the floorboards

Dear Delyara, I dug out my old design books from my university days tonight, the ones containing the earliest structural sketches for my contemporary art jewelry lines. Looking at my own handwriting from years ago made my throat tighten with a sudden, devastating wave of emotion; that young man had so much fierce, uncompromised certainty that he was going to reshape the luxury landscape with his one-of-one wearable artifacts. Now, at 2:40 AM, between property disputes and managing agency contracts for my buy-to-let portfolios, that dream feels like a beautiful ghost mocking me from the page. I held the worn paper against my chest, whispering a quiet promise to the boy I used to be: I haven't abandoned our name. The night shifts are long, but every single pound earned is a brick for Maison Seifi.