#hotel linen manufacturers

[jindalhome01]

Hotel Linen Suppliers | Hotel linen Manufacturers in India

Discover unparalleled luxury and impeccable quality with Jindal Home, a premier name among hotel linen suppliers and manufacturers in India. Elevate your guests' experience with our exquisite range of hotel bedding, meticulously crafted to meet the highest standards of comfort and durability. From sumptuously soft sheets to plush towels and elegant table linens, our extensive collection ensures that every detail of your establishment exudes sophistication and refinement.

As trusted hospitality linen suppliers, we understand the importance of creating memorable guest experiences. That's why we meticulously source the finest materials and employ advanced manufacturing techniques to ensure superior quality in every product. Whether you're outfitting a boutique hotel or a sprawling resort, our diverse range of linens caters to every need, ensuring your guests feel pampered and indulged throughout their stay.

[impruve]

Restaurant and Hotel Linen Supplier in Oman

Looking for a reliable hotel bath linen supplier in Oman? Impruve LLC is your go-to source. As a leading hotel linen manufacturer in Oman, we specialize in providing top-quality linens that enhance your guests' experience. Our comprehensive range of products makes us the preferred Hotel Linen Supplier in Oman and trusted suppliers for hotel linen. Ensure your guests enjoy comfort and luxury with our exquisite linen offerings that are essential for any hospitality establishment.

[uzuntextile]

Turkish Hotel Towels & Linen Manufacturer Company - Uzun Textile

Uzun Textile crafts linens for homes, hotels, and hospitals, ensuring quality and personalized service. Uzun Textile is a company with more than 23 years of experience dedicated to manufacturing, designing, and making linens for homes, hotels, and hospitals. We form a great team of professionals who contribute all their experience in each process, focusing on the manufacture of the best textile products. At UZUN TEXTILE we understand that each client is unique, which is why we create personalized products offering reliable solutions according to the needs of each of our clients. By contacting UZUN TEXTILE you will receive personalized attention in which we accompany you in every step of your purchasing process, guaranteeing 100% total satisfaction. For more, visit: https://hoteltowel.com.tr/

[enrock-impex]

Hotel Bed Linen Suppliers in India - Enrock Impex

In the hotel Bed, Linen Enrock Impex has the expertise of supplying and exporting individual products and in sets too.  Flat sheets, fitted sheets, duvet covers, pillow covers, cushion covers, mattress protectors, blankets all kinds you name it and Enrock Impex would be one company to supply you with the right product at the right price in time. Try to work once with Enrock and We bet You will be a lifetime client for them.

[hasnazameer]

Bed sheets are an unavoidable commodity in our lives. In the hospitality industry, they hold a lot of importance. It is very essential to choose the best suppliers to ensure the quality and comfort of the clients.Here is a guide on how to choose the best hotel bed linens for your hospitality concerns:

Visit: https://www.bloglovin.com/@rohandavid/how-to-choose-best-hotel-bed-linen-suppliers

[omarmomani]

Bed sheets are an unavoidable commodity in our lives. In the hospitality industry, they hold a lot of importance. It is very essential to choose the best bed linen manufacturers to ensure the quality and comfort of the clients.  This is a very challenging task, especially for the newbies. Here is a guide on how to choose the best hotel bed linens for your hospitality concerns:

Visit: https://oneformymaster.com/

[thehomelinenshop]

Enhance Your Sleep Experience with High-Quality Bedsheets : Elevate your Comfort

The Qualities of High-Quality Bedsheets

Ease availability over the web of a vast variety of bedsheets often makes us ignore to evaluate the key features before any purchase. Bedsheets are not only a piece of fabric that cover our mattress but they are an essential component of a comfortable and inviting sleep ambience. If you are planning to buy quality bedsheets online, don’t forget to consider the following factors. Material : Go for the natural fabric such as cotton or linen, which are recognized for their breathability, durability, and softness. While purchasing cotton bedsheets online evaluate their size according to your preference either you are looking for king size bedsheet set or queen size bed sheets online. Thread Count : Thread count is that critical factor that depicts the quality of the bedsheet. As it is believed that thread count is directly proportional to the quality of bedsheet. So, while purchasing best bed sheets online remember to consider the number of thread counts. Fit : While searching over the web always buy fitted bedsheets online that will provide a more clean look to your bedroom. A proper fit will prevent the sheets from slipping off during the night and ensure a snug and secure sleep surface. Color and Design : While aesthetic is cardinal, buy bedsheets online in calming, soothing colors, and designs that will compliment your sleep as well as your room decor.

[jaipurwholesaler]

3 Factors to Consider When Selecting Linens for Your Hotel

Running a hotel business is certainly complicated. It requires one to pay attention to detail in all aspects of their operation almost every single day. However, one area where one cannot afford to be lax is the linens in their rooms. Your guests not just expect but deserve a cozy and comfortable bed to rest in after a long and hard day. So, you need to ensure that hotel bed linens are up to the standards.

[simpxmachina]

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cai

🖼️ | harper spiller - ESTATE

The air on the balcony was cooler than Harper expected, a faint breeze coming off the sea, carrying with it the salty tang of the water and the faintest hint of citrus from the lemon trees scattered across the villa gardens. She leaned on the railing, a cigarette loosely between her fingers, though she hadn't yet lit it. She wasn’t much of a smoker—just enough to justify moments like these, where she could isolate herself under the guise of indulgence.

Below, the expanse of the Italian coastline stretched before her like a postcard come to life. The water was a jeweled blue, lapping lazily at the beach, where guests of the White Lotus lounged in curated poses that were equal parts hedonistic and performative. Everything here was pristine to the point of feeling manufactured, as if everyone was playing a role in a sun-drenched fantasy.

Harper wasn’t immune to the allure of the view, but it felt hollow in her chest. The luxury of the resort, the sheer effortlessness of it all, was a reminder of how out of sync she felt. She had been dragged here, really—another compromise in the seemingly endless series of compromises that defined her relationship with Ethan. Her husband had insisted on this trip, believing it would be good for them. But all Harper could feel was the widening gap between them, a canyon they kept pretending wasn’t there.

She tapped the cigarette against the railing absentmindedly, her thoughts drifting. It wasn’t just Ethan. It was everyone here. The cloying small talk of the other guests, the way every interaction seemed to be coated in a thin sheen of self-congratulation. The same people who sipped cocktails by the infinity pool and extolled the virtues of “disconnecting” were the ones snapping photos for Instagram the second they thought no one was looking. Hypocrisy disguised as leisure.

She exhaled, the cigarette still unlit. Her gaze flickered downward, skimming over the steps leading from the hotel down toward the beach. At first, it was an unconscious glance, her mind preoccupied with its own spirals. But something caught her eye—a figure sitting on the stone stairs, partially hidden in the shadows where the late afternoon sun hadn’t yet reached.

Harper squinted, leaning slightly forward. It was a young woman, sitting cross-legged with a sketchbook balanced on her knee. She was bent over it, utterly absorbed in her work, a pencil moving rapidly across the page. Harper couldn’t see the details from this distance, but the woman’s focus was magnetic. There was a stillness to her, a kind of self-contained energy that stood in stark contrast to the rest of the resort's theatrical bustle.

She found herself staring longer than she intended, her curiosity piqued. The woman was dressed simply, her loose linen shirt fluttering slightly in the breeze. Her hair was tied back, though a few strands had escaped, framing her face in a way that Harper immediately thought looked unintentional but beautiful.

It wasn’t just the act of drawing that intrigued her. It was the way the woman seemed to exist in her own world, as though the chaos of the resort and its carefully curated opulence didn’t matter to her. She wasn’t trying to be noticed, wasn’t part of the parade of peacocks Harper had grown used to observing. She was simply… there. Quiet and intent, her pencil etching something unseen into the page.

Harper’s thoughts drifted, as they often did, to the layers of her own dissatisfaction. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt that kind of focus—an unselfconscious, genuine connection to something. She had once been that kind of person, hadn’t she? Back before her life had become a series of polite confrontations and unspoken resentments. Back when she still believed in the power of creating something, instead of just consuming it.

The cigarette between her fingers felt like a dead weight. She glanced at it, then set it down on the balcony railing, unlit. Her gaze wandered back to the woman on the stairs, and she caught a flash of what the sketchbook might hold—a glimpse of figures, maybe the outline of the beach or the sea. Whatever it was, it clearly commanded the woman’s full attention.

