The big day for Satya and Vanesha’s wedding finally arrived, dragging along a tidal wave of cosmic anxiety that slammed straight into Mira’s skull right at six in the morning. The Jakarta sky outside her boarding room window looked bruised and gloomy, as if it were actively sympathizing with Mira’s wallet, which was already gasping for oxygen.

To trim down her operational warfare budget for the wedding crash, Mira had decided against hiring a professional MUA charging millions of rupiah whose ads cluttered her Instagram feed. Instead, she opted for Salon Bu Tati—a legendary local beauty parlor tucked away at the end of the next village's alley, famous for its sacred motto: Instant Beauty, Street-Cart Prices, Whatever Results We Feel Like.

"Morning, Bu Tati! Look, my face today is in dire need of the world's seventh wonder," Mira greeted the moment she stepped inside, clutching a large plastic bag containing her baby pink tulle gown. "Please magically transform me into a French-Depok mixed-blood bombshell so my ex has an immediate cardiac arrest the second I walk into that ballroom."

Bu Tati, a middle-aged woman with copper-red dyed curls and a chunky gold necklace looped around her neck, broke into a wide grin to welcome her client. "Don't you worry, Neng Mira. In my cold, expert hands, a dull photo-editor face like yours can easily be upgraded to rival a universe pageant queen. Now sit pretty!"

Mira dropped onto a green plastic chair with a distinctly squeaky, broken backrest. In front of her sat a vanity table littered with local loose-powder bottles missing their caps, lined up neatly beside makeup brushes whose bristles were splayed out like a public restroom floor broom.

The metamorphosis began. At first, everything felt relatively normal. A two-centimeter-thick layer of compact powder was patted evenly across Mira’s face, instantly shifting her natural warm skin tone into a ghostly, chalky white reminiscent of an East Asian horror film spirit. Mira began to feel a tiny flicker of hope.

Then, disaster approached the moment the eyebrow-painting session commenced.

Mbak Rini, a sleep-deprived salon apprentice intern who was clearly still recovering from a late-night soap opera binge, approached Mira brandishing a newly sharpened jet-black eyebrow pencil.

"Mbak Mira, should we go for the show-stopping celestial arches or the southern coastal wave style?" Mbak Rini asked innocently, hovering the tip of the pencil dangerously close to Mira’s eyeballs.

"Whoa, hang on a second, Mbak Rini! Not too thick, please. Keep it natural, you know, that subtle Korean idol look where the line is thin but sharp," Mira protested, feeling a wave of dread as she watched Mbak Rini hold the pencil like a construction worker marking structural timber.

"Oh, if you keep it thin, nobody's going to spot it from a distance, Mbak! Everyone at that wedding reception is bound to be legally blind anyway. It’s got to be thick so it screams charismatic authority!" Mbak Rini argued with an unshakeable level of supreme confidence.

Before Mira could jerk her head back to safety, Mbak Rini’s hand moved at lightning speed. Scratch... scratch... snap! Mira’s right brow was swept high upward in a thick, jet-black line whose density rivaled a permanent marker used for labeling moving boxes.

Mira froze, staring straight into the mirror in front of her. Her eyes blinked slowly. Reflected back at her were a pair of massive, towering caterpillars anchored firmly above her eyelids, resembling a pair of bald eagles spreading their wings widest right in the middle of a thunderstorm.

"Mbak... Mbak Rini..." Mira called out in a voice trembling with absolute horror. "What... what kind of runway landing strip is this for a Boeing 737? Why is it so thick it looks like an ordinary caterpillar possessed by an evil jinn?!"

"It’s great, Mbak! It looks super assertive! Fierce yet elegant," Mbak Rini praised cheerfully, giving Mira’s shoulder an encouraging pat. "Now for the eyes and lips to really seal the deal."

Without giving Mira a single opening to mount a defense, Mbak Rini swept a blazing metallic-blue eyeshadow across her eyelids, pairing it with brick-red blush caked in solid circles right across her cheekbones like a traveling circus clown. To top it all off, Mira’s lips were slapped with a super-matte crimson lipstick that felt like it would shatter into a million dry pieces the moment she tried to speak.

