The next morning arrived with the smell of coffee, the hum of street vendors, and the fluttering nerves of a woman about to be filmed for the first time in her life. Mira stood in front of the boutique mirror, holding a makeup brush like it was a sword. Tara sat on the counter, scrolling through her phone, looking far too relaxed for someone about to witness her boss's nervous breakdown.
"Do I look confident or constipated?" Mira asked, turning toward her.
Tara peered up, tilted her head. "Somewhere between 'motivational speaker' and 'woman who just found out her cat joined a circus.'"
"Perfect," Mira muttered. "Exactly the vibe I was going for."
The bell chimed as Ryan entered, carrying a camera bag and wearing his trademark calm expression. "Morning, dream team," he said. "Ready to make internet history?"
"More like internet humiliation," Mira said. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
Ryan smiled, setting up his camera on a tripod. "Trust me. People loved your honesty yesterday. All we're doing today is capturing that again—minus the sprinklers."
She groaned. "You make it sound so easy."
"It is," he said simply. "Just talk to me. Forget the camera."
Easier said than done. The moment he hit record, her mind blanked. Words fled. Her usual chatter turned into a string of awkward ums and uhhs.
Ryan didn't interrupt, just let the silence sit. Then, softly, "Why did you start Beauty Booth Bliss, Mira?"
She blinked, surprised. "Because…" She paused, fingers nervously tracing the edge of a lipstick tube. "Because I wanted to build something that made people feel like themselves again."
"Go on."
"When I worked in corporate, everything felt like performance. Perfect faces, perfect words, perfect smiles. I wanted a space where people didn't have to pretend. Where they could walk in, smudge their eyeliner, laugh about it, and still feel beautiful."
Ryan smiled. "That's it. That's your story. Keep going."
Her voice grew steadier. "It started as a tiny pop-up in a flea market. I didn't even have proper shelves. Just folding tables and a mirror that cracked on day one. But women came. Men too. People who just wanted to feel seen. That's when I realized beauty isn't about hiding flaws—it's about celebrating them."
When she finally stopped talking, the shop was silent except for the quiet hum of the lights. Ryan lowered the camera slowly, eyes soft. "That," he said, "was perfect."
Mira blinked. "I didn't even say half of what I planned."
"That's why it worked."
Tara clapped from behind the counter. "If that doesn't go viral, the internet has no soul."
Mira felt her cheeks warm. "It was that okay?"
Ryan grinned. "It was real. That's what matters."
---
By afternoon, the video was live. Ryan titled it The Real Beauty Booth Story and posted it across all platforms. Within hours, the comments poured in.
"Finally, someone who talks about beauty like it's for everyone."
"She's so authentic! I love this!"
"Can I shop here even if I don't wear makeup? I just want to vibe."
Mira scrolled through them, disbelief flickering across her face. "They actually like me."
Ryan laughed. "Of course they do. You didn't sell them makeup—you sold them honesty."
The boutique was busier than ever that day. Customers came in quoting lines from her video, eager to meet the woman who "smudged her way into their hearts." The chaos was warm, full of laughter and chatter. Even Tara had to admit it felt different—lighter, brighter.
But not everyone was thrilled.
Around three, a tall woman with sleek black hair and sharp heels entered the shop like she was walking into a boardroom. Her perfume hit first—crisp, expensive, and unmistakably confident.
"Mira Patel," she said, her tone both friendly and condescending. "It's been a while."
Mira's stomach tightened. "Rhea."
Tara blinked. "Who's this?"
"My ex–business partner," Mira said, her voice neutral.
Rhea smiled tightly. "Former. After you walked out of our venture and opened this… pastel circus." Her gaze swept the boutique, pausing on the display shelves. "Cute. In a DIY kind of way."
Ryan straightened, stepping subtly beside Mira. "Welcome to Beauty Booth Bliss. Can I help you with something?"
Rhea's eyes flicked to him, her smile sharpening. "Oh, so you've hired marketing muscle. Good for you. I came to say congratulations, Mira. Your little flood video's been all over my feed."
Mira forced a polite smile. "Glad to see my disaster entertained you."
"Oh, not at all," Rhea said sweetly. "It inspired me. My new store launches next month—Glow & Co.. We're doing a campaign on 'real beauty,' too. Seems to be trending."
Mira's heart dropped. "You're copying the idea?"
Rhea shrugged. "Business is business. Don't take it personally."
Ryan stepped in, his tone cool but firm. "There's a difference between inspiration and imitation."
Rhea smiled wider. "And there's a difference between dreams and success. I hope you can tell them apart, Mr…?"
"Ryan."
