We’re taking a picture

By the time we finished cleaning the bathroom, I was ready to collapse. Layla had insisted on "helping," which really just meant dancing around with a towel draped over her shoulders and getting in my way.

Somehow, I managed to mop up all the water and scrub away the stray drops of dye that had splattered across the sink and counter.

When the last towel was hung up and the floor gleamed, I let out a long sigh of relief. "Done," I announced, leaning against the doorframe.

Layla spun around, her hair catching the light just right to show off the streaks of purple. She looked radiant, her smile wide as she admired herself in the mirror for the hundredth time.

"You really like it, don't you?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I love it," she said, fluffing her hair dramatically. "I look so good, Zaya. Like, unfairly good."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "You're officially a narcissist."