Late-night sewing triage in the studio corner: snaps chillin’ in one bowl, elastic hangin’ in another, me basically negotiating peace with a strap like it insulted my ancestors. Priya pops in with a coffee pic and checks if I’m still breathing—when I say “technically upright,” she fires back, “That’s not a medical answer, princess.” I mean, fair? Rude? Absolutely. But also exactly why I adore her. Piece isn’t flawless yet, but it’s real—and honestly, that’s enough for tonight.

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