In the heart of a bustling factory, skilled artisans meticulously gave me life, stitching together my skin, made of fine materials, with care and precision. From bustling ports to busy warehouses, I finally found myself in the gleaming showroom, awaiting my destiny, yearning for the perfect fit, the right person who would slip me on, and embark on countless adventures, breathing life into my sole.

Soon I started to socialize with my peers, the chatty wedges, uptight boots, Grandma flats and Grandpa flip flops, the posh Oxfords family. They became my perfectly heterogeneous family. However, there was one member of our small society I couldn`t take my eyes off. It was love at first sight when I looked at the bright red stiletto. I had often heard that it was in high demand by the ladies, so I wished from the deepest layer of my sole, that the love of my life would not leave without being aware of what I felt for her.

I stared at her day and night, at peak market hours when customers rushed in and out of the shop with or without their packages. I secretly gawked at her long sleek heel from behind my potential buyer’s foot. Each time a woman picked up and tried on my crush, I craved the lady’s rejection. Oh, how gracefully she rested, like a gazelle on her window shelf, parallel to mine. I longed for our conversations every second, but fate and the shopkeeper never gave us a chance.

Days passed in this wait, and the customers slowly stopped asking for me and the red stiletto. On a regular day, as we were subtly looking at each other, I didn’t notice when a middle-aged gentleman strode into the store and decided that I was the most handsome shoe and that he wanted to buy me. It felt as if my glass shelf shattered into a million pieces and I was falling into oblivion. The day I feared had arrived.

No matter how much I tried to forget my darling after being separated from her, she still blessed my dreams. After days that felt like months, one glorious evening, there was a grand celebration in the house. It was my master’s anniversary. After long, boring conversations and fake laughter, it was time for the master and his wife to exchange presents. Master initiated the tradition and opened the pink box in his hand. My internal shriek of joy was louder than the one that came out of Madam when she saw the same red stilettos that always managed to take my breath away. Our eyes met and, as humans say, fireworks exploded around us. I do not know what the master received as his gift or what happened later in the party. All I know is fate brought my dear red stiletto and me together once again and this time, forever.