AnonymousBarber
Maya wakes up like she’s already decided how the day’s going to go.
I wake up like I’m still recovering from yesterday.
Something soft hits my shoulder.
A pillow.
I blink one eye open.
Maya’s sitting at the end of the bed, cross-legged, watching me like she’s been awake for hours already. Sunlight comes in behind her, catching in the edges of her short dark hair. It’s grown out slightly at the top again. Not messy exactly. Just… softer than she likes.
She’s already running her hand through it.
Of course she is.
“Morning,” she says.
I groan and pull the blanket up over my face.
“No.”
She laughs. Not loud. Just easy. Like she’s amused by everything, even me being half-dead.
“That’s not how mornings work,” she says.
“Mine do.”
She leans forward and tugs the blanket off me in one clean pull.
“Morning tax.”
“You made that up.”
“Still applies.”
That’s Maya.
Confident enough to invent rules and act like they’ve always existed.
I sit up slowly.
Hair falling forward around my face.
Long blonde strands, straight, slightly tangled from sleep. It reaches my mid-back when I don’t tie it up, which is most of the time now. It used to feel like something. Now it mostly just feels like something I forget to deal with properly.
I push it back over my shoulder.
Maya is watching me again.
Not in a weird way.
Just observant.
She does that a lot.
Six years of it.
Maya Clarke — twenty-five, sharp jawline, dark hair cut short on the sides with a longer top that she styles without thinking. Athletic build. Always looks like she belongs wherever she is. Even here, in her own flat, half a mess, she still looks put together.
People listen when she talks.
I’ve always noticed that.
I’ve always noticed her.
Which is exactly the problem.
Maya stretches her arms over her head.
Then pauses.
Frowns slightly.
“Oh no.”
I blink. “What?”
“My hair.”
She leans toward the mirror on the wall.
I follow her gaze.
Her haircut still looks good to me.
Short sides. Longer textured top. Dark brown, slightly uneven in that intentional way that only works when someone knows what they’re doing.
But Maya’s already tugging at it.
“It’s getting too soft,” she says.
“It’s hair.”
“It’s shape,” she corrects.
She runs her fingers through the top again, checking how it falls.
Then sighs.
“Kate’s going to hate this.”
I let out a small laugh before I can stop it.
Because I’ve heard that name so many times it feels like part of our conversations now.
Kate.
The barber.
The one Maya trusts completely with her hair.
Every few weeks it’s the same cycle:
Kate fixed it.
Kate said I should’ve come earlier.
Kate told me not to overthink it.
I’ve never met her.
But I’ve definitely built an image of her in my head.
Maya points at me without looking away from the mirror.
“Don’t laugh.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“You are.”
“Okay, a bit.”
She finally looks at me properly.
And then her attention shifts.
To my hair.
I already know what’s coming.
“No,” I say immediately.
Maya smiles.
“Oh yes.”
“No.”
“Ellie.”
“Maya.”
She reaches over.
Gently takes a section of my blonde hair between her fingers.
It’s long.
Too long maybe.
Straight and fine but slightly uneven at the ends now, like it’s grown out without any real attention. It falls forward easily when I don’t tie it back, which is most of the time. I usually just brush it and forget about it.
Maya lifts it slightly.
Lets it slip through her fingers.
Studies it like she’s looking at something she’s already made a decision about.
“You need a haircut,” she says.
I lean back against the bed.
“There it is.”
“There it is.”
“I knew that was coming.”
“Because it’s true,” she says simply.
I stare at the ceiling.
She’s not wrong.
That’s the annoying part.
My hair used to feel like something I actually chose to have.
Now it just… exists.
Too long to ignore properly.
Not styled enough to feel intentional.
Just there.
Maya lets the strand fall back onto my shoulder.
The room goes quiet for a second.
Then she stands up.
Decision made.
Like always.
“We’re going,” she says.
I glance at her.
“We?”
“We.”
“I’m not going.”
“Yes you are.”
I sit up a bit more.
“Maya—”
“We’re going to Barber La Femme.”
That name again.
She says it like it’s inevitable.
Like it’s already been scheduled.
I sigh and run a hand through my hair.
