Born for it

The door slammed shut behind me, and before I could catch my breath, a whirlwind of people surrounded me. Hands tugged at my arms, loosening my uniform while voices filled the air, fast and sharp.

“Hair—get her hair down.”

“Foundation—light but flawless. We need her glowing.”

“Eyes—soft but striking. No, no—enhance the lashes. Let’s make those eyes pop.”

I stood frozen in the center of the dressing room, trying to process the chaos. The room

itself was overwhelming—lined with mirrors bordered by rows of bright bulbs, racks of shimmering clothes spilling across the floor, and the hum of hairdryers competing with the urgent voices around me.

Someone unpinned my hair, sending the tight bun I always wore tumbling into loose waves around my shoulders. Another person pressed me into a plush chair, already dabbing cool foundation across my skin.

“I—uh—wait,” I stammered, lifting my hands as if that could slow them down. “What is all this? What’s happening?”

No one answered. They were too busy

transforming me.

A stylist with electric-blue hair crouched by my feet, slipping off my worn sneakers and

replacing them with a pair of sleek, black heels. My heart pounded as a makeup artist leaned close, her brush moving with swift precision across my face. I caught my reflection in the mirror—a blur of movement, soft skin, shimmering lids—but I barely recognized myself.

“Relax, sweetheart,” someone murmured, smoothing my hair with delicate fingers.

“Miss Glender’s got an eye for this stuff. If she says you’re the one, you’re the one.”

I swallowed hard, trying to piece together how delivering chicken had turned into… whatever this was.

When they finally stepped back, the room fell into silence.

I turned slowly to the mirror, and my breath caught in my throat.

Is that… me?

The girl staring back at me wasn’t the tired

delivery girl I knew. This girl had soft waves of glossy black hair cascading over her shoulders, her skin radiant under the lights.

My eyes always plain to me—looked luminous, framed by delicate lashes that swept up like butterfly wings. My lips, brushed with a subtle blush of color, were fuller. Softer.

I wasn’t just presentable—I was breathtaking.

The room seemed to hold its collective breath as I stood up. My reflection followed, tall and graceful, as if I’d been born for a place like this.

A stylist whistled low under her breath. “Damn… no wonder Miss Glender stopped the shoot.”

I barely heard her. My pulse thundered in my ears as the door swung open, and two

assistants appeared to guide me out. My heels clicked softly against the floor as I followed them down the corridor, the sound foreign and elegant.

We entered the shooting space—a vast studio with towering lights and gleaming cameras.

At the center of it all, Miss Glender sat in a leather chair, legs crossed elegantly as if the entire world revolved around her. Her polished nails tapped idly against her knee.

When she saw me, she rose to her feet in one fluid motion. A smile curved across her lips slow and knowing.

“I knew it,” she said, her voice like silk. “I knew you were the one.”

I blinked at her, confusion swirling inside me. “But… how?” My voice came out softer than I expected, uncertain.

“I didn’t even know I—” I broke off, unable to find the words.

Miss Glender tilted her head slightly, studying me as if I were an art piece she’d personally crafted. “Most people only see what’s on the surface,” she said. “I see what’s underneath. And you—” her smile deepened—“were

always meant for this.”

I didn’t know what to say. A part of me wanted to argue, to explain that I was just a delivery girl with bills to pay. But another part—the part staring at my reflection, still disbelieving—wondered if she was right.

“Enough talking,” she said, snapping her

fingers. “Let’s shoot.”

The photographer, a tall man with a

permanently skeptical expression, stepped

forward, adjusting his camera. “Alright, newbie,” he muttered, glancing me over. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

I hesitated as they led me to the backdrop—a soft, ethereal canvas that seemed to glow

under the lights. My palms felt clammy, heart hammering against my ribs.

What am I even doing here?

“Relax,” the photographer called out, lifting his camera. “Just breathe.”

I took a slow breath. And then—without fully understanding how—I shifted my posture,

angling my face toward the light.

The first flash exploded.

And suddenly, everything clicked.

It was like something inside me unlocked

a hidden part of myself I never knew existed. I didn’t have to think. My body just moved,

melting effortlessly from one pose to the next. A turn of my chin. A sweep of my gaze. Each motion felt natural—like I belonged there.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The photographer lowered his camera, eyes wide with disbelief. “Holy—every shot’s

perfect.” He turned to his assistant, flipping through the previews. “This girl… she’s a

natural.”

Murmurs swept through the room. Employees who had barely noticed me before now stood frozen, watching in stunned silence.

“How is this possible?” someone whispered.

“That’s the chicken delivery girl?”

By the time the last flash faded, I felt

breathless—like I had stepped out of a dream.

Miss Glender’s expression didn’t change. But the glint in her eyes said she wasn’t surprised. She’d seen it from the start.

As the crew began wrapping up, she leaned toward her secretary, whispered something in her ear, then turned on her heel and glided out of the studio—satisfied.

Moments later, I found myself in an office

bigger than my entire apartment. Leather

furniture gleamed beneath golden lights, and floor-to-ceiling windows offered a stunning view of the city below.

A crisp folder was placed in front of me. Inside—an official contract with PT Entertainment.

The words blurred as I stared down at the pages, my mind still spinning. Just this morning, I was worrying about chicken orders and hospital bills. Now, I was being offered a life I couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

“Take your time,” the assistant said, her voice polite but expectant.

I swallowed the rising panic in my throat. Everything was moving too fast. Too surreal. I needed time—to breathe, to think, to

understand what was happening to me.

I closed the folder carefully. “Could I… get a card?” My voice trembled slightly, but I held her gaze. “I’ll call you once I’ve had time to think.”

The assistant blinked, clearly unused to

hesitation, but slid a sleek black card across the desk.

I slipped it into my pocket, stood up, and left the office without looking back.

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