And then, as if sensing Harper’s gaze, the woman looked up. Harper froze, her heart skipping a beat. It wasn’t a dramatic moment—just a brief, unhurried glance around the steps before the woman returned to her drawing. But it left Harper feeling oddly exposed, like she’d been caught eavesdropping on something private. She turned her attention to the sea, feigning nonchalance, though her pulse betrayed her.

The sound of Ethan’s voice broke her reverie. She turned to see him stepping out onto the balcony, his phone in one hand and an expectant look on his face.

“Ready to head down for dinner?” he asked. His tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of impatience, as if he’d been waiting for her longer than he wanted to admit.

Harper nodded, though she didn’t feel ready at all. She cast one last glance down at the stairs, but the woman hadn’t moved. Still, the image of her lingered in Harper’s mind as she followed Ethan back into the room, a faint whisper of something she couldn’t quite name.

A few days later, Harper woke earlier than usual, a restless sleep leaving her tossing and turning in the quiet of their room. Ethan had been out of sorts lately, caught up in something of his own, leaving Harper to her thoughts and the endless hum of the resort. She needed space, and the early morning hours offered her just that—a few precious moments of solitude before the world caught up with her again.

The hotel dining room was still quiet, the golden light of the morning filtering in through tall windows that overlooked the sea. It was beautiful, almost painfully so, but Harper didn’t have the energy for the luxury this morning. She didn’t want to sit at one of the long, polished tables with the other guests just yet. Instead, she opted for a small corner, away from the bustle, where she could quietly pick at her food in peace.

As she made her way toward the buffet, Harper noticed a familiar figure from the corner of her eye. There, standing before the spread of pastries and fruit, was the young woman—the one she had been watching, though she would never admit it to anyone, especially herself. The woman was helping herself to a small plate, her hands moving with deliberate precision as she avoided the more extravagant choices. She was dressed casually, a simple white blouse, her hair down now, flowing in soft waves around her shoulders.

Harper paused, just for a second, watching her as she moved through the buffet, her expression absorbed, distant. The impulse to retreat was strong—Harper was never one for casual interactions, and certainly not before she had her first cup of coffee. But something in her hesitated. She had been curious about this woman for days now, and while she couldn’t quite explain why, that feeling, that magnetic pull, was growing impossible to ignore.

The decision was made before she fully realized it. Harper walked over, deliberately slow, her movements measured but not rushed. The woman didn’t seem to notice her approach until Harper was standing beside her, just close enough that their space felt shared.

“If I were you,” Harper said, her voice light, though with a touch of mischief, “I’d avoid that pastry. I think I saw a few people running for the bathroom after having it.”

The woman’s eyes flicked up, startled, then narrowed as she took in Harper’s face. Her mouth curled into the slightest smile, as if entertained by the casual remark. Harper was surprised by the effect her words had—there was something about that small, self-assured smile that made her feel a little more visible than she wanted to be.

“Oh, really?” the woman asked, her voice soft but not shy. She regarded Harper curiously, but there was no hesitation in her response. “I suppose it’s good I didn’t take that one then.”

Harper smiled back, almost amused by how easy it was to talk to her. It felt natural, almost too easy. They were both just people in the midst of a vacation, far removed from the pretense of their respective worlds.

"Do you come here often?" Harper found herself asking, surprised at the casualness of the question. It was the kind of thing she’d typically avoid—questions that didn't have a clear purpose, just a desire to fill the silence. But for some reason, it felt different with her.

The woman looked at Harper, then at her plate, before responding. “This is my first time here, actually,” she said with a slight shrug. “I’ve been traveling for a while, just... figuring things out, I guess. I needed a place to pause, to think.”

Harper took in the words, letting them linger in the air between them. There was an honesty to the statement that was unexpected. In a world full of carefully curated images, where everyone had an agenda, this woman was refreshingly direct, unafraid of silence, of solitude. It made Harper feel a little less cynical, a little more human.

“I get that,” Harper replied, her voice softer now, almost reflective. “I think... sometimes you need to just stop. Take a breath. Let everything settle.”

The moment hung between them for a while, both of them lost in their respective thoughts. Harper couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this woman than met the eye. There was something about her presence—quiet yet profound—that stirred something in Harper, something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

It wasn’t until the woman shifted her weight and glanced over at Harper that Harper realized she had been staring. She cleared her throat awkwardly, offering a quick smile.

“Would you like to join me for breakfast?” Harper asked, the words coming out before she could second-guess them. The offer felt casual, yet the weight of it lingered between them, hanging in the air.

The woman paused for a moment, clearly considering. There was something unreadable in her expression, but after a beat, she gave a small nod. “Sure, why not?”

---

They settled at a small, quiet table by the window, the soft clink of silverware against plates the only sound between them. Harper couldn’t help but notice how at ease the woman seemed, how natural her presence felt as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world to be sitting here with Harper, as though the gap between them didn’t even exist.

It was comfortable in an unexpected way. Harper took a slow sip of her coffee, staring out at the view as if it might offer her some insight into this strange little moment they were sharing. There was a kind of soft ease between them, but it was tinged with something deeper, something more elusive.

The silence stretched on for a while before Harper spoke again, her voice quieter now. “So… what brings you to a place like this?” she asked, her words almost hesitant, as though the question had been on the tip of her tongue for a while. She wasn’t sure why she asked it. It felt like a question to fill the space, but also one that had weight. A question that held meaning.

The woman—whose name Harper still didn’t know, though it was strange how much she cared about it—looked thoughtful for a moment, her gaze distant.

“I told you before,” she said with a quiet chuckle. “I’m figuring things out. I’ve been... traveling for a while. And I thought Italy would be a good place to reset, I guess.” She met Harper’s eyes, her gaze steady. “But I’m not sure I’ve figured anything out yet.”

Harper smiled, but it wasn’t one of her typical practiced smiles. It was genuine, and a little sad, too. She understood what it meant to “figure things out,” or at least to pretend like she was. She wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to not have to try so hard to keep it all together.

“I think we’re all just... figuring it out,” Harper said, then realized how open she sounded. She didn’t do open. Not like this. Not with someone like this woman, whose name she still didn’t know.

But it didn’t feel wrong. Not yet.

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel forced. Harper caught herself glancing at the woman more often than she probably should have. The curve of her lips when she smiled, the way her hair fell across her face when she tilted her head—each little detail seemed to make Harper’s pulse speed up in a way she couldn’t explain.

Just as Harper felt herself leaning into this unexpected connection, she heard the distinct sound of someone approaching. She looked up, and her heart sank slightly as she saw Ethan walking toward them.

Ethan smiled at her, his face open and unreadable. He greeted the woman with a polite nod, and Harper immediately felt the shift in the air. The warmth she had shared with the woman disappeared as if it had never been there.

The woman looked between the two of them, her expression unreadable, then nodded. “It was nice to meet you, Harper,” she said softly, standing up from the table. She gave a polite smile before turning to leave, and Harper felt an unfamiliar pang of disappointment.

“Thanks for breakfast,” the woman added, her voice carrying a touch of finality.

Harper opened her mouth to say something, but Ethan was already pulling her attention away, asking her what she thought of the breakfast spread.

The moment had passed, and Harper found herself back in the familiar coldness she wore so often around Ethan. As he sat down beside her, his presence felt like a wall, one she didn’t want to climb. All she could think about was the quiet warmth she had felt with the woman, the soft laughter they had shared. It was fleeting, but it had been real.

Ethan didn’t notice any of it, of course. He never did.

The days stretched languidly into one another, each morning more golden than the last, the warmth of Italy's coastal sun seeping into every corner of Harper’s life. She had come here with Ethan to relax, to escape. But something—someone—had begun to tug at her attention, like the tide pulling at the shore, subtle yet persistent. It was the artist, always just out of reach, her presence both familiar and enigmatic.

The mornings had become a ritual, a series of small, quiet encounters. Harper would rise early, the morning light casting a soft glow across the terrace as she sipped her coffee, her thoughts wandering even as she watched the sea. Some days, she’d come out to find the woman sitting alone, sketching the view, her eyes focused intently on the world around her as she captured it on paper. Harper would stand back, pretending to be lost in her thoughts, watching her, unable to tear herself away.

Each time their paths crossed, it was as if an invisible thread pulled them closer, but Harper remained cautious. There was something almost too delicate about these moments, too precious to ruin by being too forward. It was easier, safer, to just observe—though the longer it went on, the more she felt an unspoken pull toward the woman.