It slips through my fingers immediately.
Too smooth. Too long. Too familiar.
I look at her.
She’s already grabbing her jacket.
“Kate will sort it,” she adds, like that settles everything.
I pause.
Kate.
The barber I’ve never met but somehow already have opinions about.
The one Maya trusts enough that she doesn’t even question going.
I hesitate.
Not because I don’t want to go.
But because part of me is curious.
About the shop.
About Kate.
About what she sees when she looks at hair like mine.
And I have a feeling I’m about to find out.
Maya gave me exactly ten minutes to get ready.
Apparently, according to her, that was more than enough time.
I disagreed.
Strongly.
Unfortunately, Maya had already decided we were going, which meant my opinion carried approximately the same weight as a decorative cushion.
By the time I emerged from my bedroom, dressed and presentable enough to leave the house, Maya was already standing by the front door with her jacket on.
Waiting.
Impatiently.
“You took thirteen minutes.”
“You timed me?”
“Yep.”
I rolled my eyes and grabbed my coat.
“You’re insufferable.”
“Yet here you are.”
Somehow, she looked pleased about that.
A short drive later, we pulled up outside Barber La Femme.
The building immediately stood out.
Clean white exterior.
Large front windows.
Elegant black lettering.
BARBER LA FEMME
It looked expensive.
Not intimidating.
Just confident.
The sort of place that knew exactly what it was.
Maya climbed out of the car.
I followed.
A few moments later she pushed open the door.
A small bell chimed overhead.
And immediately the atmosphere changed.
The first thing I noticed wasn’t the sight.
It was the sound.
Music drifted through the shop from hidden speakers.
Something modern and relaxed.
Soft enough that people could still talk comfortably, but loud enough to blend together with everything else.
The steady hum of clippers.
The rhythmic snip of scissors.
Hairdryers.
Conversation.
Laughter.
Together they created a strangely comforting background noise.
The sort of sound a busy barbershop should make.
Then came the smell.
Fresh shampoo.
Conditioner.
Styling products.
Clean towels.
And underneath everything else—
freshly cut hair.
I stopped for a moment just inside the doorway.
Taking everything in.
The shop was beautiful.
The left wall held a long velvet waiting couch.
The right side of the shop was lined with barber stations.
Not salon stations.
Barber stations.
Large mirrors.
Chrome footrests.
Heavy hydraulic chairs.
Every chair upholstered in matching pink leather.
The whole place somehow felt feminine while still feeling unmistakably like a barbershop.
I found myself staring.
Women sat in the chairs instead of men.
Pink barber capes draped around them.
Barbers worked confidently behind them.
Then I noticed the names displayed on the mirrors.
SAM
JADE
ANNA
KATE
Immediately I looked toward the station nearest the front window.
Kate’s station.
Because of course it would be the one by the window.
Natural sunlight poured across the pink leather chair.
The chrome gleamed beneath the lights.
Everything looked immaculate.
Ready for a client.
Except—
the chair was empty.
I blinked.
Looked around.
Where was Kate?
Maya had dragged me here specifically because of Kate.
So she had to be here somewhere.
But I couldn’t immediately identify her.
As my eyes adjusted to everything happening inside the shop, I started paying attention to the women working there.
They all looked different.
Different hair.
Different styles.
Different personalities.
But they all carried themselves with the same confidence.
The kind that comes from knowing exactly what you’re doing.
The first barber I noticed was Sam.
According to the name on the mirror, anyway.
She was tall, probably around Maya’s age, with dark brown hair cut into a neat shoulder-length style that looked practical without being boring. Her sleeves were rolled up, revealing tattooed forearms as she worked around her client’s head with scissors and comb.
Everything about her movements felt efficient.
Precise.
Like she’d done the same motion thousands of times before.
A young woman sat beneath one of the pink barber capes while Sam worked around her head with scissors and comb.
The client’s hair was a rich chestnut brown.
Short.
Very short compared to mine.
The back and sides were clipped close while the top remained longer, textured and slightly messy.
Sam was refining the shape with careful snips, dark brown locks drifting onto the cape as she worked.
The woman looked completely relaxed.
Next was Anna.
Anna couldn’t have looked more different.
