Makeover

“You won’t what?” she asked again, smiling.

That smile wasn’t friendly. It was the kind you see right before a true-crime documentary cuts to black.

Before surrendering, I mounted a final, very weak defense. I hesitated, then said carefully,

“I’m not wearing any makeup. It doesn’t look good on me. And I won’t wear that dress. It’s too heavy, and it’s not even my birthday. You should be the one wearing it.”

I kept explaining, as if logic might save me. It didn’t.

Her eyes sparkled. Not with understanding, but with mischief. She rested her chin on her hand, clearly plotting my downfall.

After a pause, she said sweetly, “Fine. I won’t force you. But can you help me with something?”

Every instinct in my body screamed.

I narrowed my eyes. “What do you need?”

She smiled wider. “Just put down the pillow and come with me.”

Before I could protest, she smoothly plucked the pillow from my hands and placed it back on the bed. She knew better than to challenge me to a pillow fight. That was my only remaining weapon.

“Come on,” she coaxed.

“Why?” I asked. “You’re already ready. What help do you need?”

Her face twisted into a grin that belonged in nightmares.

“You need help,” she said calmly. “Not me.”

That’s when her friends attacked.Hands grabbed my arms. Someone pinned my shoulders.

“Let me go!” I struggled.

“No,” she repeated, enjoying every second. Then, louder, “Girls, catch her! Don’t let her escape.”

Pure panic hit. “What the hell, Kashish? Let me go while I’m still asking nicely.”

She laughed. Actually laughed.

“No way. Not after all this effort. It’s makeover time.”

Frozen, betrayed, and outnumbered, I finally understood. Too late.

“You tricked me!” I snapped, fury boiling.Inside my head, I swore vengeance.

“I swear to God, Kashish, you’ll pay for this.”

Her voice dripped with sadistic delight.“Yeah, yeah, sure. Girls, let’s get started.”

And just like that, I was officially doomed.Resigned to my fate, I finally surrendered to the makeover.

When it was over and I opened my eyes, I barely recognized the girl staring back at me from the mirror.

The dress Kashish had chosen, or rather forced upon me, was a classic black gown. It clung to me perfectly, its subtle shimmer resembling a star-strewn night sky, soft sparkles scattered across the dark fabric like quiet constellations.

My curls fell freely around my face, shaped carefully, blooming softly like petals around a flower. The makeup was minimal, almost deceptive. Just enough to brighten my eyes, soften my lips, and make my skin glow like a lotus touched by morning light. Black heels completed the look, adding an elegance I never asked for.

I stared at my reflection, stunned.Kashish’s hands hadn’t just worked magic. They had rewritten me.

This is ridiculous, I thought.

How a little makeup and an expensive dress could change the way the world looks at you. How it could almost change the way you look at yourself.

I didn’t hate makeup. Not really. I admired it. I loved seeing women dressed beautifully, faces glowing, confidence woven into every step. Women didn’t need makeup anyway. They already looked like goddesses, undeserving of comparison.

I just hated it on me.Because for a moment, it made me forget who I was.

It made me forget that I preferred things raw and plain. That I didn’t want to hide behind silk, shimmer, and perfection. That I didn’t want to lose my grip on reality, even if reality was unkind.And worst of all, it reminded me that I could look good. And I didn’t know how to live with that truth.

Kashish stepped back, arms crossed, her face glowing with satisfaction.

“Well,” she said proudly, “look at you. Beautiful. I’m so glad I didn’t listen to you.”

Her eyes met mine in the mirror. I opened my mouth to protest, to say something, anything.

She didn’t give me the chance.

“Oh my God,” she exclaimed, checking her watch. “Look at the time. We’re late. Let’s go.”

And just like that, she turned away, leaving me staring at a version of myself I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

She wore a white gown of refined sophistication, the fabric cascading in soft, architectural folds that hinted at both strength and grace. A subtle side cut-out added a daring touch, perfectly balanced by the gown’s flowing elegance. Her long black hair was sleek, polished, and parted to frame her face like a masterpiece. Her makeup was understated yet impeccable—smoky eyes that whispered mystery, a gentle flush on her cheeks, and soft rose lips that glowed effortlessly, radiating quiet confidence.

We all left her house, stepping into the warm evening. Kashish’s car pulled up in front of the majestic Moon Palace hotel, its grandeur stealing my breath. A liveried attendant opened the door, bowing with perfect courtesy.

Having known kashish since childhood, I was aware of her affluent upbringing, but this—this was a different world altogether. I had never set foot in a five-star hotel before, and every detail of its opulence overwhelmed me.

As we entered, a phalanx of impeccably dressed staff welcomed us, polished and deferential, guiding us as though we were royalty. Kashish took my hand and led me through the ornate entrance, the scent of roses—pink, red, and white—drifting through the air, filling every corner with subtle sweetness.

“Baby, stay here, let me get Manik,” she said softly, seating me in a chair and gesturing for her friends to tend to me as though I were a delicate ornament. She did this often, and I still couldn’t understand why.

Moments later, Manik returned, looking impossibly elegant. His all-white tailored suit was pristine, jacket and trousers cut to perfection, the crisp white shirt beneath adding a striking, clean contrast. His black hair was styled neatly, a casual tousle at the front softening the sharp sophistication. Even blindfolded, his presence radiated quiet power and calm confidence.

Kashish held his hand, guiding him to the main hall along the red carpet. The hall was alive with energy—dancers moving fluidly, a singer performing with effortless poise, and guests sipping champagne, their laughter mingling with the music. I sought refuge at a nearby bar counter, struggling to catch my breath amid the extravagance.

As the crowd cheered, the blindfold was removed from Manik’s eyes. His smile was effortless, magnetic, and as he and Kashish cut the cake together, their love sparkled like the crystal decorations around them.

I murmured under my breath, a pang of regret twisting in my chest, “I shouldn’t have come here.”

“Why?” came a deep, smooth voice from beside me.

To be continued .