“Get a mannequin!”

“What did you say?” his mom asked, a measuring tape stretched across his waist.

“I said, get a *mannequin*!” he snapped. “Why are you using *me* like one of those display dummies just to fit the clothes you’re sewing?! I wouldn’t mind if you were making something for *me*—but *why* are you sewing women’s outfits?!”

His face flushed red with embarrassment, but his frustration poured out louder than his shame.

His mom paused, looking at him with a dead-serious expression. Then, without a word, her face broke into a calm smile.

“Oh, boy. You’re going to make me deaf,” she said lightly, as if she hadn’t heard a word he said—and simply went back to her work.

He let out a deep sigh. *Guess I’ll have to start saving up to buy Mom a mannequin…*

Then the doorbell rang.

His mom stretched her back and arms, groaning softly from being hunched over too long. “Check who’s there,” she said with a yawn.

“Ugh, okay…” he muttered. *At least I get to escape being her mannequin for a few minutes.*

He trudged to the door, still wearing the half-finished piece of clothing his mom had been pinning on him—a skirt, unmistakably a skirt. Fabric brushed against his legs awkwardly as he walked.

He pulled the door open.

Standing outside was someone tall—taller than him—and unfamiliar. A guy, maybe around his age, maybe a bit older. Sharp features, calm expression. He had never seen him before.

The guy’s eyes immediately dropped to the half-finished skirt around his waist.

He froze.

*Oh no.*

A wave of heat rushed to his face as he realized what he was wearing.

*He’s looking at it. He’s definitely looking at it. God—he must be thinking something weird! I should’ve taken this off! Why didn’t I take this off?!*

His thoughts spiraled in panic, but his body refused to move. He just stood there, blushing furiously, his mouth slightly open like he was trying to speak but forgot how words worked.

He scratched his cheek with an awkward smile. “Haha… you must have misunderstood—this isn’t what it looks like. My mom, she… she loves sewing, and, uh…”

He gestured vaguely at the skirt like it could explain itself.

The guy just stared, face unreadable—somewhere between confusion and amusement, but definitely not *convinced*.

*Oh god. His face. What is that expression? Is he judging me? Laughing inside?*

*I don’t even know anymore! Even I wouldn’t believe me if I saw myself like this!*

Inside, he was crying. *Please, just trust me. I swear I’m not—just—ughhhhh.*

He wished the earth would swallow him whole. Or at least the skirt would magically vanish.

Then, mercifully, his mom appeared behind him.

“Oh! It’s you, Mr. Hart! What brings you here?” she said, her tone suddenly bright and familiar.

*Mr. Hart?* he blinked. *Wait—does Mom know this guy?*

[ TO BE CONTINUED ]

[ READ THE NEXT EPISODE HEHE ]

He turned slightly, looking back and forth between the stranger and his mom, still red in the face, the skirt swaying slightly with his movement. The situation somehow managed to get *more* confusing.

*Who even is this guy? Why is Mom calling him ‘Mister’? He doesn’t look that much older than me!*

AJ just stood there, his face turning a shade of red that could rival a tomato. He felt like every part of him was exposed, and it was all because of his mom's sewing obsession.

Mr. Hart gave him a polite, almost sympathetic smile, like he’d seen his fair share of awkward moments. “Nice to meet you, AJ,” he said casually, his tone friendly but neutral, as though the skirt situation was nothing out of the ordinary.

AJ managed a stiff nod, too mortified to even offer a greeting. His throat felt tight, and he wished he could just teleport out of the room. *This is beyond embarrassing. I’ll never live this down.*

His mom, still oblivious to his inner turmoil, simply continued on with the conversation like everything was normal. “So, what brings you by, Mr. Hart?” she asked, her voice light and cheerful.

Mr. Hart’s expression shifted slightly. “Actually, I was hoping to ask if you’d be able to help with a project,” he said, looking at AJ for the first time more seriously. “It’s kind of a personal thing, but I figured I’d stop by and talk to you about it.”

