While being measured, Xiao Tao asked for a deeper pocket.
Then her manager called. Follow the design, he said: clean front, nothing extra. She lowered her arms and smiled at the tailor.
“Use the drawing, then.”
Mr. Zhou recorded six sets of measurements and drew a rectangle beneath them.
His shop occupied the alley behind the café. A box of scraps stood outside. Passing for rubbish bags, Xiao Tao occasionally brought him the cheapest hot coffee. He knew nothing about beans, always wanted two sugars, and washed the paper cups afterward for thread ends.
Six aprons, Friday delivery. He took a deposit, bought cloth, and was cutting the third when he noticed the rectangle again.
From a remnant he made a sample pocket, three fingers deeper than usual, its opening hidden in the side seam. He tried his glasses case, reconsidered, then tested two pens and keys.
His wife arrived with lunch. Was the lock broken? He kept taking the keys out.
“Testing the pocket.”
“Did they order that?”
He stopped. The drawing had no pocket. The customer might not appreciate it; remaking would take time. Six aprons did not earn enough for careless generosity.
At four, Xiao Tao passed with the café's rubbish. He called her to try the sample. She tied the apron, felt the opening, and smiled.
“Receipts fit flat.”
From her trouser pocket came crumpled paper: two receipts, a note about collecting a colleague's parcel, and the door keys. The ring had pressed a red mark into her palm.
“Needs your manager's agreement.”
Her smile shortened. “He doesn't like changes.”
“Then we won't sew it yet.” He carefully detached the sample. “Take this and ask. If he says no, that's that.”
The manager came near closing. Would it bulge? Would it cost extra? At the quoted labor, his eyebrows rose.
“For one pocket?”
“Six. Open the sides, redo the stitching.”
The manager put it down. Every part of running a shop cost more; even aprons grew more expensive. Zhou did not argue. He laid the drawing beside the sample.
“Original design Friday. Pockets Saturday morning. Price here. Think it over.”
Xiao Tao waited beyond the glass. He almost waved, then lowered his hand. He could not speak for her to her employer, especially about shallow trouser pockets and hands always full.
Next noon the manager called. One first, for a two-day trial. Leave the others unchanged and on schedule.
Little money, but Zhou agreed. He reused the sample instead of cutting more cloth. Five aprons were neatly stacked at delivery; hers had a separate paper bag.
Monday she returned the bag. Could the remaining five be altered?
“Did he try it?”
“No. Couldn't find a pen. I gave him one from here.” She tapped the seam, briefly proud. “We agreed people choose, though. One colleague likes trouser pockets and doesn't want it.”
Four more were changed. The manager's transfer carefully noted: apron pocket alterations, four.
Zhou entered the money in his book. He did not erase the charge as a little favor. He had worked and should be paid; her useful request did not require owing someone a kindness.
Days later she brought coffee at the employee discount. He asked the price and paid it. While he counted change, she asked how he had remembered that one passing comment.
“Wrote it down.”
Below height, waist, and length, the rectangle remained. Beside it, one word: deep.
“Thought you were drawing a window.”
Looking at his handwriting, he laughed too.
She left with empty hands. Keys tapped twice inside the pocket, like someone knocking from within.
The coffee tasted bitter. Searching the bag, he found two sugar sachets beneath a receipt.
On the back: Two. Remembered.
Author's note: Original fiction. This Reddit discussion supplied only the broad theme of a remembered detail. Characters, dialogue, and plot were independently created, not adapted from the poster's experience.