Rejoice

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The sun barely kissed the horizon when Salem Fashion Designing School stirred to life. Birds chirped on the window sills, and the scent of oatmeal and toasted bread drifted from the student cafeteria. But in Room B12, Rejoice was already awake. She sat cross-legged on her bed, her sketchpad resting on her lap, eyes scanning her notes and ideas. Her fingers trembled — not from fear, but from a rising urgency.

She wasn't just designing now. She was defending herself.

A quiet knock broke her concentration. Sonia peeked in, already dressed in her checkered skirt and cardigan. "Morning," she said.

Rejoice smiled faintly. "Couldn't sleep."

"I figured." Sonia walked in and sat beside her. "I checked the sewing machine in Studio A last night. The one labeled 27? Someone definitely messed with the tension settings. They twisted the upper thread path and removed the stabilizer pin."

Rejoice's stomach flipped. "That's the one I was going to use today."

"I knew it," Sonia muttered. "It's sabotage."

They exchanged a look of understanding. No tears. No panic. Just resolve.

By 9:00 AM, Studio A was bustling with energy. Mannequins were being dressed in half-pinned garments, and the hum of sewing machines echoed like a chorus. Miss Edna paced between tables, inspecting threads, correcting posture, and issuing curt remarks.

Rejoice arrived early, and as expected, her usual machine — #27 — was gleaming under the fluorescent light. She paused, scanning the threading mechanism, then quietly switched to #14 without a word. Mrs. Happiness arrived moments later, elegant in a patterned scarf and beige dress.

"You noticed?" she asked quietly, watching Rejoice settle beside her.

Rejoice gave a subtle nod. "Sonia warned me."

"Good." Mrs. Happiness's voice was low but approving. "Some battles are best fought with silent awareness. You've just earned another gold star in maturity."

As they got to work, across the room Elizabeth stood beside her mannequin, glaring in their direction. Grace and Crystal were nearby, whispering and smirking.

"She's too calm," Crystal said.

"She was supposed to panic," Grace added, annoyed. "Maybe she figured it out."

Elizabeth crossed her arms. "We need a distraction. Something… messier."

Just then, Faith approached, carrying a box of zippers and embellishments. "You didn't hear this from me," she said, glancing around. "But I heard Miss Edna's going to do a surprise fabric swap. She wants to test how well we adapt to new textures."

Elizabeth's eyes lit up. "Perfect. Let's see how confident Rejoice is when she's handed the worst roll in the room."

Zion, meanwhile, was deep in thought at the back of the studio. Though partnered with Malik, his eyes kept drifting to Rejoice — focused, poised, and clearly excelling. He admired her confidence, her grace under pressure. And though Elizabeth hovered around him with her polished sketches and flirty compliments, he found her attention smothering.

"I don't get what you see in her," Elizabeth had whispered earlier that morning. "She's not even… impressive."

Zion had looked her square in the eyes. "You keep underestimating her. That's your first mistake."

Now, as Rejoice worked with Mrs. Happiness on drafting sleeves for their prototype, Zion noticed the way she asked questions, listened, adjusted — never seeking perfection, just growth. That, to him, was impressive.

By lunch, news of Queen's return had spread across campus. Rumors swirled in whispered fragments: political connections, bribery, pity admission. But Queen herself remained quiet, observing everyone with icy detachment. She hadn't spoken much to Sonia, and barely looked at Rejoice.

"Maybe she's embarrassed," Malik said as they sat under a palm tree eating lunch.

"Or plotting," Tilda replied. "People like her don't just come back to blend in."

"She's not the only one we should be watching," Sonia added, nodding toward Crystal and Grace across the lawn. "They're planning something new. I can feel it."

After lunch, the students returned to find large fabric rolls waiting by each workstation. Miss Edna stood in front, hands behind her back.

"As part of your evaluation," she began, "you will be using these random materials for the remainder of your challenge. Adaptability is key in design. In real life, clients change requirements. Fabrics run out. Conditions shift. You must create beauty under pressure."

One by one, she called names and handed out rolls — some shimmering and silky, others coarse and unforgiving.

Rejoice stepped forward. Her roll? A stiff, wrinkled blend of linen-polyester — rough to the touch and stubborn to shape.

Crystal chuckled. "Ouch. Good luck with that."

Rejoice inhaled. "I'll make it work."

Beside her, Mrs. Happiness's eyes glinted. "Now we'll see how far intuition takes you."

Back in the dorms that evening, a quiet knock startled Rejoice as she was arranging fabric samples. She opened the door to find Elizabeth.

"Can we talk?" she asked, unusually subdued.

Rejoice narrowed her eyes. "About what?"

"About Zion."

Rejoice blinked. "Excuse me?"

Elizabeth sighed. "Look, I know we're not friends. But I don't want us to become enemies either. I like him. I'm not ashamed of that. But I want to be honest — I think he likes you."

Rejoice stared, unsure what to say.

"I'm not here to fight," Elizabeth added. "Just… warning you. If I'm going to lose, I won't go quietly."

And with that, she left.

The next morning, Mrs. Happiness handed Rejoice a steaming cup of cocoa. "How do you feel?" she asked.

"Nervous. Motivated. Angry."

Mrs. Happiness chuckled. "Good. That's the perfect cocktail for creativity. Let's give them something to talk about."

Throughout the day, Rejoice turned her "difficult" fabric into an asymmetric wrap dress with gathered pleats, leveraging the fabric's stiffness into a bold structure. As she worked, Sonia whispered updates.

"Queen's trying to charm Miss Edna. Elizabeth is following Zion like a shadow. Grace snuck something into the teacher's lounge — I couldn't see what."

But Rejoice blocked it all out. She focused. She sewed. She created.

And when the review day finally arrived, her mannequin stood proud in the middle of the studio — dressed in a piece that looked runway-ready. Sharp, structured, with an unexpected flair of elegance.

Miss Edna circled it silently. Mrs. Happiness stood behind her.

"This," Miss Edna said after a long pause, "is bold. Not perfect. But bold. And boldness is the mother of innovation."

Elizabeth's jaw clenched. Grace looked like she wanted to rip her sketchbook in half.

And Zion? He clapped first — loud and clear.

Later that evening, Rejoice stood by the window, her phone in hand. A message from her father blinked on the screen.

"Proud of you. Keep shining."

Tears stung her eyes, but she wiped them away.

Because this wasn't just about surviving anymore.

It was about rising.

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