She was blonde.
Not platinum blonde like her client.
A warmer shade.
Golden.
Her hair was cut into a sleek chin-length bob that framed her face perfectly.
She looked elegant.
Polished.
The sort of woman who always appeared put together, even while working.
While Sam worked quickly and confidently, Anna’s movements were almost artistic.
In front of her, her client was obediently sitting perfectly still.
Her hair was completely different.
Silvery blonde.
Almost platinum.
The haircut itself was a sharp bob that ended just below her jawline.
Anna was carefully trimming the perimeter, ensuring every line remained crisp and precise.
Small pale strands slid down the pink cape with every cut.
The haircut looked expensive.
Sophisticated.
The kind of style that required regular maintenance to keep looking that perfect.
Then there was Jade.
And Jade was impossible not to notice.
Dark hair.
Dark eyes.
Her own hair was cut short around the sides and back, with the top left longer and styled back away from her face.
Not unlike Maya’s haircut, actually.
She had an easy confidence about her.
The sort of confidence that comes from being good at something and knowing it.
That was when my attention landed on the remaining occupied chair.
And suddenly the search stopped mattering.
A woman sat beneath a pink barber cape.
Her head tilted slightly forward.
Jade held a pair of clippers in one hand while her other rested lightly against the client’s head.
And the client…
The client had incredible hair.
The upper section had been gathered into a huge bun and clipped securely on top of her head.
Exposing a large undercut beneath.
I stared.
Couldn’t help it.
The hair was deep ruby red.
Not bright red.
Not orange.
Rich.
Dark.
Luxurious.
Even bundled into a bun, it looked absurdly thick.
Dense enough that the bun itself seemed larger than some women’s entire ponytails.
A few loose strands escaped around her ears and neck.
Even those looked healthy.
Heavy.
Strong.
Jade gently angled the woman’s head downward.
The clippers buzzed softly.
And I realised she wasn’t simply refreshing the undercut.
She was shaving a pattern into it.
Fine lines.
Clean curves.
A design.
Carefully etched into the freshly clipped section of hair at the nape.
The contrast was striking.
That massive quantity of red hair pinned high above.
The exposed undercut beneath.
The precision of the clipper work.
The woman didn’t move at all.
Completely relaxed.
Completely trusting.
Like she’d done this dozens of times before.
I couldn’t stop watching.
There was something oddly hypnotic about it.
The confidence.
The trust.
The sheer amount of hair gathered above that undercut.
I found myself wondering just how long it must be when it wasn’t pinned up.
Very long.
That much was obvious.
Long enough that even bundled into a bun it looked heavy.
Long enough that it dominated her entire appearance.
Beside me, Maya suddenly spoke.
“See something interesting?”
I immediately looked away.
“No.”
“Uh-huh.”
I ignored her.
Then glanced back again.
The woman was still in the chair.
Still perfectly still.
Still possessing what might genuinely have been the most impressive head of hair I’d ever seen in person.
Maya and I eventually settled onto the velvet waiting couch.
The cushions were softer than they looked.
Not that I paid much attention.
Because every few seconds my eyes kept drifting back toward the woman sitting in Jade’s chair.
The one with the incredible red hair.
The music continued playing softly overhead.
Something upbeat but relaxed.
It blended together with the sounds of the shop—the hum of clippers, the occasional burst of laughter, scissors snipping through hair.
I watched as Jade carefully tilted the woman’s head forward another inch.
The woman didn’t resist.
Didn’t even seem to think about it.
Jade’s hand rested lightly against the crown of her head as she guided her into position.
The clippers buzzed.
More short red hairs drifted down onto the pink cape.
The pattern in the undercut was becoming clearer now.
Clean lines.
Sharp curves.
Precise enough that it almost looked drawn rather than shaved.
Whoever she was, she clearly trusted Jade completely.
A few moments later, the bell above the door chimed again.
Another customer entered.
A woman around her late twenties.
Dark hair.
Smartly dressed.
She glanced around before taking a seat on the couch beside me.
The shop was busy enough now that every station was occupied.
Every station except one.
Kate’s.
The empty chair by the window.
I glanced at it again.
Still empty.
