The Writer Me...

I entered...the glass door of the only good option I had in vicinity for getting a decent haircut..a famous chain of hair salon.. The receptionist introduced me to the person who was to dress my hair.. a so called cool dusky dude..with artificially browned hair..built almost perfect..i sat on the chair and peeped through my to- be-dressed hair strands..his eyes smiled...n i was held hesitated by the umpteen emotions of his smiling eyes..the over confidence in his brows, so non-native of his profession..the flirt in the eyes, so decent, that I dint feel uncomfortable..the mystery of the lashes, I was blinking finding a way out of them...and with the sprinkling droplets from the spray on my hair n the face, I was back in the web of strands..I saw those smiling eyes again..and laughed @ myself for not considering the emotion of a professional..yes, his profession demands treating customers with courtesy and respect..he was being just..
And I.. I too was doing justice to my profession..by weaving the story of over confidence, flirt and mystery out of nothing...No doubt, I am a writer.
I was peeking again..this time with less hesitation..n more curiosity..

**Edited**

Inspiration Courtesy : To the man in the salon, who was dressing my hair.. Thanks for dressing my thoughts too.. feels like got free goodies ;)