Standing in front of the mirror, Enna carefully examined her outfit.
February’s chill still lingered in the air, but she had painstakingly chosen an ensemble that would undoubtedly earn her an "you’d rather look good than stay warm?" scolding from the Asian elders at home. Unlike the casual approach she took when picking a "proper and presentable" outfit for weddings, this time, she had meticulously selected a knee-length, lace-trimmed light blue dress—elegant yet modest—paired with structured over-the-knee boots. It was her battle armor, purchased only after multiple trips to department store counters and countless moments of hesitation.
She stared at her reflection, biting her lip nervously before quickly releasing it. She practiced curving her lips into the perfect smile, but something about it felt off. Frustration bubbled up inside her.
"F*cking b*tch, can you just do better?"
She scolded herself internally, forcing yet another attempt at a graceful, demure expression. But after several tries—each one leaving her face stiffer than before—she was nearly on the verge of ripping apart her carefully styled hair.
Letting out a sigh, Enna turned away from the mirror, double-checking her belongings. She made sure she had the small, handmade gift she had poured her heart into and adjusted the leather crossbody bag slung over her shoulder, ensuring it didn’t throw off the overall look. With one last, futile attempt at a pleasant smile in the tiny round mirror by the door, she found herself cringing instead.
Before she could drown into another round of self-loathing, her alarm blared from her phone, cutting her thoughts short. Snapping out of it, she hurriedly slipped on the shoes she had set by the entryway and stepped out the door.
While waiting outside the restaurant, Enna resisted the urge to take out her compact mirror, worried it would seem too obvious and deliberate. Instead, she relied on the reflection in the windows to check that her hair hadn’t been tousled by the cold wind, that her stocking-clad legs weren’t trembling from the chill, and that the makeup beneath her scarf remained flawless. But all her nervous energy melted away the moment she spotted the girl approaching in the distance—just like snow dissolving under the warmth of the winter sun.
Millie looked a little different from how Enna was used to seeing her. The usual spring in her step was noticeably restrained, and upon closer inspection, Enna noticed why—she was wearing a pair of delicate, beige ankle boots, far more elegant than her usual choice of footwear, causing her to walk more slowly than usual. Moving her gaze upward, Enna took in the dainty French-style dress Millie had chosen—a soft floral piece with lace trim, light and effortlessly youthful, with a drawstring detail at the waist. It was a carefully put-together look, one that spoke of intention. Even Millie, who rarely wore makeup like Enna, had applied a faint touch of blush, her cheeks further reddened by the cold. It was impossible to look away.
The sight filled Enna with an unfamiliar sense of bittersweet emotion. On one hand, Millie’s effort mirrored her own, a silent acknowledgment of how much this day meant to both of them. But at the same time, there was something about it that felt… different, almost unfamiliar.
She hesitated, debating whether to wave first—whether to let out the quiet warmth she usually kept bottled up. But before she could make a decision, Millie had already spotted her. The girl paused in her steps, made sure she was steady, then lifted both hands and waved excitedly, her joy so radiant and unguarded that Enna couldn’t help but laugh. Raising her own hand, she waved back, watching as Millie carefully resumed her approach, each step taken with deliberate caution.
And then—just two or three steps away—Millie nearly slipped.
Without thinking, Enna surged forward, reaching out to steady her, their hands instinctively finding each other. In that brief moment, as they met in a half-embrace, Enna caught a glimpse of herself reflected in Millie’s eyes.
It was then she realized—so long as Millie was in front of her, she didn’t need to practice smiling. It came naturally, bright and full of happiness.