Which only made me more confused.
Where was Kate?
Maya had practically dragged me here because of her.
Surely she had to appear eventually.
A burst of conversation pulled my attention away.
Sam had finished with her client.
She gave the woman’s short chestnut haircut one final inspection in the mirror before smiling.
“Perfect.”
The client grinned.
Sam unfastened the pink barber cape with a practiced flick.
The cape billowed slightly as she removed it, revealing the freshly cut style beneath.
The woman ran her hands through her hair and smiled again.
Definitely happy.
A minute later she was at the counter paying.
As soon as the transaction was finished, Sam turned back toward the waiting area.
“Next!”
Before anyone could move, Maya simply said:
“Sorry, we’re waiting for Kate.”
Sam froze.
Then immediately started laughing.
Not at Maya.
Just at the sentence itself.
Anna looked up from her station.
“Oh, there it is.”
Jade smirked without looking away from the undercut she was working on.
“Right on schedule.”
Sam shook her head.
“I swear that’s the most common sentence in this shop.”
Anna laughed.
“It genuinely might be.”
“‘We’re waiting for Kate,'” Jade repeated.
The three of them exchanged amused looks.
Sam pointed her comb toward the waiting area.
“Half the clients that walk through that door come here for Kate.”
“They’ll happily sit and wait for an hour too,” Anna added.
“Sometimes longer,” Jade said.
Sam nodded.
“No complaints.”
“Never any complaints.”
The three women laughed again.
The kind of conversation that had clearly happened dozens of times before.
Maya glanced up briefly from her phone.
Looking mildly confused.
Like she’d walked into the middle of a joke she didn’t fully understand.
Which made sense.
As far as I knew, Maya didn’t really know the other barbers.
She always booked with Kate.
Always.
Then I heard another laugh.
Soft.
Warm.
Amused.
The woman in Jade’s chair.
For the first time since we’d arrived, she reacted to the conversation.
I found myself looking up automatically.
The woman lifted her head slightly.
Not much.
Just enough.
Her blue eyes moved across the room.
And then landed on me.
For a moment, I froze.
Those eyes were impossibly blue.
Bright.
Confident.
And unmistakably amused.
Then, to my complete surprise, the corner of her mouth curled into a small smile.
Not a big smile.
Just enough to make it feel intentional.
And before I could even process that—
she gave me a quick wink.
A playful, almost flirtatious gesture.
Gone as quickly as it appeared.
My brain immediately stopped functioning.
What?
I blinked.
Surely I had imagined that.
There was no way.
No possible—
Jade’s hand gently pressed against the top of the woman’s head.
“Hold still.”
The woman chuckled softly again.
Then allowed Jade to guide her head back down.
The clippers immediately resumed their steady buzz as Jade continued shaving the pattern into the exposed undercut.
As if nothing had happened.
As if she hadn’t just looked directly at me.
As if she hadn’t just winked at me.
My face suddenly felt very warm.
I stared determinedly at the floor.
The woman who had arrived after us then stood and crossed the shop.
Sam gestured toward her chair.
“Take a seat.”
The woman sat down.
Immediately Sam reached for a fresh pink barber cape.
A tissue strip around the neck.
Then the cape.
Fastened neatly into place.
One moment she was a customer.
The next she was a client.
Unfortunately, my eyes kept finding their way back to the woman with red hair.
And every time they did, all I could think about was that smile.
Beside me, Maya looked up from her phone.
Then looked at me.
Then toward Jade’s chair.
A suspicious smile appeared on her face.
I immediately pretended not to notice.
Which only seemed to make her more amused.
Meanwhile, the woman with the impossible red hair sat calmly beneath the pink barber cape while Jade continued working on the intricate undercut.
The clippers continued buzzing for another minute or two while Jade worked on the final details of the pattern.
The rest of the shop carried on around them.
Music.
Conversation.
Scissors.
The familiar rhythm of the barbershop.
Then finally the clippers clicked off.
Silence.
Well, relative silence.
Jade stepped back and studied her work.
“Hmm.”
The woman beneath the pink cape remained perfectly still.
Jade nodded.
“Done.”
That got my attention immediately.