AJ blinked, still a bit dazed from everything happening so fast. He wasn’t sure whether to be curious or just retreat to his room and hide.

His mom, of course, didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, I’d be happy to help with anything! You know that!” she said, eager as ever.

I was just in my room the whole time while they talked… probably about business or whatever. Honestly, I wasn’t listening.

After that humiliating door scene, I escaped the moment I got the chance. I didn’t even take the skirt off right away—I just flopped onto my bed like a half-dressed ghost of embarrassment.

Now I was lying face down, scrolling aimlessly through social media with one leg awkwardly kicked up, the unfinished fabric still hanging off my waist like a reminder of my suffering.

Occasionally I could hear bits of their voices from the living room—muffled, calm, adult-ish. No yelling, so probably business. Or something boring. Either way, I didn’t care.

I was too busy double-tapping memes and trying to forget that some guy named *Mr. Hart* saw me wearing a skirt like it was a normal Tuesday.

*Oh yeah. I was thinking about buying her a mannequin.*

Still half-buried in my bed, I switched apps and started scrolling through online shops. There had to be a cheap one out there somewhere. Something that stood upright, didn’t complain, and could replace me in future skirt-related crimes.

I was halfway through reading reviews on a suspiciously affordable mannequin listing when I heard my mom’s voice float down the hallway.

“Alright, take care! Thanks for dropping by!”

That caught my attention. *Wait… she’s saying goodbye?*

*Mr… uh… what was his name again? Mr. Hair? Mr. Heart? Mr. Something. Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Is he gone now?*

I crept toward my bedroom door and slowly cracked it open, peeking out into the hallway like a raccoon checking for danger.

Only Mom stood there, humming to herself as she tidied up a few sewing tools.

*He’s gone!*

Sweet relief washed over me like I’d just been released from a hostage situation. I stepped out of the room with caution, just in case she had another outfit waiting to be tested.

She was humming.

Like, *actually* humming. My mom, who just an hour ago was stabbing pins around my waist like a medieval tailor, was now all light and cheery. There was a small smile tugging at her lips as she moved around the living room, picking up threads and fabric scraps.

*Okay… weird. She’s in a good mood. Suspiciously good. I wonder what they were talking about.*

Before I could ask, she turned to me with a knowing look.

“Why did you hide in your room?” she asked, one eyebrow raised.

I blinked. “Why? Can’t I?”

She chuckled, not even pretending to be offended. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

“To a guy I’ve never met? Who saw me in a half-made skirt? Yeah, I didn’t think a heartfelt farewell was necessary.”

She laughed again, and I narrowed my eyes. *Yep. Definitely hiding something.*

“So… what *were* you two talking about?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“Oh, he wanted me to sew his little girl a princess dress,” Mom said casually, still smiling to herself as she folded some fabric.

*Little girl?*

Wait—does that mean he’s a father?

I didn’t expect that. He looked young. Like, *my-age* young. Maybe he’s just blessed with a baby face or some kind of youthful skincare routine. Whatever.

“Is that so?” I mumbled, my eyes glued to my phone, pretending not to care.

But something about that still didn’t sit right with me.

“Wait—what? I thought you were only sewing for fun? I didn’t know you were actually turning it into a business.”

She gave me a look. “Oh, boy. You already know I’m a vlogger, and I post videos of my sewing all the time. I even go live while working on projects.”

I stared at her, stunned. She just kept going, voice proud.

“A lot of people have seen my work—Mr. Hart included. He said he liked my style and wanted something special made for his daughter.”

*Okay... so she’s a lowkey influencer now and didn’t even tell me?*

A week later, Mom’s phone pinged while we were eating breakfast. She checked it, and her brows lifted slightly. “Oh, it’s from Mr. Hart.”

I froze mid-bite.

She tapped a few times, then let out a soft sigh. “He says he’s caught up with work and can’t bring his daughter over for the final fitting.”