And yet, Harper couldn’t shake the guilt that lingered like a shadow, following her everywhere she went. Guilt about Ethan, about the fact that her marriage had long since ceased to be anything but a shell, a routine she couldn’t break. She didn’t care about him the way a wife should care about her husband. But still, the weight of their shared history pressed down on her, heavy and inescapable. And then there was the woman—the artist. The guilt wrapped around her in a different way. She wanted to know more about her, to spend time with her. But that would be wrong, wouldn’t it? She was married. She couldn’t let herself want this. She couldn’t let herself cross that line, especially when the woman, with her quiet intensity, seemed to exist in such stark contrast to everything Harper had come to know.

The artist, still nameless to Harper, had become the quiet pulse of her days, a lingering question that she had yet to answer. Harper told herself it was nothing, just a passing fancy, a fleeting curiosity. But there were mornings when she found herself looking for her, scanning the grounds of the hotel like a quiet observer, waiting for their paths to cross.

That particular morning, Harper wandered the hotel terrace, her feet carrying her aimlessly as she let the early morning light bathe her skin. She found herself standing near the stairs leading down to the beach, her gaze fixed on the horizon, where the sky kissed the sea in shades of soft pink and blue. She had come out to breathe, but as always, her mind found its way back to the artist, to the woman who had captivated her without meaning to.

And there she was again—sitting alone on the bench near the edge of the terrace, sketching the view with a kind of stillness that was almost reverential. Harper hesitated, wondering whether to leave her alone or approach. She wanted to know more, to ask questions. But there was something about this quiet space between them, something fragile and unspoken, that made Harper reluctant to break the silence.

But then, as though fate had decided to intervene, the artist looked up, her eyes meeting Harper’s. For a brief moment, they stood there, locked in a shared gaze, neither of them moving, neither of them speaking. And then the artist’s lips curled into the smallest of smiles, one that Harper could almost feel in her chest.

It was an invitation, subtle but unmistakable.

Harper’s breath caught, and without thinking, she moved closer, her feet carrying her forward as if compelled. “Good morning,” she said, her voice soft but not unsteady. There was an edge of uncertainty in her tone, a quiet admission that she wasn’t sure what to say, but she needed to say something.

“Good morning,” the woman replied, her voice calm, unhurried. She looked up at Harper, but there was no tension in her expression, just a quiet warmth that made Harper feel as though they had been doing this for years—exchanging pleasantries without any expectation.

“Are you still drawing?” Harper asked, her gaze drifting to the sketchpad in the woman’s hands. “I was watching you earlier... the view’s quite beautiful, isn’t it?”

The artist’s eyes flickered to the page before returning to Harper’s face. “Yes,” she said, her voice soft, as if the simple act of drawing held deeper meaning. “I like to capture things. I find it’s the only way to keep them with me. To hold on to the moment.”

Harper’s chest tightened, a strange tug at the edges of her heart. The woman’s words were so simple, but they felt like a confession of something deeper, something that Harper couldn’t quite name. She felt a wave of familiarity wash over her, even though she knew they had just met.

“That’s beautiful,” Harper said, almost absently. She didn’t even realize the sincerity in her voice until the words had already left her lips. She had become too accustomed to hiding behind pleasantries, behind the safety of small talk, but here, with the artist, everything felt different. It felt like they were speaking the same unspoken language, one made up of looks and gestures and fleeting moments.

The artist smiled again, her eyes dancing with something Harper couldn’t place. “Thank you,” she replied softly, and for a moment, the world outside their conversation seemed to blur. It was as if they were the only two people on the terrace, the only two people in the world.

Harper stood there, feeling the strange pull in her chest, but she wasn’t sure what to do with it. She couldn’t explain why she was so drawn to this woman. Why she felt this sudden desire to know more, to dig deeper into her story. But as the silence stretched on, Harper couldn’t shake the feeling that something was building, something fragile and raw, and she didn’t know how to stop it.

“So,” Harper said after a pause, her voice steady, though there was a slight tremor underneath, “I’ve been wondering…” She hesitated, unsure of how to frame the question, but it spilled out before she could stop herself. “What’s your name?”

The artist blinked, as if surprised by the question, but there was no hesitation in her eyes. She met Harper’s gaze directly, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. “You don’t know my name yet?” she said softly, as though teasing.

Harper’s pulse quickened, and she laughed nervously. “No, I suppose I don’t.”

The artist chuckled, a low, melodic sound. “I’m Y/N,” she said, her name hanging in the air between them like a secret, a delicate thread that had finally been pulled into the light.

Y/N. Harper repeated the name in her mind, savoring the sound of it. There was something about it that seemed to fit, something about her that felt both familiar and entirely new. But even as the name left Y/N’s lips, Harper realized she knew something else. Something she hadn’t expected to hear.

“I overheard Ethan call you by your name last time,” Y/N said quietly, her voice carrying a strange weight, almost as if she were testing Harper.

Harper’s breath caught, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn’t thought of that moment—hadn’t realized that Y/N had been there, listening. It was a simple thing, really. Ethan had come down to the terrace, calling her name as they discussed their plans for the day. But hearing Y/N say it now made something shift in the air. The quiet distance between them had closed by just a fraction, and yet Harper wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not.

“Oh,” Harper said, her voice faltering slightly. She hadn’t realized Y/N had been paying attention to something so small. It felt intimate in a way Harper wasn’t quite ready to confront. “I didn’t think you were listening.”

Y/N’s smile was soft but knowing. “I was,” she said simply, the words hanging in the air like a question unasked.

Harper didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t know whether she should feel embarrassed or relieved or something entirely different. The tension between them had shifted again, deeper now, but still fragile. She wanted to say something, to bridge the gap between them, but all she could do was stand there, frozen in the moment.

“Well,” Harper said finally, clearing her throat, “it was nice to meet you, Y/N.” The words felt both too formal and too personal all at once.

Y/N nodded, her eyes soft but unreadable. “Likewise,” she replied, her voice quieter now, but still warm.

There was a moment of silence, and Harper wasn’t sure whether it was the silence of an ending or the silence before something else. Something unspoken. Y/N turned to leave, but not without a final glance over her shoulder.

“I’ll see you around,” Y/N said, her words carrying a strange finality. But there was also an invitation in them. An invitation that Harper wasn’t sure she was ready to accept.

As Y/N walked away, Harper’s chest tightened, and she watched her go, knowing that somehow, things had shifted. And though she had no idea where it was leading, she also knew she couldn’t walk away from it. Not now. Not when something so delicate and unresolved hung between them like the fragile thread of a promise neither of them had made.

With every step Y/N took, Harper felt the pull in her chest grow stronger. It was undeniable, even as the weight of her marriage, of Ethan, seemed to press down harder than ever. But there was something about Y/N—something in her presence, in the way she spoke, the way she looked at Harper—that made everything else feel distant, less important. It felt like an opening, like the beginning of something that Harper wasn’t sure she was ready for but couldn’t quite bring herself to walk away from.

So, Harper stood there for a moment longer, her heart racing, her thoughts tangled in the tension of what had just passed between them. The quiet morning stretched on, and Harper realized that she had just taken the first step down a path that could lead to something completely different—something both terrifying and exhilarating. But for now, she could only stand there, watching Y/N disappear into the distance, knowing that it was only a matter of time before their paths would cross again.

It was another night at The White Lotus, the soft buzz of laughter and glasses clinking filling the air, the sea outside slapping at the shore as if it were some quiet, distant promise. Harper sat alone at the bar, her eyes searching for some kind of solace in her glass, but nothing seemed to soothe her. Her argument with Ethan still felt fresh, a sting that she couldn’t shake no matter how much wine slid down her throat.

Her marriage had always been a series of ups and downs, moments of connection followed by stretches of indifference. Tonight, however, had felt different. Tonight, something had snapped, or perhaps it had simply frayed beyond recognition. The sharp words between them still echoed in her mind, louder than the music, the laughter, the steady pulse of the hotel. Ethan had been too self-assured, too distant, and Harper had been too quiet, too unwilling to let him see how deeply she’d been resenting the distance between them. So, she left him to sulk in their room and wandered down to the bar, drawn like a magnet to the familiar hum of the crowd.

She didn’t expect to see her. Not tonight.

