The changing room smelled faintly of powder and fabric spray.
I sat stiffly on the bench, hands folded in my lap, staring at my reflection like it had personally offended me.
"I still don't understand why makeup is necessary," I muttered.
Emma, standing behind me with a brush between her fingers, laughed softly.
"Because," she said gently, "sometimes people need to see what's already there."
"I see it just fine without all that," I replied, eyeing the rows of products with suspicion.
"That's because you're used to hiding," she said, not unkindly. Then she smiled in the mirror. "Now sit still."
Regina had gone first, of course.
She swept out of the changing room earlier like she was stepping onto a red carpet—perfect hair, sharp eyeliner, posture screaming victory.
In the small theater, murmurs followed her. Heads turned. Someone actually clapped.
Regina smiled like she'd expected nothing less.
I watched through the cracked door as she took her place under the lights, chin lifted.
Mr. Rick nodded. "Good. Strong. Controlled."
Regina glanced back toward the changing room—toward me—with a look that said try to follow that.
The door closed again.
Emma finished quickly.
When she stepped out next, the room softened.
She didn't dominate the space—she warmed it. Her makeup was light, her smile easy, confidence sitting on her like something natural.
Liam actually forgot to breathe.
Jake whispered, "Okay, wow."
Mark nodded once, impressed despite himself.
Mr. Rick smiled. "Beautiful presence. Very honest."
Emma waved shyly and took her seat.
Then the door shut.
And it was just me.
My stomach twisted.
Emma turned back to me. "Your turn."
"I hate this," I said.
"I know," she replied. "But walk out anyway."
I stood slowly.
When I looked in the mirror this time, I almost didn't recognize myself.
My glasses were gone.
My dark‑blonde hair fell loose around my shoulders, softer, freer than I ever let it be. My eyes looked wider without the frames, lashes darker, expression clearer. My lips—barely tinted—didn't look like someone trying too hard.
The clothes Mr. Rick chose were simple. Clean lines. Nothing flashy.
But they fit.
Not just my body—me.
I swallowed.
Emma squeezed my hand once. "Go."
The door opened.
The theater went quiet.
Not the impressed kind.The attentive kind.
I stepped forward, heart pounding, and for once… I didn't rush.
Jake stopped slouching.
Mark leaned forward slightly.
Liam blinked, genuinely surprised.
Regina's smile faded.
And Ethan—
Ethan didn't say a word.
But he stood.
Just slightly. Like his body reacted before his mind could stop it.
His eyes followed me the entire way, unreadable, intense—not like he was judging, but like he was seeing something click into place.
Mr. Rick slowly lowered his clipboard.
"There," he said softly. "That's it."
I stopped under the lights.
"You didn't change yourself," he continued. "You revealed yourself."
Regina crossed her arms sharply. "She's not even wearing proper makeup."
Mr. Rick turned, expression calm but final."And yet," he said, "everyone is looking at her."
Regina's jaw tightened.
Ethan finally spoke, voice low, steady.
"She looks right."
Not beautiful.Not stunning.
Right.
Regina looked away.
I exhaled—for the first time all day—and realized something quietly terrifying.
I wasn't hiding anymore.
And that… changed everything.
Everyone crowded on stage. The lights were bright, and the tension? Thick enough to cut with a brush.
Mark leaned over and whispered, "Ayana… you look… beautiful. Really different, but good different."
I blinked. "Oh… thanks?"
Jake smirked from across the stage. "Yeah… even if a goat wore makeup, it'd still be ugly."
I glared. "Seriously?"
He shrugged like it was a life lesson. "Honesty is key."
Ethan? Didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't say a word. Just… looked. And somehow, that looked worse than words.
Regina's face twisted. "You… you!" Her hands clenched. "You think you can just—"
She stopped, glaring at me like I'd personally ruined her life.
Emma leaned toward Liam. "Do you think I did okay?"
Liam grinned. "You look good. Really."
Emma beamed.
Regina spun back to me, lips tight. "This isn't over," she hissed.
I just tilted my head and smiled faintly. No words needed.
Mr. Rick popped up from somewhere. "Ahhh! Drama! Chaos! Beauty!" He clapped once. "I live for this!"
And Ethan? Still silent. Still watching. Still terrifyingly effective.
