It was afternoon. We woke up at eleven a.m, which was to expected considering we went crazy yesterday roaming around like we were renowned travelers. We skipped breakfast, and we agreed on having late lunch since we thought we’d be going down anyway once we finished.
The room inside our suite where we were all in was buzzing with the usual sound of beauty rituals—the low hum of a hairdryer, the sharp snap of compact closing, rustling of makeup brushes against our skin. The air was also thick, and it was mixed with setting spray and floral perfume, the scent of a new tiring yet adventurous day about to begin. For a few fleeting moments, this was normal.
It was just us, getting ready in our pace like we didn’t care if it was past twelve thirty. We were lost in the routine of mascara wand