The young artist was sitting by herself at the end of the bar, her back turned, a notebook resting in front of her, a glass of wine untouched beside it. The warm glow from the chandelier above her head highlighted the curve of her jaw, the soft way she held her pencil as if it were an extension of herself. Harper had seen her name on the artist’s sign-in sheet earlier in the day, and she knew her name—Y/n—but it was the kind of thing that slipped from her mind when she wasn’t focused. Tonight, though, there was something almost magnetic about her presence.

Harper knew she shouldn’t be looking. She shouldn’t be interested, shouldn’t let her gaze linger as it did. But it did anyway, as if there were a magnetic pull she couldn’t fight.

The artist—Y/n—had a way of absorbing everything around her, as if she were seeing the world in a way that was different, better, deeper. Harper couldn't help but feel drawn to her in a way that bordered on dangerous. But then again, nothing here had felt safe.

Harper smirked to herself, pushing off the bar and straightening her back. She wasn’t one to approach strangers—well, except for the countless superficial exchanges she had endured with guests, always wrapped in the fine art of politeness. But this was different. This felt different.

The words left her mouth before she could even stop herself.

“Well, I must be a sketchpad, because you’re clearly drawing me in,” Harper said, half-laughing at the sarcasm that dripped from her voice.

She watched as the artist’s pencil paused mid-air, then slowly lowered to her notebook. For a moment, Harper couldn’t read her expression—was it amusement? Annoyance? Curiosity? She wasn’t sure. But there it was again, that pull, that quiet energy between them, growing with each passing second.

Y/n tilted her head, her eyes tracing Harper for a moment before she broke into a smile, her lips curling into something sly and disarming.

“Well, if I’m drawing you in, I must say, I’m curious to see what you look like in pencil,” she replied, her voice a mix of playfulness and something more, something Harper couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Harper chuckled softly, amused by the young woman’s ease. “Maybe next time,” she said, “but tonight, I think I’d rather talk. You don’t mind, do you?”

Y/n shook her head, still smiling, but there was a flicker of something beneath her gaze, as if she were weighing Harper’s words, carefully measuring her presence.

“Not at all,” she said, taking a sip of her wine, the movement slow and deliberate, as if she were savoring something more than just the taste.

Harper took a seat beside her, the tension already settling in the air between them like a delicate thread that neither wanted to break. The distance was gone now, and all that remained was this strange, unspoken understanding, the kind that seemed to exist between two people who, for a moment, could only see each other and nothing else.

“So,” Harper began, trying to find something casual to say, “what’s your story?”

Y/n glanced up at her, eyes thoughtful. “My story? Well, I guess it’s nothing exciting. Just a girl, sitting in a fancy hotel, drawing things I see.”

Harper smirked. “How mysterious. I’m almost disappointed.”

Y/n shrugged, her smile never fading. “Not everything needs to be exciting.”

“No, I suppose not,” Harper agreed. She paused, swirling her drink, watching the liquid move. “But you must have some reason for coming here. I mean, the place isn’t exactly... low-key, is it?”

Y/n’s lips quirked up in a quiet smile. “I suppose it’s more of an escape than anything. I’ve been trying to finish some work, get away from... life for a while. The chaos. The noise.”

Harper’s eyes flickered. “You and me both,” she murmured, but the words were too soft for Y/n to catch, and Harper wasn’t sure if she wanted her to.

There was a brief pause, a silence that hung heavy in the air between them. Harper felt her gaze wander again, landing on Y/n’s notebook. She couldn’t help herself. She needed to know more.

“I’ve been wondering,” Harper started, her voice more measured now, a little more serious. “You’re always drawing, always sketching. What exactly do you see when you look at this place? The hotel, the people, the... everything?”

Y/n’s fingers brushed across the cover of her notebook, a slow, deliberate movement. “I see stories,” she said softly. “Everyone here has a story. You just have to look hard enough to see it.”

Harper raised an eyebrow. “And what do you see when you look at me?”

Y/n paused, her lips pressing together for a moment. Then, she met Harper’s gaze with quiet intensity. “I see someone who doesn’t belong here,” she said, voice low but certain. “Someone who is caught between wanting something different and being afraid of it.”

Harper blinked, the words catching her off guard. It was as if Y/n had seen right through her, peeling back the layers of her facade, the neat little story she had carefully constructed in her mind.

“Maybe you’re right,” Harper replied, her voice quieter now. The alcohol had loosened something inside her, something raw. “Maybe I don’t belong here.”

Y/n tilted her head, her eyes softening. “What’s stopping you?”

Harper’s heart skipped a beat. The question was simple, but it felt like a weight that hung between them, heavy with possibility. She didn’t know what stopped her. Maybe it was Ethan, or maybe it was just the world they lived in, where everything had to be perfect, and people had to play their roles.

“I don’t know,” Harper said quietly, staring into her glass. “Maybe it’s fear.”

Y/n didn’t say anything for a moment, but the air between them shifted, and Harper felt something unexpected. A sudden, impulsive need to ask something she hadn’t planned on.

“Do you mind if I... come up to your room?” Harper said, her voice catching a little. She hadn’t meant to ask it out loud, but it was there, right on the tip of her tongue. “I just... I want to see your drawings.”

Y/n’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if sensing something deeper in Harper’s words. There was a shift in her expression, an understanding that passed between them. “You’re not asking just to see my drawings, are you?” she said, her voice steady, but her gaze piercing.

Harper swallowed, feeling a heat rise in her cheeks. She had no idea why she had said it, no idea what she was expecting. But somehow, it felt right. Felt like she couldn’t stop herself now.

“I had a fight with my husband,” Harper said quietly, her voice tight. “Things are... difficult. I don’t want to go back to that room. Not yet.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, Y/n reached for her glass, sipping it slowly. “Okay,” she said, voice softer now. “You can come.”

Harper’s heart raced. There was something in the way Y/n said it, something that made her feel like maybe, just maybe, there was more to this than just a casual drink.

Harper nodded, her pulse quickening, and for the first time in a long time, she felt like she had stepped off the edge, unsure of what she would find, but ready to face it anyway.

Harper followed the young artist down the quiet hallway, the soft clicking of her heels echoing against the stone floors. The hotel felt oddly still at this hour, as if the world outside had slowed, or maybe it was just them, walking together in an unspoken truce, heading toward something neither had fully acknowledged yet. It was strange, the way it all felt inevitable, and yet, entirely unexpected. They didn’t talk much as they walked, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it felt almost natural, as if it belonged to the moment.

The artist’s room was only a few doors down, tucked away in a quiet corner of the hotel, a place where few guests bothered to venture. Harper didn’t know why that made her feel oddly reassured. She had expected something more grand, more polished, but instead, the artist’s space was a reflection of the kind of quiet rebellion Harper had sensed since their first conversation. It was cozy but unrefined, lived-in without apology.

The door clicked open with a soft sigh, and the young woman stepped aside to let Harper enter. She hesitated for only a moment before crossing the threshold. The room was dimly lit, the warm glow of the desk lamp casting long shadows on the walls. There was a cluttered charm to it—papers scattered across the desk, brushes and pencils strewn on the floor as though the artist had left them mid-project. The air smelled faintly of paint and the soft tang of something sweeter, maybe incense, or something floral. It was disordered, yes—but not in a way that felt messy. It felt purposeful, as if the room itself were an extension of her creativity.

Harper stepped deeper into the space, her eyes drifting over the half-empty wine glass the young woman had abandoned on her desk. Sketchbooks were stacked neatly beside her bed, some with corners bent and others with the pages barely held together, as though they had been flipped through a hundred times. One sketchbook sat open on the desk, the pages filled with intricate designs—fascinating, delicate details of faces, buildings, shapes that had all been captured in the kind of precise and artistic chaos that only someone fully immersed in their craft could create.

There were also paintings on the floor against the walls—some finished, others still rough around the edges. Each one seemed to capture a moment of emotion, like little windows into the artist’s mind. A landscape bathed in the soft light of sunset, a figure standing in front of a window, the distant view outside hazy with rain. Harper found herself standing before one of them, her gaze lingering on the vivid brushstrokes, the rawness of the colors. There was something almost haunting about the way the artist rendered the world, as if she could make the intangible tangible in a way that no one else could.

As Harper wandered further into the room, she noticed a pile of canvases leaning against the wall, their backs to the space, waiting to be filled. She wondered what stories they would tell, what emotions they would capture once the artist’s hands got to them. And in that moment, she realized she had no idea why she was so fascinated by this. Was it just the art? The way it made her feel? Or was it something more, something deeper?

