Marta’s Enthusiasm

The late afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows of the dormitory, casting long rectangles of golden light across the worn wooden floor. Elena sat on the edge of her bed, a mending basket in her lap, her needle moving slowly through a small tear in her apron. Outside, the sounds of Kaunas drifted up—the distant clatter of a tram, the bark of a street vendor, the laughter of children who had no idea what it meant to be a young woman training for a life already written for them.

Marta burst through the door, her cheeks flushed with excitement, her arms full of white fabric that billowed behind her like a cloud. "Elena! You must see it. It’s finally finished!"

Elena looked up, setting her needle aside. Marta crossed the room in three quick steps and dropped the bundle onto the bed between them. The fabric unfolded with a soft whisper, revealing a linen cloth embroidered with an intricate pattern of red poppies and green vines, each stitch precise and proud.