The moment I stepped into the makeup studio, I realized instantly that this was no ordinary beauty room.
It looked like a miniature kingdom—bright, sparkling, alive with colors and creativity. Soft music played in the background, blending with the hum of hair dryers and the gentle chatter of the workers.
Several ladies, who I assumed were staff, moved gracefully from one corner to another.
They arranged palettes, cleaned brushes, and styled hair with a level of seriousness that made everything feel so… professional.
They looked beautiful too. Their makeup was flawless, their posture straight, and their confidence elegant.
My eyes wandered deeper into the studio.
On the far side, I saw a row of designer dresses—carefully arranged, color-coordinated, and glowing under the soft overhead lights. Each gown seemed like it belonged on a runway in Paris.
But one dress caught my breath like a hand around my chest.
A long, body-fitting gown hung separately from the rest.
It wasn't a wedding gown, yet it carried that magical beauty—silvery patches glimmered like frozen stars on its surface. The shape alone spoke royalty.
I couldn't look away.
I didn't even realize someone was calling my name until a gentle voice reached my ear.
"Miss Chantel? Please come and sit here."
Miss Clara's voice brought me back to reality.
She tapped the back of a swivel chair surrounded by mirrors and lights.
I moved quickly toward her, trying to hide how fascinated I was by everything.
"We need to work on your makeup first," she said with a warm smile.
"And after that, we'll begin your training. Don't get me wrong—we know you can walk on heels. But we want to teach you how to walk elegantly. Shoulders relaxed, face confident, back straight… the whole runway demeanor. Okay?"
Her voice was calm, her smile reassuring.
I nodded. "Yes… okay."
"Good. First, let's handle your hair."
Two staff members approached immediately. They led me to a washing station and began working on my hair with gentle, careful movements.
The warm water flowed down my scalp, and the sweet fragrance from the shampoo drifted into my nose—soft, expensive, calming.
The massage was heavenly.
I felt my eyelids drooping as their fingers moved rhythmically.
It had been a long time since anyone pampered me like this.
Maybe… never.
I almost fell asleep.
After the wash, they dried my hair softly, moving the dryer around my head like they were handling something precious.
Then they applied different oils—each with a unique scent. I couldn't name any of them but they smelled like luxury.
A staff member wrapped my hair gently and motioned me toward a makeup seat—the kind with bright bulbs around the mirror.
They began cleaning my face, applying creams and primers I didn't recognize.
Their hands were light, soft like feathers, and I closed my eyes as they worked.
Little by little, I drifted into sleep again.
I only woke when someone touched my eyelid carefully.
Lashes.
My heart almost flew out of my chest.
When they asked me to open my eyes, I obeyed slowly… and froze.
The girl in the mirror didn't look like me.
She looked like a goddess.
Someone out of a portrait.
Someone too beautiful, too refined, too unreal.
My makeup was perfect—cheeks softly glowing, lips shining gently, eyes large and bright like polished gemstones. I blinked several times, unsure if I was dreaming.
"Oh my God…"
I whispered the words in my heart because I couldn't trust my voice.
Then they removed the wrap from my hair.
It fell in gentle, wavy curls—shiny, soft, perfect.
I touched it lightly just to confirm it was mine.
Miss Clara smiled proudly.
"Do you like it?"
I nodded slowly, still stunned.
Her smile widened.
"Miss Chantel, you're really beautiful," she said with genuine admiration.
I lowered my eyes shyly.
"Thank you."
"Stand up," she said, gesturing for me to rise.
I obeyed, and she walked toward the gown I had admired earlier.
When she lifted it off the rack, my heart skipped a beat.
"This," she said softly, "is your outfit for today."
I froze.
That gown?
That beautiful gown?
I could only nod. Words refused to come.
Another staff member took my hand gently and led me into a dressing room.
I changed out of my gown and carefully slipped into the new one.
It fit perfectly.
Perfectly.
Like it had been designed on my body.
Like it belonged to me.
I looked like something—no, someone—out of heaven.
A bride of angels.
When I stepped out, Miss Clara gasped loudly.
"Wow…"
She placed her hand over her chest.
"Just… look at you."
Then she brought out a red pair of heels.
"Wear these."
Thankfully, walking on heels wasn't new to me—Mrs. Johnson had trained me endlessly.
But the elegant walk Clara mentioned… that part was still a mystery.
Once I was dressed, she led me to another part of the studio.
My breath caught again.
This part looked like an actual runway.
Bright lights.
A long, glossy walkway.
A backdrop with the company's logo.
"Stand here," she said, demonstrating a posture.
Then she walked in slow, graceful steps—shoulders confident, hips steady, neck tall.
She moved like a true model.
I watched carefully.
It didn't seem hard.
In fact… it felt familiar.
Maybe because Mrs. Johnson had unknowingly trained me with similar techniques while teaching me grace and posture.
Miss Clara stepped aside and nodded toward me.
"Try."
I took my place.
My heart calm.
My mind steady.
I walked.
Slow, elegant steps.
Eyes forward.
Shoulders poised.
A soft clap broke the silence.
Then another.
Then the staff began clapping fully.
Miss Clara's mouth was open in surprise.
When I reached her again, she stepped back with disbelief all over her face.
"How?" she whispered.
"You're really good. I've never seen a model learn this fast. We scheduled the whole week to teach you this. And you got it in seconds."
I only smiled slightly.
Inside me, I thought:
Mrs. Johnson… thank you.
Miss Clara, still amazed, dialed a number on her phone quickly.
I didn't pay attention to her conversation.
I was too busy admiring the studio.
A few minutes later, a familiar scent drifted into the room—rich, masculine, warm.
I turned.
Mr. Thompson stood at the door.
His eyes locked on me.
His mouth slowly parted as if he forgot how to breathe.
He stared.
And stared.
And stared.
Miss Clara called him twice before he snapped out of his trance.
"Sorry… my mind wasn't here," he murmured.
Then he looked at me again.
"Wow… Chant… is this really you?"
I smiled shyly, lowering my eyes.
Miss Clara pulled a chair for him, and he sat, still staring like he was seeing me for the first time.
"She's ready," Miss Clara said proudly.
"She learned the walk instantly."
Thompson nodded slowly, amazement still written on his face.
"Chant, please walk again," Miss Clara requested.
I took a breath and began.
But this time, something strange happened.
A soft imaginary music played in my head.
My steps felt softer, more emotional.
Maybe it was because Thompson's eyes followed me with a look I couldn't understand.
As I turned, still in that dreamy moment, my imagination carried me far:
What if this was my wedding?
What if he was the groom waiting at the end of the aisle…?
I drifted and accidentally walked straight toward him instead of the direction Miss Clara indicated.
He instinctively rose to hold me—
But Miss Clara called my name sharply.
I stopped, panicked, embarrassed.
I quickly walked the correct direction while heat filled my face.
After the walk, Thompson stood in silence for a moment before speaking.
"Wow. That's all I can say."
He nodded at Miss Clara.
"Good job. Continue training her."
He turned to leave but paused at the door.
Then he looked back…
And smiled at me.
A soft smile that warmed my heart.
Then he left.
Miss Clara touched my arm gently.
"You're amazing, Chantel. Thank you."
She directed me to go and change.
"Tomorrow," she added, "we begin your speech training."
I nodded, still overwhelmed, and went to change.