Renata stood in front of the tall, bright mirror in her bedroom. She looked at her reflection, taking in the long, slim figure she had known all her life.
Her skin was dark and smooth, and her features were sharp and striking. People often told her she was beautiful, and as a model, she had learned to hear those words without feeling much of anything.
She wondered sometimes if they really saw her or just saw a face they liked.
Renata was 25, but her eyes held a tiredness that felt older. She reached over to her dresser, where she kept a small orange scarf neatly folded.
It was worn and faded, but she loved it. Her grandmother had given it to her years ago, back when she was just a little girl visiting the village.
The scarf smelled faintly of the warm, sweet scent of home, mixed with the earthiness of her grandmother's hands.
Every time she looked at it, she felt a little closer to the woman who had taught her so much about life.
Orange was more than a color to Renata, it was a shield she wore to face the world. Her wardrobe was full of orange shades, bright oranges, soft peaches, and deep, rusty hues.
There were orange dresses, orange shoes, even orange earrings. Orange made her feel strong, like she could handle whatever came her way.
She wore it like a suit of armor, and it helped her hide the questions she carried in her heart.
As she picked out an outfit for the day, Renata's phone buzzed. It was a message from her agent, reminding her about a photoshoot later in the afternoon.
It was just another job, one of many, but it was the reason she had to look perfect every day. People expected her to be flawless, like the bright posters and magazine covers they saw her on.
She had become a face they admired, a person they thought they knew. But deep down, Renata wondered if anyone really knew her at all.
Her apartment was large and modern, with smooth white walls and big glass windows that let in plenty of light.
It was clean and neat, decorated with little touches of orange, a pillow here, a lamp there. It looked perfect, just like the life she showed to the world.
But standing there, in that quiet room, Renata felt a strange emptiness. She had everything people dreamed of, beauty, fame, a successful career.
Yet, something was missing. It was a feeling she could not shake, one that made her chest feel heavy and her heart feel far away.
Taking a deep breath, she slipped on a bright orange dress and a pair of matching heels. The outfit was simple but elegant, the kind of look that made people turn their heads.
But even as she admired her reflection, she felt distant from the person staring back at her. The woman in the mirror looked confident, even powerful, yet Renata couldn't help but feel that it was all a role, a part she was playing in a story written by someone else.
Before heading out, she gently placed the orange scarf back on the dresser. She ran her fingers over its soft, worn fabric, feeling a sense of comfort in its touch.
The scarf reminded her of her grandmother's quiet strength and gentle smile. She had always been there for Renata, teaching her to be strong and brave, no matter what the world threw at her.
In many ways, her grandmother was her true source of strength, more than the clothes or the fame.
Renata looked around her perfect apartment, at the life she had built to impress the world. She had worked hard to be this version of herself, the one everyone loved and admired.
But sometimes, she felt like a stranger in her own life, lost among the orange clothes and smiling faces.
To be continued.