"Well, Ryan," she said, picking up a lipstick from the counter, "best of luck keeping this place afloat. Maybe next time, invest in waterproof floors."
She dropped the lipstick, smirking as it rolled onto the floor, then turned and walked out.
The door closed behind her like a full stop.
Tara muttered, "I don't like her."
Mira exhaled shakily. "You're not supposed to. She's allergic to empathy."
Ryan picked up the fallen lipstick, setting it back on the shelf. "She's scared," he said quietly. "Only people threatened by authenticity act that way."
Mira managed a weak smile. "Thanks for the pep talk, Mr. Positivity."
"I'm serious. You've built something people believe in. She's just chasing trends. That's not sustainable."
"Maybe." Mira looked out the window, where Rhea's sleek car disappeared into traffic. "But she has money, contacts, and the kind of smile that convinces people she's right."
Ryan leaned closer, voice steady. "And you have something she never will—heart."
She glanced up at him, eyes meeting his. For a second, the world outside blurred. The air felt charged, not romantic, but alive—like something important was being silently promised.
Then Tara broke the moment. "Alright, Captain Motivation, unless you can manifest another shipment of foundation, we've got shelves to restock."
Ryan chuckled, stepping back. "On it. I'll run a few analytics tonight—see how the video's performing across regions. If this momentum keeps up, we might expand online."
"Online?" Mira blinked. "You mean an e-store?"
"Exactly. You've already got the brand story. Now you need reach."
She hesitated. "That's a big leap."
"So was quitting your job to open this place," he said. "You're good at leaps."
Tara grinned. "He's right. You leapt straight into a flood, remember?"
Mira rolled her eyes. "Okay, okay. I'll think about it."
---
That evening, after closing, Mira stayed behind. The lights were dim, casting soft gold across the boutique. She sat by the counter, staring at her reflection in the mirror display—a woman tired but glowing.
Biscuit the cat purred from his bed by the window. She smiled faintly. "What do you think, Biscuit? Am I doing okay?"
The cat blinked lazily, unimpressed.
Her phone buzzed—Ryan.
RYAN: Check the video stats. You're trending #3 in local business stories.
RYAN: Told you authenticity wins.
She smiled, typing back: Remind me to never doubt your marketing brain again.
His reply came quick. You can doubt it. Just don't doubt yourself.
Her heart did a small, quiet somersault.
---
The next day brought chaos again—but this time, the good kind. Orders flooded in, interviews were requested, and one local newspaper called Beauty Booth Bliss "the boutique that turned blunder into brilliance."
Mira walked into the shop, phone buzzing non-stop, and Tara greeted her with an exaggerated bow. "Your Majesty of Makeup, the kingdom awaits your orders."
Mira laughed. "Stop calling me that."
"Not a chance," Tara said. "You're the reason my student loan might finally cry less."
Ryan entered a few minutes later, carrying his laptop and—of course—two coffees. "The internet's obsessed with you," he announced. "We hit 100,000 views overnight."
Mira nearly dropped her phone. "What? How?"
He shrugged. "You made people feel something. That's rare."
She stared at him, unable to keep the smile from spreading. "You really think this could be big?"
"I think it already is."
For a moment, everything felt perfect—the laughter, the hum of success, the warmth of shared victory.
Then Tara's voice broke through. "Uh, Mira? You might want to see this."
She turned to the screen Tara was pointing at—a post from Glow & Co..
The caption read: Coming soon — The Real Beauty Revolution.
And below it was Rhea's face.
Mira's stomach tightened. Same slogan. Same tone. Even the background color looked suspiciously familiar.
Ryan's jaw clenched. "She didn't waste time."
Mira stared at the screen, anger and disbelief mixing like mismatched foundation shades. "She's using my words."
Tara huffed. "We should call her out."
Ryan shook his head. "No. That's what she wants—a fight. Let her copy. You'll outshine her by being original."
Mira's fingers tightened around the counter edge. "I'm not afraid of a little competition."
Ryan smiled faintly. "Good. Because this just got interesting."
He met her eyes, and for a brief second, it wasn't about marketing or rivalry. It was about something shared—a spark of belief that they could face whatever came next.
Mira glanced at the boutique walls, her shelves, her dream.
"Alright," she said, voice steady. "If she wants a beauty war, we'll give her one. But ours will have heart."
Ryan's grin widened. "Now that's the Mira Patel I signed up to help."
She smiled back. "Careful, Ryan. You might end up with glitter on your shoes again."
He looked down, noticing the faint shimmer of powder dust across his sneakers. "Too l
ate."
Mira laughed, the sound rich and genuine. The storm was brewing, but for the first time, she felt ready to face it—brush in hand, heart steady, and a stranger with glitter on his shoes beside her.