Chapter 2: The New Normal, A Morning Transformation
Sunlight, sharp and intrusive, cut across Lila’s eyelids. She groaned, burying her face into the pillow. Her head felt stuffed with cotton, vaguely aching, like after pulling an all-nighter fueled by cheap energy drinks and astrophysics proofs. But the details of last night… they were fuzzy, distant shapes underwater. The live stream. The cold cylinder. That strange, shimmering mist. The sudden, embarrassing pout that had felt like someone else moved her lips.
Then, the craving hit. Like a physical jolt. Hollow and demanding, right behind her ribs. Eyes. She needed eyes on her. Now.
The thought propelled her out of bed faster than any alarm ever had. She stumbled to her desk, knocking a stack of journals onto the floor. They sprawled, pages fluttering like wounded birds, but she barely registered them. Einstein’s stern gaze from the poster seemed to follow her as she fumbled for her phone charger. Her reflection in the dark screen looked pale, messy, ordinary. The craving twisted, sharp and insistent. Fix it. Show them.
"Hey guys," she croaked, thumbing the record button. Her voice sounded alien – rough with sleep, yet threaded with a forced, unnatural brightness. She cleared her throat. "So, um, new thing today! Morning vibes… or something? Yeah. First ever… Get Ready With Me? For, like, the day?" She forced a giggle that sounded brittle. The ring light clicked on, harsh white flooding her face, making her squint. She saw her magnified reflection again: dark circles, pillow creases, hair escaping its usual braid in frizzy tendrils. Disgust warred with the gnawing emptiness inside. Fix it.
Her hand hovered over the drawer where her sparse makeup lived – a tinted moisturizer bought years ago, a nearly dried-up mascara, a single nude lipstick gifted and never used. This isn’t me, a tiny voice protested weakly from somewhere deep inside. It was instantly crushed by the other voice, smooth and persuasive filling her headspace. They want pretty. Simple. Show them how fresh you look.
She grabbed the tinted moisturizer. Squeezed too much onto her fingers. "Okay, foundation? Base stuff? Just, like… smoothing things out." Her movements were clumsy, tentative. She smeared the cool liquid, patting awkwardly at her cheeks, her forehead, missing spots near her hairline. She leaned closer to the phone screen, tilting her head. The product settled, blurring the worst of the shadows, giving her skin an even, slightly dewy look. See? the inner voice purred. Better. Much better. They’ll like that.
A flicker of surprise crossed her features. It did look… good. Acceptable. The craving hummed, momentarily soothed.
She peeled off the oversized grey hoodie she’d slept in, instantly feeling exposed in her thin camisole. The cool air raised goosebumps on her arms. Too plain. Too shapeless. The voice was insistent. She rummaged through her closet, past the familiar sweaters and lab coats, fingers snagging on something softer. A pale pink cardigan, a gift she’d never worn, still tagged. Perfect. Soft. Feminine. The voice approved.
She shrugged it on. It was fitted, hugging curves she usually ignored. She glanced back at the screen. The reflection was changing. The messy bun felt wrong now, childish. She yanked the elastic out, letting her hair fall loose around her shoulders. Immediately, her fingers began fiddling with a strand, twisting it, tucking it behind her ear. Always look polished, the voice instructed. Think about how you hold yourself. Shoulders back.
She adjusted her posture automatically, pushing her chest forward slightly. It felt unnatural. Performative. But the image in the screen… brighter, softer, curated. The craving purred its approval.
The rest of the video was a blur of awkward self-consciousness punctuated by the voice’s directives. She swiped the old mascara wand over her lashes, blinked rapidly. "Whoops, a bit clumpy? Is that a thing?" She dabbed carefully at a smudge near her lash line. They won’t notice. They’ll see the effort. She dabbed the nude lipstick on, pressing her lips together. Pout a little? No, subtle is better. For now. She resisted the impulse, settling for a small, close-lipped smile that didn't reach her eyes. Her gaze kept flicking away from the lens, drawn to the whiteboard behind her, the complex equations now seeming like meaningless scribbles from another life. Irrelevant clutter.
"Anyway," she breathed, leaning close again, the ring light catching a slight sheen of moisturizer on her nose. "That's… that's the vibe for today? I guess? Hope you guys… like it?" The question hung in the air, charged with a desperate need. "Okay, bye!" She ended the recording, the silence of the apartment rushing back in, thick and heavy after the forced performance.
She uploaded it quickly, fingers trembling slightly. Her thumb hovered over the caption box. Her old self would have titled it something like, "Morning Musings & Why Dewy Skin is a Scientific Phenomenon". The voice nudged, sharp and clear. Make it cute. Make them click. She typed, the words feeling alien in her own feed: `✨Morning Glow Routine ✨ Finding my soft girl era 💗 #GRWM #MorningVibes #SoftGirl #ScienceIsOverParty (jk… mostly 😉)`. The hashtag felt like a betrayal, a little knife twist. She hit post before she could think.
The reactions were immediate. Views ticked up faster than her usual deep-dive science videos ever did. Likes flooded in. Comments popped up:
`Omg pink cardi queen!`
`Loving the new look SciLila!`
`Wait what happened to the nebula theory vid?`
`#ScienceIsOverParty for real tho? 😂`
`UR SKIN!! 🔥`
Each notification ping was a tiny jolt of electricity, momentarily filling that hollow space inside. She refreshed compulsively, scrolling through the comments, the craving temporarily sated by the digital applause. The voice hummed contentedly. See? This is what they want. More.
Then, another notification. A direct message. Not from a follower. From an account she knew: @TrinaTrends. Trina had a million followers. Trina did hauls, dances, sponsored detox teas. Trina was everything Lila had quietly dismissed as superficial noise. Her profile picture was flawless, filtered, smiling with blindingly white teeth.
Lila’s heart hammered against her ribs. She opened the DM.
`Hey girl! 👋 Just saw your GRWM! LOVE the vibe shift! 💕 So fresh! I’m doing a collab series – ‘Transform Tuesdays’? Finding creators embracing their glow up? You’d be PERFECT! DM me if you’re down? Xoxo Trina`
The breath left Lila’s body in a whoosh. Trina. Trina wanted to collab with her? Validation, pure and potent, flooded her system, drowning the last lingering whisper of doubt. It was like mainlining the mist again. The craving roared back, ten times stronger, clawing at her insides. Yes. YES! This is it. This is everything.
The voice in her head was triumphant, silky smooth. See? I told you. This is the path. Forget the equations. Forget the doubts. She sees potential. She sees someone worthy of attention. Say yes. Be eager. Be grateful.
Lila stared at the message. Trina represented a world of followers, sponsorships, validation on a scale she'd never dreamed of. The pink cardigan suddenly felt like armour. The messy desk, the books, the whiteboard… faded into embarrassing background clutter. This was her ticket. Her glow up.
Her fingers flew over the screen, typing with frantic energy before the old, questioning Lila could surface. `OMG Trina! 😱😱 Thank you SO much! I’m absolutely DOWN! 💕💕 Seriously freaking out rn! 😭 What do you need me to do? I'm so ready! xx Lila`
She hit send. The message flew into the digital ether. A pact sealed. The craving pulsed, momentarily satisfied but already hungry for the next, bigger hit. She looked around her sanctuary, Einstein’s gaze seeming almost accusatory now. She turned her back on him, picking up her phone again, scrolling through the comments on her GRWM video, a strange, vacant smile touching her lips. The equations on the whiteboard blurred into meaningless static. The voice whispered, soft and relentless: Bigger audience. More eyes. More.