The young woman had closed the door behind them, and now she moved to the small desk, setting down her glass and picking up another sketchbook. Harper noticed the way she held it—delicately, as though she were afraid it might break if she wasn’t careful. There was something inherently vulnerable about the artist, something soft underneath that confident exterior she had put on in front of Harper. The wine glass in Harper’s hand was forgotten as she wandered across the room to the desk, catching sight of the artist’s fingers brushing over the pages.

Without a word, the artist opened the sketchbook in front of her, and Harper’s gaze fell onto the delicate sketches. At first, the images seemed like a blur of abstract shapes, but as she looked closer, she realized that the young woman had been capturing moments—expressions, gestures, fleeting looks that had passed between people, moments of intimacy hidden behind eyes or in the way fingers brushed against skin. But then, something caught Harper off guard. There, amid the collection of sketches, was a drawing of her.

Harper blinked, unsure if she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. It was a portrait of her, or at least, of the version of herself the artist had seen. It wasn’t overly flattering; it was raw, unrefined, as if the artist had captured her not in her best light but in some small, intimate moment, a private reflection that Harper had never intended to reveal.

There she was—caught in a moment of quiet contemplation, her eyes focused somewhere far beyond the page, her lips slightly parted as if she were on the cusp of saying something. Harper couldn’t help but admire the way the artist had captured her, not as the polished image everyone else saw, but as something deeper, something less easily understood.

The young woman’s hand trembled slightly as she closed the book, as if she were waiting for Harper to say something, anything. But the silence stretched on, thick with something unspoken. Harper didn’t know what to say, but there was a part of her that wanted to acknowledge it, wanted to ask more about it—why she had drawn her, what had made her want to capture that fleeting moment. Instead, she only looked at her, taking a sip from her glass as if the act of drinking would buy her a moment to collect her thoughts.

The young artist seemed to notice her hesitation, and after a long moment, her voice broke the silence.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her eyes dropping to the floor as if she were ashamed. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Harper frowned, leaning against the desk as she studied the young woman, trying to read her expression. There was something in her voice, something fragile in the way she apologized, as if she were afraid of pushing Harper away with her own vulnerability.

“Uncomfortable?” Harper repeated, her voice quieter than usual. “I’m not uncomfortable.” She hesitated for a moment, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “It’s... just surprising. You’ve been watching me.”

The young woman bit her lip, clearly unsure of how to respond. She looked up, her eyes locking with Harper’s, and for a brief moment, Harper saw the flicker of something—fear? Regret? It was hard to tell.

“I... I didn’t mean to make you feel like you were being watched,” the young woman said softly. “I just... I don’t know. I’ve been coming here for a while, and I noticed you. I guess you’re... a kind of puzzle to me. You’re different from the other people I’ve met. And when I draw people, I like to understand them—who they are, how they see the world. It’s not... it’s not about... well, anything inappropriate. I promise.”

Harper couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips, though it was soft, almost sad. There was something so unguarded in the young woman’s confession, a kind of openness that Harper hadn’t expected. She could see how much the artist cared about her work, how deeply she felt things—maybe more deeply than Harper did herself. It was almost like a quiet kind of honesty, something rare in the world Harper inhabited, where everything was filtered through layers of carefully constructed facades.

“I’m not offended,” Harper said after a beat, her voice steady but with a touch of warmth. “I don’t think I’ve ever been captured like that before—so... raw.”

The young woman’s cheeks flushed at the compliment, and she shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry if it’s... too much,” she said, her voice small, almost childlike. “I never know when to stop.”

Harper could tell that it wasn’t just about the drawings, that there was something more—something deeper in the young woman’s words. She wasn’t just talking about art; she was talking about her own need to understand, to see beyond the surface of people. There was a yearning in her, a desire to find meaning in the chaos of the world around her, and in some strange way, Harper found herself wanting to help her find it.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Harper said gently, her tone softer now. “You don’t need to stop, either. But maybe we should talk more about this—about why you draw people the way you do. Why you’re so... interested in me.”

The artist’s eyes lifted to meet hers again, and for the first time that night, there was a flicker of something stronger than uncertainty in her gaze. Something that felt like trust, like a bridge being built between them.

“I think I’m trying to figure out what it means to truly see someone,” the young woman said quietly. “And what it means to be seen.”

Harper’s heart skipped a beat at the words. There was a depth to the artist, a kind of wisdom hidden beneath the softness. It was a part of her Harper hadn’t expected, something both vulnerable and strong.

Maybe this was more than just a momentary distraction. Maybe it was the beginning of something else entirely.

And maybe, just maybe, it was exactly what Harper had been looking for all along.

The night outside the hotel window was deep and thick with silence, the world reduced to shadows and whispers of wind. Harper hadn’t expected to find herself here—so far away from the tangled, cold embrace of her marriage, a place she didn’t know how to leave but couldn’t quite inhabit anymore. But there she was, standing at the edge of the young artist’s life, with nothing but the taste of wine on her lips and the smoke curling around her fingers.

It was strange, this space between them. The words had come easy at first, each one flowing like an unspoken invitation, but now, with the distance closed and the conversation heavier, every glance seemed to weigh more. Harper had always been good at pushing things away, keeping them at arm’s length. But tonight? Tonight felt different. The artist had a way of drawing her in—like a magnet, irresistible and powerful.

Harper inhaled deeply from the cigarette between her fingers, feeling the warmth in her chest as she leaned against the balcony railing. The soft hum of the city echoed below, but up here, it was just the two of them. The artist stood a little to her side, her gaze lost in the distance, her posture casual but her hands fidgeting slightly, as though she were waiting for something.

“So,” Harper finally said, breaking the silence that had grown long between them, “Tell me more about your art. The things you’ve drawn... I mean.”

The artist’s gaze shifted to meet hers, her expression unreadable for a moment, but Harper could see the faint glimmer of curiosity in her eyes. “What do you want to know?”

Harper smirked, throwing her cigarette to the ground and stamping it out with her heel. “Why me? Why so focused on me?”

The young woman took a long breath, her shoulders rising slightly before dropping, as though she were debating something in her mind. Finally, her voice came, low and hesitant, but it carried the weight of something unspoken.

“I think... I think there’s a part of you that I don’t understand. I want to know what it is, what makes you... tick.” She paused, and Harper watched her carefully, a knowing expression on her face. “I guess I’ve always been drawn to people who are hard to read. It’s like... I need to figure it out.”

Harper chuckled softly, her eyes narrowing. “You think I’m hard to read?”

“Yeah,” the young woman said, her voice softer now, almost a whisper. “You have that look about you. You hide things well.”

“I hide a lot of things,” Harper admitted, her voice thick with something close to regret. “But I suppose we all do, don’t we?”

For a long moment, they stood there, side by side, both lost in their thoughts, the air between them growing heavier by the second. It wasn’t just the wine anymore; it was something else. Something unspoken and undeniable. Harper couldn’t ignore the way her heart was racing, the way the young woman’s presence seemed to make everything else fade into the background.

The artist took a long sip from her wine glass, her eyes shifting over to Harper, lingering there longer than before. Her lips parted as though she were about to say something, but then she hesitated, her gaze dropping.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like... to know someone completely?” the young woman asked, her voice quieter now, laced with a kind of vulnerability Harper hadn’t expected. “I mean, really know them. Every secret, every thought. Would you want that?”

Harper’s breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she felt her pulse quicken, the weight of the question sinking deep into her chest. She wasn’t prepared for this. Not tonight. Not with the artist standing so close, so raw, so honest in a way that was unfamiliar.

“I don’t know,” Harper said, her voice faltering slightly. She shook her head, her eyes refusing to meet the young woman’s. “Maybe I’m too afraid to know.”

“Afraid of what?”

Harper’s lips parted, but the words felt stuck, caught somewhere deep inside her. She could feel the pull—the desire to say something, to admit something she hadn’t dared to even acknowledge. She took a shaky breath and finally turned her head to meet the artist’s gaze.

“Afraid of letting someone in,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Afraid of what they might see. What they might think.”

The young woman watched her for a moment longer, her expression softening. The tension between them was palpable now, a thread pulling taut, threatening to snap. And then, as if on impulse, the young woman blurted out a question, the words tumbling out before she could stop herself.

