Do you want to see the results

Sitting on Layla's couch, I glanced at the clock for what felt like the hundredth time. Thirty minutes. That's all we needed to wait, but the seconds seemed to stretch like taffy.

Meanwhile, Layla was sprawled out beside me, humming a random tune with no real melody, her bare feet swinging off the edge of the couch.

Her hair was bundled in a towel, a faint streak of purple peeking through near her temple like a secret yet to be revealed.

She looked entirely unbothered, as if we hadn't turned her bathroom into a makeshift salon and her head into my experimental canvas.

I, on the other hand, was locked in an internal battle between nervous anticipation and mild amusement.

I kept stealing glances at the towel-wrapped mystery beneath her headgear, wondering if this would be a triumph or an unmitigated disaster.

"Do you think it's working?" Layla asked, turning her head toward me with a spark of curiosity in her eyes.