The girl staring right back at me blinked.
Momentarily, I forgot how to breathe and just gawked at my reflection. I didn't do much aside from asking the stylist to add a hair highlight as an extra to the trim.
But the difference was not subtle.
"Gorgeous," the stylist commented as he caught me staring at the mirror after he came back to give back the black card.
I smiled and bowed courteously.
"All thanks to you," he returned the favor.
Then I said my goodbyes, thanking him profusely before leaving the place.
"Damn," I murmured as I hopped inside my car and checked my reflection. "I forgot how powerful this felt like."
When my mother first brought me to the salon after a long fight with my father, I compared her expression when we left the house to when we left the salon.
She had a certain lightness in her steps and seemed different and suddenly energetic.