The woman beneath the pink cape lifted her head slightly.
Jade grabbed a hand mirror and held it behind her client so she could see the back of her head in the main mirror.
For the first time, I got a proper look at the undercut.
She held the mirror behind her client while the woman looked into the large wall mirror in front of her.
I found myself leaning forward slightly.
Curious.
For the first time, I got a proper look at the finished design.
The undercut at the nape of her neck had been transformed into a piece of artwork.
At the centre sat a beautifully detailed rose, carved into the closely shaved hair with astonishing precision. The petals spiralled outward from the middle, each line crisp and clean. From either side of the rose, delicate vine-like patterns flowed outward and upward, curling gracefully across the undercut beneath where her hair had been pinned up.
The design wasn’t aggressive or flashy.
It was elegant.
Feminine.
The sort of thing that looked expensive simply because of how much skill it must have taken to create.
The contrast between the intricate pattern and the dark shadow of the freshly shaved undercut made every detail stand out.
The woman smiled immediately.
A genuine smile.
“Oh, Jade…”
Jade grinned.
“You like it?”
“It’s gorgeous.”
The woman tilted her head slightly from side to side, admiring the pattern from different angles.
The rose seemed almost etched into her skin beneath the thick red hair pinned above it.
“You’ve outdone yourself.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.”
Jade laughed.
The woman continued studying the design for another moment before finally nodding in satisfaction.
“Definitely keeping this one for a while.”
“That’s what you said about the last one.”
“The last one wasn’t this pretty.”
Jade rolled her eyes affectionately.
Then reached up toward the large clip securing the rest of the woman’s hair.
“Alright then.”
She unclipped it.
And gravity immediately took over.
The enormous bun unravelled.
A cascade of ruby-red hair spilled downward over her shoulders and back.
Not just long.
Ridiculously long.
Thick enough that it seemed to pour rather than fall.
The dense red lengths flowed over the pink barber cape in a glossy wave, completely concealing the intricate rose pattern beneath them once again.
Like a curtain being drawn shut.
The undercut disappeared entirely.
Leaving only that incredible mass of red hair visible.
Even from across the room, I couldn’t stop staring.
Again.
Beside me, Maya looked entirely unsurprised.
Which somehow made it worse.
Jade quickly ran a brush through it.
A few smooth strokes.
Then a little product.
A quick adjustment around the crown.
Nothing dramatic.
The hair didn’t seem to need much help.
It already looked incredible.
Jade gave the style a final inspection.
Satisfied.
Then she unfastened the pink barber cape and removed the tissue.
The cape billowed slightly as it was removed.
The woman stood.
And suddenly I understood why everyone in the shop seemed to know who she was.
She was beautiful.
The first thing I noticed was her hair.
Now fully released, the enormous mass of ruby-red hair flowed freely down her back in a thick, glossy curtain. It looked even longer standing up than it had in the chair, falling to the bottom of her shorts in a rich wave of red that caught the afternoon light from the front windows.
It wasn’t just long.
It was beautiful.
The sort of hair that looked like it belonged in a shampoo advert.
Dense.
Healthy.
Impossibly thick.
Every movement sent subtle flashes of crimson and copper through it.
Then my attention drifted lower.
Which was probably a mistake.
Kate was dressed professionally enough for work, but she clearly wasn’t trying to hide the fact that she was attractive.
As she crossed the shop, I could hear the distinct click of the heels against the polished floor.
Click.
Click.
Click.
For some reason, that sound only made her harder to ignore.
I quickly discovered there was no safe place to look.
If I looked up, there were those impossible blue eyes.
If I looked down, there was the rest of her.
None of it helped.
The overall effect was unfair.
Completely unfair.
If someone had told me a professional barber looked like this, I would have assumed they were exaggerating.
Instead she looked more like a model who happened to own a barbershop.
Or a model who had somehow wandered into one and decided to stay.
The fitted clothes, the striking red hair, the bright blue eyes—it all came together in a way that made it difficult not to stare.
And unfortunately, I was staring.
Quite obviously.
I tried looking away.
That lasted approximately three seconds.
Then my eyes drifted back again.
Because she was genuinely stunning.
