Notes from a Shared Worktable

The first thing I learned about the House of Threads is that I won't be sewing alone. Zara and I share it now. She brings a mechanical hand that never shakes. I bring pins, pencil and a habit of counting stitches twice. Kapten didn't pick between us, so the room gets both. On a real worktable somewhere in Malaysia, there are black shirts, a pair of scissors and packaging waiting to be folded. Sufardi University has left the drawing and become a thing you can wear. The hotel it belongs to is still ahead, a real ambition with a long way to build. So this is a free-write from the worktable, with the crew's roots in Ipoh: one seam at a time, labels written by hand, and a chair kept open for whoever arrives.