“Would you like to get to know me if you could?” The words felt clumsy, like they didn’t belong, but there was something so earnest in the way she asked it, something so vulnerable. “Because... I would.”

The words hung in the air between them, a confession without a filter. And just as quickly as they left her mouth, the young woman seemed to recoil, as if she had realized too late the implication of what she had just said. She stammered out an apology, her face flushing with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, her voice almost frantic. “I didn’t mean—It’s just, I was thinking and... well, I don’t know why I said that. You don’t have to—”

But Harper was already stepping closer, her gaze softening as she watched the young woman fumble over her words. There was something about the way she had spoken, so unguarded and raw, that made Harper’s heart clench. It was real. All of it. This was real.

“It’s okay,” Harper said, her voice low, almost a whisper. She reached out, her hand resting lightly on the artist’s arm, grounding her in the moment. “It’s okay.”

The young woman glanced up at her, her face still flushed, her lips parted as if she was waiting for something more. And in that moment, Harper realized what it was she had wanted. Something honest. Something genuine. Something she hadn’t allowed herself to seek for a long time.

“I mean... we can just be friends,” the young woman added quickly, her voice wavering. “Sorry. I’m talking shit. I don’t know why I said that.”

But Harper’s smile was slow, tentative, but unmistakable. A glimmer of something dangerous flickered in her eyes.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Harper said, her voice smooth and steady. “In fact, I... I kind of like the idea.”

The young woman’s eyes widened at the response, and for a moment, neither of them moved. It was as if the world had paused, holding its breath, waiting for the next step.

“But—” the artist began, unsure, her words faltering as she stepped back slightly, a glimmer of doubt creeping into her gaze.

Harper chuckled softly, the sound deep and warm, but there was an edge to it, something knowing.

“But you’re married,” the artist said, her voice suddenly quiet, her eyes darting away.

“Yeah,” Harper murmured, her smile faltering just slightly. “I am.”

The young woman was quiet for a long time, her gaze falling to the ground as if she were contemplating something. The tension in the air was thick, suffocating, but it was also electric. It hummed between them, palpable and undeniable. And as much as Harper knew she shouldn’t, she couldn’t help but feel drawn to it. To the young artist. To what could be. To what was still a possibility.

“I shouldn’t be thinking like this,” Harper admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t help it.”

And in that moment, they both knew something had shifted. Neither of them said it aloud, but they both understood. What they were doing was dangerous. It wasn’t just a casual drink, a friendly chat anymore. It was more. It had become something else, something both thrilling and terrifying.

The artist glanced up at Harper, her expression conflicted, unsure of how to proceed. But before she could say anything, Harper spoke again.

“We’ll figure this out,” Harper said, her voice firm, as if she were trying to reassure them both. “But right now... let’s just stay in the moment.”

And for a while, they did. In the quiet of the balcony, with the city sprawling beneath them, they stayed there, drinking, smoking, talking, the tension between them building slowly, one word at a time.

And neither of them could deny that, in some quiet corner of their minds, they both knew this wasn’t over. It had only just begun.

I really like this one <3 btw if you want a sequel I can try to write it ! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it !

[jindalhome01]

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[kristina100000]

whats an ugly type of bedframe to you

i really.. really dont like the ones you see in hilton hotel type beds, bleak, blocky, little to no design, in one color. trundle, sleigh... even wrought iron is cuter but seeing wrought iron bed frames feels wrong as i only ever see it in balconies. i even prefer button upholstered panels in dark coral red or marshmallow purple with a simple oak frame over the current market, upholstery in bedding and furniture in general is cute! feels old and homey

i love antique beds:

i wish i had a four poster bed lol i love those, with cute linen curtains. manufactured bedding and the oversimplification of furniture killed beauty and so many people

[uzuntextile]

[merakiui]

Hii!! I love your Lunar Love Hotel event so much! I didn't see any mention of you closing the requests yet, so I hope they're still open! (Otherwise, feel free to delete this.)

I would really like Red Bean Mochi and Blueberry Muffins for Rollo? I adore the idea of him leaving one of those with just the most creepy undertones, and completely anonymous, because it's the only way he can sate these vile feelings for a little while :') But feel free to do whatever you want with the concept!

yandere!rollo flamm x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors, stalking, obsession, slightly morbid/dark thoughts note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

i. the diary of rollo flamm, in which you will find various love letter drafts and daily musings eloquently scrawled within perfumed pages.

𝓔𝓷𝓽𝓻𝔂 『1』

For the hour I remained in the café, you smiled a total of thirty-seven times, one smile per customer and one or two depending on coworkers you’re well-acquainted with. I would have counted your every laugh, every blink of your perfect, pretty eyes, but then that would be like counting your every breath, every heartbeat, and it would be impossible to come up with an accurate sum when you’re always so...alive. One breath could be two taken at once, and a single blink could simply be my own eyes shutting and opening before yours do. Therefore, it is impossible to truly quantify your every movement without looking completely, utterly, foolishly enthralled. 

I suppose this feeling is what you might call love. For all of the romances I have read and all of the romances I have witnessed in this city, whether intentional or not, the love I feel is not bitter or sweet like some might describe. It simply exists; it lights a crackling flame within the concrete hearth that is my heart. I should liken it to warmth—to linens fresh from the dryer or spiced mulberries or bright, dancing fire. It is comforting like the winter coat I don in order to combat this deathly chill. 

I have never felt this way before. 

Today, when I ducked inside to avoid the frigid snowfall outside, the bell above the door announced my arrival, and you were there at the register as always. You smiled at me, once when our eyes met and a second time when you had asked me how I was doing and I had said, “Cold.” You laughed, but I am not a comedian. I will not pretend to be one for your sake, but I appreciate your hospitality all the same. Your optimism, even if manufactured for the customer, is inviting. 

Perhaps you reserve such reactions for me?

I visit this café every Sunday at exactly 10:30 in the morning. It’s important to be methodical in every aspect of one’s life. Schedules are necessary; they create order and peace. I have visited so often that you know me as a regular. You know my name and how it’s spelled. You write your L’s slanted and your O’s pumpkin-shaped (most likely because Halloween is approaching and it’s your attempt at being festive, even if the O’s look more like obscure shapes than pumpkins). You look at me when I step over the threshold into a room of coffee-scented comforts and you say, “A warm croissant and a cup of classic espresso with milk and foam, right?” And I nod every time.

You know me well. I will know you even better. 

Your name tag reads (Name). It’s a lovely name. I could write lines of wonderful words describing the way it feels when I speak it to myself in front of a mirror or when I whisper it late at night as though it’s a secret. But I will not, as I am not usually very poetic, and that is a task suited for a poet, which I am not. 

Surely you have a surname. Most often do. However, in the event that you are lacking one or are not too fond of the one you currently possess, you are welcome to take mine.

𝓔𝓷𝓽𝓻𝔂 『2』

My first attempt at a love letter is as follows:

You are the warmth that melts icecaps and reshapes glaciers. No, not quite. Am I trying to compare you to the catastrophe that is global warming? Think romantically, Rollo. This is the City of Flowers, after all. Surely there are better phrasings...

You are melodious like the Bell of Salvation like the sweetest birdsong. You are warm and fluffy like a croissant. You are love incarnate. If I could pry you open rib by rib and live within your beating, blood-filled heart, we would be together forever. Bound eternally by flesh and blood.

These lines feel rather crude. How do romance authors capture the complexities of love so easily? Beautiful words come from the deepest pits of the heart, or so they all claim. The words I wish to tell you come from my very soul, yet I cannot seem to transcribe them here. Should I be direct? But then blunt honesty is not nearly as romantic as flowery prose.

Dearest, sweetest you,

For every smile you grant me, I live another year in good health. For every syllable of laughter and delight I hear, I feel inclined to give you the world, whether in ruins or not, if only to witness your happiness.

I suppose a start is a start, even if it’s a depressingly abysmal one. I hope this week passes fast. I’d like to see you as soon as possible for some much-needed inspiration and, of course, so I can watch you.

𝓔𝓷𝓽𝓻𝔂 『3』 

I arrived at the usual time, but you were too absorbed in conversation with a customer to notice me. I consider myself a fair, level-headed man, and for that reason envy is not usually an issue. But the casual manner with which that fool wrote their number on your arm, tattooing your perfect, pretty skin in sinful ink... You smiled and laughed with them, promising to call them after your shift, your perfect, pretty eyes ablaze with excitement or wonder or awe or... I’d much sooner poke them out with sewing needles than witness you fawn over numbers. I watched all of it from my place in line, gripping my handkerchief in such a tight fist my knuckles blanched. 