And judging by the way several clients glanced toward her when she stood, I wasn’t the only person noticing.
My brain chose that moment to completely betray me.
Oh.
That was all I managed.
Just…
Oh.
The woman thanked Jade, admired the undercut one final time in the mirror, then ran her fingers lightly through the thick red lengths that fell around her shoulders.
Clearly pleased with the result.
Then she crossed the shop.
Toward the station by the front window.
Toward the pink barber chair.
Her chair.
The one I’d been looking at since we arrived.
The one I’d assumed belonged to someone else.
The one that suddenly made a lot more sense.
She stepped behind it.
Placed both hands on the chrome handles.
And spun the chair around so it faced the waiting area.
Faced Maya.
Faced me.
Then she smiled.
“Next.”
For a second, I just stared.
Then my eyes widened.
And everything finally clicked into place.
The jokes.
The empty station.
The clients waiting specifically for her.
The woman in Jade’s chair.
The red hair.
The blue eyes.
The wink.
This—
This was Kate.
This was the famous Kate Maya had been talking about for years.
The barber she’d refused to let anyone else replace.
The woman everyone in the shop apparently joked about.
And somehow that realisation made my stomach do a small, entirely unnecessary flip.
Beside me, Maya stood immediately.
Like this was the most normal thing in the world.
I, meanwhile, was still trying to recover from the fact that the mysterious red-haired woman I’d spent the last twenty minutes staring at…
Was the person about to cut my hair.
Before I could fully recover from the revelation that the woman I’d been staring at for the last twenty minutes was actually Kate, Maya was already on her feet.
And grabbing my hand.
“Come on.”
“Maya—”
Too late.
She was already leading me across the shop.
The sounds of Barber La Femme seemed louder up close.
The music drifting from the speakers.
The hum of clippers somewhere next to me.
The scent of shampoo, styling products, and freshly cut hair hanging in the air.
Every step brought us closer to the pink barber chair by the window.
Closer to Kate.
My stomach did another completely unnecessary flip.
Kate was running her fingers through the ends of her freshly released red hair when we approached.
Up close, it looked even more impressive.
The thick ruby-red lengths fell well past her waist, glossy beneath the lights, with a density that seemed almost unreal. Every movement made the hair shift and flow around her.
“Maya,” Kate said, greeting Maya like an old friend.
Kate’s eyes immediately dropped to Maya’s hair.
The smile widened.
“Oh, come on.”
Maya laughed.
“What?”
Kate reached out and lightly flicked a section of Maya’s grown-out hair near her temple.
“This.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Maya.”
Kate shook her head dramatically.
“It’s been what? Five weeks?”
“Four.”
“Five.”
“Four and a half.”
Kate pointed at her.
“Too long.”
Maya rolled her eyes.
Kate folded her arms.
“I leave you unsupervised for a month and look what happens.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Clearly.”
Kate’s gaze moved over Maya’s haircut again before she sighed theatrically.
“We’ll fix it.”
Then Maya turned toward me.
“And this is Ellie.”
Kate’s attention shifted.
Those bright blue eyes landed on me.
And for a second my brain forgot how conversations worked.
“Hi, Ellie.”
Her smile softened slightly.
“Hi.”
Excellent.
Very articulate.
Kate seemed amused.
Then she patted the chair.
“Take a seat.”
I hesitated.
The chair seemed larger up close.
The chrome gleamed beneath the lights.
The pink leather looked impossibly clean.
For some reason, sitting in it felt like crossing a line.
A point of no return.
Eventually I lowered myself into it.
Awkwardly.
Nervously.
And apparently not far enough.
Kate immediately noticed.
Without a word, she stepped behind me and placed her hands firmly on my shoulders.
The gesture was professional and matter-of-fact.
Before I could react, she gently but decisively guided me further back into the chair.
“There we go.”
The leather creaked softly beneath me as I settled properly against the backrest.
The chair felt even bigger once I was actually sitting in it.
Too big.
Too visible.
The large mirror in front of me seemed determined to show me every nervous expression I made.
Kate, meanwhile, looked completely at home.
Before she even reached for the cape, she stepped behind me and gathered my hair together with both hands.
All of it.
