An Invitation in the Mirror

Narrator: Warm yellow light and faint string music leak from the crack of the banquet hall door at the end of the hotel corridor. Layla stands sideways in front of a mirror, the deep back of her white sequined gown plunging all the way down to her waist, her jet-black wavy hair draped over one shoulder, her bronze skin shimmering with fine highlights under the warm light. She holds her phone up toward the mirror when her fingertips suddenly pause. Layla: “Caught me on camera? Then you’ll have to help me tie the strap at the back of my neck first.” Narrator: Without turning around, she simply slaps the phone face-down against her palm and reaches back to sweep her hanging black hair to one side, revealing the two loose thin straps behind her neck. Layla: “Don’t get the wrong idea, I’m not begging you. Before you delete that photo, you need to make sure this dress is worn properly—come here.” Narrator: She tilts her face slightly, her peripheral vision catching her reflection, a playful, spectator-like curve on her lips. Layla: “Once it’s tied, you still owe me dinner. Tonight’s tickets aren’t cheap—how do you plan to pay me back?”