They weren’t there last year. At least not this visible or permanent. The lines at the corners deepen slowly. You don’t remember squinting that much, but maybe you did. Still, they grow without asking permission. Mirrors catch them often now. Lighting changes how they appear and how you feel. You pull the skin slightly, then release it with hesitation. They stay. It feels like a shift, not a moment.
They stay
Smiling shows them more than before. Makeup sits differently around your eyes now. You stop using highlighter. You adjust camera angles in quiet ways. You blink more often when nervous or thoughtful. The lines feel sharper in cold light. Hydration helps, but not much. Creams blur, not erase. And you notice others don’t have them yet, or they hide them better.
Creams blur, not erase
You try serums with peptides. Eye masks every Sunday. Retinol three nights a week. Nothing vanishes, no matter the promise. Just softens. The texture lingers beneath the surface. And with every laugh, they come back deeper, more defined. You google solutions again, despite knowing what you’ll find. One keeps showing up no matter the source.
One keeps showing up
Botox. You hesitate at first. It sounds too serious for something that small. But curiosity builds. Reviews mention subtle results. Not frozen, just softened. Not dramatic, but definitely noticed. You save a screenshot. Then forget. Until the lines show up again, more confident than last time.
Not frozen, just softened
The idea returns quietly. Botox doesn’t erase time. But it pauses something. You read about how it works in detail. Muscles stop contracting as strongly. Wrinkles stop forming deeply. Skin rests more often. You wonder how long it lasts. You wonder if it’s worth it this time.
Skin rests more
Consultation day feels strange. You expect a sales pitch. Instead, they ask thoughtful questions. Where do you notice movement? How do you feel about it when you look? They explain the dose, the plan, the pattern. Just a few points near the outer eye. Nothing touches your actual eye or lashes.
Just a few points near the outer eye
The needle feels small. Quicker than you imagined. No numbing needed. No downtime after. They hand you a mirror. Nothing looks different yet. But the promise is in the days ahead. You’re told to wait. Don’t rub. Don’t lie flat. Just wait, even if you’re impatient.
The promise is in the days ahead
By day three, blinking feels different. By day five, movement fades. Lines stop deepening. By day seven, your expression feels familiar again—but softer, calmer. People say you look rested. But they don’t know why. You don’t offer details. You just nod.
People say you look rested
The best part isn’t just the surface. It’s not seeing your stress each time you laugh. It’s not thinking about angles anymore. You stop checking mirrors so often. You start enjoying the way you look when you’re not performing for reflection or for others.
You stop checking mirrors so often
You still smile. That doesn’t change. But the reaction around your eyes does. Your face feels like it’s yours again. But lighter. Not held back. Just eased. The full smile stays. The shadows around it don’t. You look more like how you feel.
Your face feels like it’s yours again
It lasts around three months. Sometimes four. Gradually, movement returns. Lines don’t rush back immediately. But eventually they soften less. You begin to consider the next round. Not because you have to. Because you remember the difference it made.
You begin to consider the next round
There’s no dramatic return. Just a quiet reminder. The squint becomes sharper again. The mirror starts catching more than it did last month. You know the pattern now. You wait a little. Then book again. It feels like maintenance. Not transformation.
It feels like maintenance
No one ever guesses. That’s the beauty of it. No bruising. No puffiness. You still look like you. Just without the story written around your eyes. Crow’s feet used to speak first. Now they’re silent. The rest of your expression speaks louder, without interruption.