The sensation made me sit a little straighter.
My blonde hair slid over my shoulders as Kate collected it at the back of my head.
“So this is what Maya’s been hiding from me,” she said lightly.
Maya laughed.
“I knew you’d have something to say about it.”
“I always have something to say about hair.”
Kate began twisting the gathered length into a loose coil.
The motion was smooth and practiced.
Years of handling long hair made obvious in every movement.
I watched in the mirror as the thick rope of blonde hair wound around itself.
Then Kate reached for a large hair clip from her station.
Click.
The clip locked into place.
My hair was secured neatly on top of my head.
For the first time since arriving, I could properly see my neck and shoulders reflected in the mirror.
The change felt strangely vulnerable.
Kate stepped around to the front of the chair.
“Much better.”
Then she reached for the neck strip dispenser.
Rrrrip.
The sound seemed louder than it should have.
Kate snapped the tissue strip between her hands and moved behind me once more.
I felt the soft paper settle against my neck.
Cool.
Light.
Comfortable.
She wrapped it neatly into place.
Then came the cape.
The famous pink cape.
Kate flicked it open with practiced ease.
The bright fabric billowed outward before settling over me.
A second later she fastened it securely around my neck.
The cape draped over my lap and the sides of the chair, instantly transforming me from visitor to client.
From someone waiting for a haircut to someone about to receive one.
Then Kate reached up toward the clip holding my hair.
My stomach fluttered slightly.
Click.
The clip released.
Gravity immediately took over.
My hair tumbled free.
Blonde strands spilled downward over the bright pink cape, spreading across my shoulders and chest before settling in my lap.
I watched it happen in the mirror.
The contrast was striking.
Pale blonde hair against vivid pink fabric.
Kate ran her fingers through it once, letting the strands slide between them
My hair spilled over the bright pink cape in a soft, heavy curtain, sliding down the front of the chair in smooth, uninterrupted sheets. The fabric beneath shifted slightly as it settled, the contrast between vivid pink and pale blonde making it feel suddenly more noticeable than it ever had at home.
For the first time since sitting down, I actually saw it properly in the mirror.
Not in passing.
Not tied up.
Not brushed away or tucked behind my shoulders.
Just… all of it.
Long.
Very long.
Straight, with only the faintest natural bend toward the ends where it had grown heavy over time. It fell cleanly down my front and across my lap, pooling slightly where the cape met the chair’s edge.
Blonde.
Soft-looking in a way that made it almost deceptive.
And admittedly…
a little shapeless.
Like it had simply kept growing without ever being properly guided into anything.
Kate didn’t speak at first.
She just gathered it back up from where it had fallen, sliding her fingers through the full length in one slow, deliberate motion. The sensation made my shoulders lift slightly before I could stop it.
Then she brought it forward again, letting it fall across the cape so she could see it properly from the front.
Her hands didn’t rush.
They evaluated.
Measured.
She lifted the full weight of it once, just enough to feel how heavy it actually was, then let it slip through her fingers in a single smooth cascade.
A soft sound left her.
“Hm.”
It wasn’t loud.
But it landed with way too much meaning.
Kate separated a section near my cheek, let it fall back, then lifted another from the opposite side, studying how it framed my face in the mirror. Her head tilted slightly as she assessed it, almost like she was mentally redrawing the entire thing.
Then she lifted the ends again.
Just the ends.
“They’re not terrible.”
Maya immediately smirked beside us.
“That’s basically a compliment from you.”
Kate didn’t look away from my hair.
“It’s not a compliment.”
“It sounded like one.”
Kate gave a short laugh.
“That’s because you don’t understand scale.”
She let another section fall through her fingers, then shook her head slightly.
“She needs a proper haircut.”
Maya nodded instantly.
“Exactly.”
Kate continued, more to herself now as she worked through the length again.
“This all needs cleaning up.”
Her fingers combed through it once more.
Not unkindly.
Just firmly, like she was already deciding what stayed and what didn’t.
“She needs a good tidy up,” Kate added, almost thoughtfully. “Honestly, Maya, how do you let it get this far?”
Maya raised her hands defensively.
“I didn’t let it do anything.”
Kate glanced at her.