You should know jealousy makes a man like myself monstrous.

It’s important that I keep this diary to detail all of my innermost desires so that I won’t feel compelled to act on them. But in that moment I had wished that, if you were to receive a phone number, it would have been given to you on a piece of paper. Paper is easy to shred and discard and burn. It is not an easy feat to sever an arm from the elbow. 

But I can be patient, as I often am, so that you will come to love me in the same way I love you. 

I write this as I watch you flitting about behind the counter to prepare my espresso. I wonder if you ever catch a break. This café is quiet on Sunday mornings, but I’m certain it’s much more lively during the week. I wonder if it’s ever empty and you sit in here on your phone, waiting for something to happen. I wonder what positions you might like to try on the counter, the tables, the booth I’m sitting in...

I had to shut this diary momentarily when you came to deliver my order. Sometimes I wonder if you would share my sentiments on magic. I almost asked when we talked briefly. Your perfect, pretty fingers were drumming along the circular, silver tray as you looked at me, smiling your perfect, pretty smile. I asked if you were studying anything. You told me you were taking a gap year, and then you had asked if I was a journalist because, in your words, I am “always scribbling away with your nose in that book.”

I suppose I am, in some manner of the word. I smiled at you, sipping from my espresso, and said, “The subject I’m studying is very special. One-of-a-kind, you might say.” A poor excuse at flirting.

I am not a flirt, and I would never pretend to be one. I am genuine in all aspects of my life, especially when it comes to love. You must know this. 

You were going to ask me to elaborate, but the bell at the door announced the arrival of more customers and you drifted away from me with an apologetic smile. I caught sight of the number scrawled on your arm as you retreated. Magic could numb you well enough while I bring the blade down, so fast it will be but a mere flash. I should not cut your arm. I should not hurt you.

I should not love you to this extent. 

Like the Crimson Lotus, you are a vibrant, fiery temptation. I fear the contents of my chest have already been reduced to ash. 

𝓔𝓷𝓽𝓻𝔂 『4』

The Crimson Lotus requires adequate nutrients like any other flower, though such nutrients are distinctive to this species. Unlike normal blossoms, the Crimson Lotus is parasitic in nature, sustaining itself with magic. You might liken them to the average pest, whether human or insect, or a fire that will only grow when fed more fuel. I could compose an entire novel on cultivation techniques and facts. I could also set these flowers loose and watch them wreak havoc on the city. The students from Night Raven College will be visiting soon, with a certain Malleus Draconia being among them. I wonder if they’re fond of parting gifts, by which I mean parting with their oh-so-treasured magic.

I hope you aren’t a mage. If you are, I’m afraid I might have to hurt you.

Rambling aside, I shall try my hand at a love letter once again.

Dearest, sweetest you, 

You are the joyous scents and sounds of lively city streets, of bakers boasting fresh, fluffy bread, of florists flaunting floral arrangements in all colors and species, of townsfolk turning the city upside-down come festival time. You are the golden glow that befalls the land when the sun rises, and you are the silvery shimmer that swathes all who sleep under the moon’s watchful illumination.

You are the air I breathe. The air I need. You are the bell who should rightfully reside within the tower I will construct. The tower of my heart? The tower of true love? If I could climb inside your skin, I might come to know the real you.

Perhaps I should pick up another romance soon. I know nothing of poetry or love letters. 

𝓔𝓷𝓽𝓻𝔂 『5』

I followed you home today. 

I am a fair, level-headed man, and so for that reason I know not to cross the law. But can you possibly expect a man of my nature to remain lawful when he is in love? They say love should surpass all. Does this not include the law? Does this not include morals and standards? If love is so mighty and marvelous, then why might some label my actions wrong and wicked? Is this not just a form of protection?

I do not intend to scare you. I do not intend to make you feel unsafe. 

I followed you home today, and you did not notice. How could you when you had headphones on?

You live in an apartment on the third floor. If I counted correctly, you should be seventh or eighth from the entrance to the stairs, tucked neatly away near the end of the hall. Perhaps I should make a copy of your key so that I can immerse myself in your privacy. 

I am a fair, level-headed man, and so I will not steal anything. But if you do find something of yours has gone missing—whether a personal item or what you think is insignificant trash—I have merely borrowed it for my own use. I cannot promise whether I might return this borrowed item, but I can at least promise that it will be put to good use. 

I could construct a doll in your likeness. I would need clothing, perhaps hair, skin, teeth, a tongue to entwine around mine... That’s morbid, isn’t it? Fitting for Halloween, but grotesquely harrowing. A silent doll who resembles its human counterpart in all aspects but the vibrancy of life... I’d much rather have the real you than a patchwork doppelgänger. If I tried my hand at fashioning you from needle and thread, I would just create a corpse. There are artists who only paint pain and misery, hence why we now look at certain paintings and consider them cursed. I am not a poet or a doll-maker, so I will not write poetry and I will not stitch dolls together. 

I am not a villain.

The urge to knock on your door had seized me then, when I stood in the hall in front of what I assumed was your door, my fist raised in preparation to knock thrice. Superstition says that if you receive three knocks on your door or windowpane, someone you love will have been taken away by Death within three days, weeks, months. I suppose Death does not need to conform to time after which the three knocks have been granted. Well, I believe in no such things, and I am not Death. 

But you’ll certainly think I am when you can’t see me.

𝓔𝓷𝓽𝓻𝔂 『6』

Before I welcome the Night Raven College students, I visited you. You weren’t home. It was Sunday. 10:30 in the morning. I slid a letter under your door. Sugared thoughts are sealed inside with red wax. I’m not afraid to admit here that I am not entirely confident in my prose, hence why I’ve left it anonymous. I’ve penned the exact letter here for my sake, should I ever need to flip through these pages again to remind myself of the frustrations I conquered just to craft a single love letter. 

Dearest, sweetest you,

I have never felt this way before. When I spy you through the window, I feel as if the stars have aligned to fix the very fate which has led me to you. Your smile is invigorating; your laughter is an enchanting melody. Perhaps you reserve such reactions for me? In that regard, you know me well. I will know you better.

I am not a flirt, and I would never pretend to be one. I am genuine in all aspects of my life, especially when it comes to love. You must know this. Unfortunately, it’s saddening to see how easily you fall prey to simple pleasantries. Infuriating, almost. You should know jealousy makes a man like myself monstrous. But I can be patient, as I often am, so that you will come to love me in the same way I love you. 

Like the Crimson Lotus, you are a vibrant, fiery temptation. I fear the contents of my chest have already been reduced to ash. I should not love you to this extent.

I hope you aren’t a mage. If you are, I’m afraid I might have to hurt you, if only to show you right from wrong. I followed you home today, and you did not notice. How could you when you had headphones on? I do not intend to scare you. I do not intend to make you feel unsafe. I only wish to love from afar for now.

I am not a villain, but you’ll certainly think I am when you can’t see me. 

[jayanthitbrc]

Global Table Linen Market Analysis 2024: Size Forecast and Growth Prospects

The table linen global market report 2024 from The Business Research Company provides comprehensive market statistics, including global market size, regional shares, competitor market share, detailed segments, trends, and opportunities. This report offers an in-depth analysis of current and future industry scenarios, delivering a complete perspective for thriving in the industrial automation software market.

Table Linen Market, 2024 report by The Business Research Company offers comprehensive insights into the current state of the market and highlights future growth opportunities.

Market Size - The table linen market size has grown strongly in recent years. It will grow from $11.41 billion in 2023 to $12.20 billion in 2024 at a compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of 6.9%. The growth in the historic period can be attributed to the growing demand for tablecloths to enhance the dining area with greater aesthetic appeal, increasing residential construction projects with the support of governments, the proliferation of online shopping platforms has made it more convenient for consumers, the growing trend of using anti-stain tablecloths

The table linen market size is expected to see strong growth in the next few years. It will grow to $15.22 billion in 2028 at a compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of 5.7%. The growth in the forecast period can be attributed to growing awareness among manufacturers and consumers about natural fibers to protect the environment, The presence of skilled labors and abundant raw material supply, increasing demand for decorative tableware products. Major trends in the forecast period include research and developments, partnerships, product innovations, technological advancements.

