Gaming Writer
The house was noisier than it had ever been. Children’s laughter rang through the garden, the pitter-patter of small feet chasing each other in endless games. Hiroshi leaned against the veranda post, watching with quiet amusement as their eldest, a boy of six, tried to corral his younger sister, who refused to give up the toy rabbit plush she’d stolen from his room.
Sora sat nearby, dressed in a simple summer dress, her scalp gleaming smooth under the sunlight. She had kept her hair shaven ever since their wedding night, each morning Hiroshi carefully running the straight razor across her head. It had become their ritual — one small, sacred piece of time just for the two of them, even amidst the chaos of family life.
The children never questioned it. For them, Mama’s bald head was simply Mama. Sometimes the little one pressed kisses to the top of her head, giggling at how smooth it felt.
“Don’t laugh,” Sora scolded playfully one morning as Hiroshi ran the blade across her scalp. “You’ll teach them bad habits.”
Hiroshi grinned. “I’m just making sure it’s perfect.”
Her smile softened, and she tilted her head slightly into his hand. Even years later, the intimacy of it hadn’t faded.
That weekend, they hosted a small gathering. Ayaka arrived first, her hand tucked comfortably into her husband’s, her head also shaven smooth beneath a patterned scarf. She teased Hiroshi the moment she saw him.
“So, you really did it, huh? Still shaving her every day?”
Sora smirked. “And he complains less than you’d think.”
Ayaka laughed. “Well, I’d make mine do it too, but he’s hopeless with a razor. Nearly nicked me the first time.”
Behind them, their old friend group trickled in — some with partners, some still single, all carrying bits of the past with them. Conversations spilled easily, filled with nostalgia about school days, arcade runs, and summer festivals.
At one point, Hiroshi caught sight of Sora laughing with Ayaka, the two of them leaning close as their shaved scalps caught the warm glow of the lanterns strung in the garden. It struck him just how far they had come — from the scared, trembling girl in an alleyway to the woman who now laughed freely, her baldness no longer a scar but a crown.
Later that night, after everyone had gone and the children were asleep, Hiroshi and Sora sat together on the veranda, watching fireflies blink softly in the garden.
“It’s strange,” Sora murmured, resting her head against his shoulder. “Back then, I thought I’d never have this. A family. Peace. A future.”
Hiroshi kissed the smooth curve of her scalp. “Back then, I thought I’d never have you. Guess we were both wrong.”
She chuckled softly, her hand finding his. “I’m glad we were.”
The night air was warm, filled with the faint sounds of crickets and the steady rhythm of their children’s breathing from inside.
And in that ordinary, quiet moment — no drama, no fear, just the life they had built together — Hiroshi realized something simple: this, more than anything else, was their happy ending.
The end
