She walks out of the changing room, adjusting her skirt, conscious of the stretch marks on her thighs. Unsure about going out in such a dress, she turns around to retreat into the changing room, back into her own self only to be stopped by a hand which pulls her in its direction.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He looks at her, his hands resting on her shoulders. “I wouldn’t say you look beautiful in this dress as it would mean you don’t otherwise, but let me tell you this… I think I have fallen in love again.”
And in his gleaming eyes she sees her
reflection, way clearer than what the well lit changing room mirror had to offer. Did she really look that beautiful or was it the eyes? she wonders.