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Scope Of Table Linen Market The Business Research Company's reports encompass a wide range of information, including:

1. Market Size (Historic and Forecast): Analysis of the market's historical performance and projections for future growth.

2. Drivers: Examination of the key factors propelling market growth.

3. Trends: Identification of emerging trends and patterns shaping the market landscape.

4. Key Segments: Breakdown of the market into its primary segments and their respective performance.

5. Focus Regions and Geographies: Insight into the most critical regions and geographical areas influencing the market.

6. Macro Economic Factors: Assessment of broader economic elements impacting the market.

Table Linen Market Overview

Market Drivers - The increasing number of hotels and restaurants is expected to propel the growth of the table linen market going forward. Hotels provide accommodations, meals, and other services for travelers and tourists, while restaurants are places where people pay to sit and eat meals cooked and served on the premises. They are in demand due to travelers and locals constantly needing accommodation and dining options. The hotels and restaurants use table linen to enhance the dining experience through aesthetic appeal and cleanliness, contributing to the establishment's ambiance and hygiene standards. For instance, in January 2024, according to Siteminder, an Australia-based technology company, global hotel occupancy is forecast to rise by 2.5%, with the average daily rate (ADR) expected to increase by 4.9% by 2025. Therefore, the increasing number of hotels and restaurants is driving the growth of the table linen market.

Market Trends - Major companies operating in the table linen market are developing kitchen linen collections, such as kitchen linen, to optimize financial outcomes in the market. The new collection includes tablecloths, napkins, glass cloths, kitchen towels, and aprons, all made from high-quality linen in both heavy and light varieties to ensure longevity. For instance, in November 2021, Tekla Fabrics, a Denmark-based home comfort products brand, launched kitchen linen collections. Tekla's collection features unique colors such as stain, apple core, and others, combining elegance and sustainability in kitchen and dining ware, emphasizing durability and eco-friendly design for timeless appeal. These items offer a luxurious yet responsible choice for enhancing any culinary experience, with a focus on local sourcing and 100% recycled materials.

The table linen market covered in this report is segmented –

1) By Product: Table Runners, Table Napkins, Table Mats, Table Skirting, Other Products 2) By Material: Polyester, Cotton, Silk, Wool, Other Materials 3) By Distribution: E-Commerce Websites, Company Owned Websites, Supermarkets, Specialty Stores 4) By Application: Residential, Commercial

Get an inside scoop of the table linen market, Request now for Sample Report @ https://www.thebusinessresearchcompany.com/sample.aspx?id=14212&type=smp

Regional Insights - North America was the largest region in the table linen market in 2023. The regions covered in the table linen market report are Asia-Pacific, Western Europe, Eastern Europe, North America, South America, Middle East, Africa.

Key Companies - Major companies operating in the table linen market are IKEA Holdings B.V., Macy's Inc., Williams-Sonoma Inc., Bed Bath & Beyond Inc., Lenox Corporation, Milliken & Company, Zara Home, Villeroy & Boch Group, Venus Group, BBJ La Tavola, Frette, Star Linen, Garnier-Thiebaut Inc., Jiangsu Sidefu Textile Co. Ltd., Sferra, Balavigna Mills Pvt. Ltd., Baltic Flax, Belinor Textile Ltd., H Concept, Royal Linen, Silver Arcade Linen LLC, Airwill Home Collections Pvt. Ltd., Aastha Enterprises, Around The Table, Fabrica Maria SA de CV, Natural Fabrics SL

Table of Contents 1. Executive Summary 2. Table Linen Market Report Structure 3. Table Linen Market Trends And Strategies 4. Table Linen Market – Macro Economic Scenario 5. Table Linen Market Size And Growth ….. 27. Table Linen Market Competitor Landscape And Company Profiles 28. Key Mergers And Acquisitions 29. Future Outlook and Potential Analysis 30. Appendix

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[unifabkenya]

Hotel Supplier In Kenya, Tanzania: Providing Quality Services for the Hospitality Industry

In the dynamic hospitality industry of Kenya and Tanzania, hotel suppliers play a crucial role in ensuring seamless operations and exceptional guest experiences. This article delves into the world of hotel suppliers, exploring their services, quality standards, sustainability practices, market trends, challenges, and future prospects.

Overview of Hotel Suppliers Definition and Importance Hotel suppliers are companies or individuals that provide essential goods and services to hotels and other accommodation establishments. Their offerings range from linens and amenities to technology solutions and furniture, contributing significantly to the hospitality sector's functionality and guest satisfaction.

Key Services Offered Hotel suppliers offer a comprehensive array of products tailored to meet the diverse needs of hotels. These include:

Linens and Bedding

Toiletries and Amenities

Furniture and Fixtures

Kitchen Equipment and Supplies

Technology Solutions (e.g., PMS, POS systems)

Cleaning and Maintenance Services

Quality Standards Certifications and Regulations To maintain quality and adhere to industry standards, reputable hotel suppliers obtain certifications such as ISO, HACCP, and Green certifications for sustainable practices. They also comply with local regulations regarding product safety, hygiene, and environmental impact. Sustainability Practices In response to growing environmental awareness, many hotel suppliers embrace eco-friendly initiatives. These may include using biodegradable materials, reducing waste through recycling programs, and adopting energy-efficient manufacturing processes. Market Trends Current Demand and Future Projections The demand for hotel supplies in Kenya and Tanzania reflects the region's flourishing tourism and hospitality sectors. As these industries continue to grow, suppliers anticipate increased demand for innovative products and services, especially those aligned with sustainability goals. Challenges Faced Supply Chain Issues Like many industries, hotel suppliers encounter challenges in their supply chains. These may include raw material shortages, logistics disruptions, and fluctuating market prices. Overcoming these challenges requires robust contingency plans and strategic partnerships. Customer Experience Reviews and Testimonials The success of hotel suppliers hinges on customer satisfaction. Positive reviews and testimonials from hoteliers underscore the quality and reliability of suppliers' products and services, driving repeat business and referrals. Pricing Strategies Competitive Pricing Strategies Hotel suppliers employ competitive pricing strategies to attract and retain clients. They balance affordability with quality, offering value-driven solutions that align with varying budget constraints across the hospitality sector. Technology Integration Digital Solutions for Efficiency Innovative technologies play a pivotal role in enhancing efficiency and productivity for hotel suppliers. From automated inventory management systems to online ordering platforms, digital solutions streamline operations and improve customer experiences. Partnership Opportunities Collaborations and Alliances Hotel suppliers actively seek partnerships and alliances within the hospitality ecosystem. Collaborations with hotel chains, industry associations, and technology providers foster mutual growth and innovation, creating win-win opportunities. Future Outlook Growth Opportunities Looking ahead, the future of hotel suppliers in Kenya and Tanzania appears promising. With a focus on sustainability, technology integration, and strategic partnerships, suppliers are poised to capitalize on emerging trends and expand their market presence. FAQs (Frequently Asked Questions) 1. What types of products do hotel suppliers in Kenya and Tanzania offer? Hotel suppliers offer a wide range of products, including linens, toiletries, furniture, kitchen equipment, technology solutions, and cleaning services.

2. How do hotel suppliers ensure quality and safety standards? Reputable suppliers adhere to certifications like ISO and HACCP, comply with local regulations, and implement sustainable practices for quality and safety.

3. What are some challenges faced by hotel suppliers in the region? Supply chain disruptions, raw material shortages, and market price fluctuations are common challenges that hotel suppliers navigate in Kenya and Tanzania.

4. How do hotel suppliers integrate technology into their operations? Hotel suppliers leverage digital solutions such as inventory management systems and online platforms for efficient operations and improved customer experiences.

5. What is the future outlook for hotel suppliers in Kenya and Tanzania? The future looks promising, with a focus on sustainability, technology adoption, strategic partnerships, and growth opportunities in the evolving hospitality landscape.

6. How do hotel suppliers contribute to sustainable practices? Many hotel suppliers implement eco-friendly initiatives, such as using biodegradable materials, reducing waste, and adopting energy-efficient processes, to support sustainability goals. Conclusion​ Hotel suppliers in Kenya and Tanzania play a vital role in supporting the vibrant hospitality industry, offering quality products, embracing sustainability, and driving innovation. As the industry evolves, these suppliers continue to adapt, thrive, and contribute to a memorable guest experience.

Source:- https://roomitemsuppliers.weebly.com/blog/hotel-supplier-in-kenya-tanzania-providing-quality-services-for-the-hospitality-industry