Mira stared into her reflection with a hollow, lifeless stare. If last weekend she thought she looked like a failed fairy, today her appearance was infinitely more terrifying: a hybrid between a traditional Betawi street-theater queen and an anime character who bought the wrong costume set.

"Bu Tati! Get over here for a second!" Mira hollered, summoning the salon owner with a tone of profound, bottomless despair. "Why on earth does my face look like a villain from a 9 PM retribution soap opera? If I step outside looking like this, the municipal police are going to arrest me under suspicion of leading an illegal riot."

Bu Tati, who had been casually puffing on a cigarette by the salon entrance, strolled back inside clutching a mug of black coffee. She scrutinized Mira’s face from top to bottom before offering a slow, professional-looking nod.

"Oh, that is spot on, Neng! Your ex is guaranteed to faint the second he lays eyes on you from a hundred meters away. That aura... it's a mystical aura of refined, undying vengeance!" Bu Tati defended the look without a shred of remorse.

"Refined my foot! This is heavy-duty psychological torture!" Mira practically shrieked. "Please, Mbak Rini, wipe off at least half of the eyebrows! Don't make me look like the national emblem!"

"Nope, no wiping, Mbak! It is strictly against Salon Bu Tati policy to tamper with a finished masterpiece!" Mbak Rini shot back defensively, locking her arms in place to prevent Mira from touching her own face. "Now onto the final stage: hair! Sit still!"

Mbak Rini snatched up a jumbo-sized dark-green hairspray bottle that was missing its nozzle cap. She yanked Mira’s hair straight up into a rigid, towering beehive updo that stood stiffly like an aggressive bird's nest.

"Brace yourself, Mbak. This spray is engineered to withstand a full-blown tsunami!" Mbak Rini cheered.

"Wait! Hold on! Don't just spray randomly, my hair is going to—"

Before Mira’s protest could fully escape her crimson-painted lips, Mbak Rini slammed down on the spray nozzle with unbridled passion.

Pussssshhhhhhh!

A thick cloud of chemical-smelling white mist erupted forward, bombarding Mira’s head from every cardinal direction. The heavy-duty industrial hold fixative soaked rapidly into every single strand of hair, cementing them together into a dense, impenetrable monolith that refused to budge by even a millimeter.

Within seconds, Mira’s entire hairstyle mutated into a solid structural helmet that, if tapped with a dining spoon, would yield a sharp clink-clink sound identical to riot police gear.

Mira gasped for air, her lungs constricting from the sheer shock of it all. Her head felt completely rigid, utterly incapable of turning left or right because her neck was effectively blocked by reinforced concrete architecture.

"There, perfection!" Mbak Rini declared proudly, putting her hands on her hips to admire her handiwork. "I guarantee you, even if a category-five hurricane rolls through tearing off roof tiles outside, Mbak Mira’s beehive will stay standing tall and fearless without a single wobble!"

Mira sat paralyzed in the salon chair. She glanced at her reflection through bulging eyes. The angry bird eyebrows, the metallic-blue eyeshadow, the brick-red cheeks, the crimson lips, topped off with a bulletproof construction-grade updo.

"Mbak..." Mira whispered in a frail voice drowning in profound defeat. "If I get struck by lightning out on the street right now, please tell my mom... that I forgive her."

Bu Tati simply roared with laughter, smacking Mira’s shoulder heavily. "Oh, stop being such a drama queen, Neng! Now hurry up and pay the exact forty thousand rupiah service fee, then get yourself off to that wedding with your head held high!"

With unsteady steps, a stiff neck acting like she was balancing a load of bricks, and an increasingly emaciated wallet, Mira marched out of Salon Bu Tati. She was officially locked and loaded to face the battlefield of Satya’s wedding armed with a face that practically begged the entire universe to weep in mercy.