The stage felt smaller, sharper… and somehow, mine.
-
She didn't see him at first.
Just the solid stop—the soft thud of walking into someone taller than expected.
"Oh—sorry," she said automatically, stepping back.
Then she looked up.
Mr. Ronson.
No—him.
Her father.
He blinked once, clearly surprised, then smiled like the moment had been waiting for him all along. "Careful," he said lightly. "You always walk like you're chasing thoughts."
She froze for half a second. Then she smiled too. Normal. Easy. Like this was just another afternoon.
"I could say the same," she replied.
They started walking without discussing it—no questions, no explanations. Side by side, like it was natural. Like it used to be.
He glanced at her, really glanced this time. The clothes. The way her hair fell. The confidence she didn't even realize she was wearing.
"You look… different today," he said.
She shrugged. "Practice."
"For?"
"A contest."
He hummed, approving. "Makes sense."
There was a pause. Not awkward. Just full.
"I was thinking," she said casually, eyes forward, "you could come. If you want."
He stopped walking.
She noticed—but didn't turn.
Then he smiled. Soft. Real. The kind that carried history.
"I'd like that," he said. "Yeah. I really would."
Something warm settled in her chest.
They continued walking.
No promises spoken.No past dragged into the open.
Just two people sharing a road that still remembered them.
And somewhere far away, a door that had never fully closed…creaked—just a little.
By the time I got home, I was exhausted in the good way. The door barely opened before—
"STOP."
I looked up.
Nena was standing there, eyes wide like she'd just seen a ghost with good hair. "Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?"
I sighed. "Hi to you too."
My mom peeked out from the living room, took one look at me… and froze.
"Oh," she said slowly. "So this is what you look like when you try."
"Mom!"
She walked closer, inspecting me like a project she'd been working on for years. "Turn around."
I groaned but did it.
"Mmm," she nodded. "Interesting. Very interesting. You've been lying to me this whole time."
"I have not!"
Nena circled me, pointing dramatically. "Guys. GUYS. This is the same girl who wears hoodies in ninety-degree weather."
"They're comfortable!"
Nena grabbed my shoulders. "Ayana. Be honest. Did you unlock a secret character today?"
"I literally just went to practice."
"For what?" my mom asked.
"A contest."
Nena gasped. "I KNEW IT. This is a glow-up arc. Main-character energy."
My mom smiled, softer now. "You look beautiful, sweetheart. I'm proud of you."
My face immediately felt like it was on fire. "Okay, okay, that's enough attention for one day."
Too late.
Nena pulled out her phone. "Say hi to the camera."
"Don't you dare."
Click.
"Oh my God, delete it."
"Nope," she said cheerfully. "Memories."
My mom laughed as she headed to the kitchen. "Come eat before your friend turns you into an influencer."
Nena leaned in, lowering her voice. "So… who saw you like this today?"
I hesitated for half a second.
"…People."
Her grin widened. "Ohhh. I'm getting details later."
And just like that, the house filled with noise, teasing, and laughter—the kind that made everything feel normal again.
We were still laughing when the door opened again.
Jake walked in.
Well—walked was generous.
He was limping, groaning dramatically, one hand clutching his side like he'd just survived a low-budget action movie. A bruise bloomed near his cheek, and there was definitely something wrong with his shoulder.
We all stared.
"…What happened to you?" I asked.
"Nothing," Jake said immediately.
Nena sighed. Not surprised. Not shocked. Just tired.
"Sit," she said, already walking to the cabinet.
"I'm fine," Jake muttered, lowering himself onto the couch anyway.
"I didn't ask," Nena replied.
She came back with ointment and cotton, sat in front of him, and started applying it—slow, careful, practiced.
Jake hissed. "Ow—okay wow, gentle, doctor."
"You literally said nothing happened," she said flatly. "So stop reacting like something happened."
He smirked. "I'm just very sensitive."
I crossed my arms. "You look like you lost a fight with gravity."
"Gravity cheated."
Nena pressed the ointment in a little firmer.
"Ow—HEY," he protested, then glanced at her and softened. "…Okay. Thanks."
She didn't look up. "Next time, don't say 'nothing.'"
He leaned back, quieter now. "Next time."
And somehow, just like that, the room settled again—bruises, jokes, ointment smell and all.