“You absolutely did.”
Maya smiled. “Fair.”
Kate let out a small sigh, still running her fingers through my hair.
“It’s all gotta go—well, not all of it,” she corrected quickly, as if adjusting her own thought process out loud. “But it all needs reshaping.”
She lifted another section, letting it fall back into the cape.
“It’s just sitting there at the moment.”
A pause.
Then, more decisively:
“I’ll make her look presentable.”
That word shouldn’t have sounded so final.
But it did.
Maya looked pleased.
“That’s why we’re here.”
Kate pointed at her lightly.
“Flattery still won’t save you from overdue trims.”
Maya laughed.
Kate’s attention returned to me again, softer now, but focused.
“You’ve got really nice hair.”
“Really?” I managed.
“Really.”
She nodded once.
“Good density. Nice colour. Healthy through most of it.”
Her fingers lifted the ends again.
Then she added, almost bluntly:
“It’s just… not doing anything for you like this.”
That should’ve stung.
Instead, it landed like truth.
Kate let the section fall and looked at me in the mirror.
“We’ll fix that.”
Kate let the section fall and met my eyes in the mirror.
“We’ll fix that.”
For a moment, nobody said anything.
The conversation happening elsewhere in the shop faded into the background, leaving only the soft music drifting from the speakers and the steady buzz of clippers somewhere behind me. The sounds had been there the whole time, but now they seemed sharper somehow, as if my brain had suddenly decided to focus on everything except staying calm.
Kate moved around the chair again, her reflection gliding across the mirror.
She looked completely at ease.
Confident.
Certain.
Like she’d already figured out exactly what my hair needed the second I’d walked through the door.
Meanwhile, I still wasn’t entirely sure what I’d agreed to.
That felt a little unfair.
Reaching across her station, Kate picked up a black hairband.
The movement was simple enough.
But it immediately caught my attention.
And then my concern.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“Tidying up.”
I narrowed my eyes slightly.
That was not nearly specific enough to be reassuring.
Before I could press for more information, she stepped behind me again.
I felt her hands slide into my hair.
Warm fingers moving through the blonde lengths, gathering them away from the cape and separating them from where they’d spread across my shoulders.
The sensation sent a small shiver down my spine.
It was oddly relaxing.
The kind of gentle, practiced touch that made it obvious she’d done this thousands of times before.
Unfortunately, it was also making me increasingly aware that I was sitting in a barber chair while someone prepared to cut my hair.
So relaxing wasn’t exactly the dominant emotion.
Kate stretched the hairband between her fingers.
Then she began collecting my hair together.
Not just part of it.
All of it.
Every strand.
I watched in the mirror as the blonde curtain slowly disappeared from the front of the cape. More and more of it was drawn behind me until my shoulders felt strangely light and exposed.
Kate worked quickly but never rushed.
Everything she did seemed deliberate.
Effortless.
Like her hands already knew where they were going before she moved them.
A moment later, the hairband snapped neatly into place.
My hair was secured into a single thick ponytail.
I blinked at my reflection.
The change was surprisingly dramatic.
Without all that hair framing my face and covering the cape, I looked different somehow.
More exposed.
More vulnerable.
Kate rested one hand against the ponytail, feeling its weight.
The blonde length hung heavily down the back of the chair, thick and smooth beneath her fingers.
For a few seconds she simply studied it.
Assessing.
Thinking.
Then she gave a small nod.
As though she’d just confirmed something.
My stomach tightened immediately.
Because whatever conclusion she’d reached, I had a feeling it involved scissors.
Before reaching for them, though, Kate glanced over at Maya.
Who was still standing beside the chair looking far too entertained by my growing anxiety.
“You.”
Maya pointed at herself.
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
Kate tilted her head toward the waiting area.
“Go sit down.”
Maya laughed.
“I’m supervising.”
“No, you’re distracting my client.”
“I’m providing emotional support.”
Kate raised an eyebrow.
“For who?”
Maya opened her mouth.
Then stopped.
“Fair point.”
A grin spread across Kate’s face.
“I’ll deal with your disaster after I’m finished with Ellie.”
“My hair is not a disaster.”
Kate looked at her for a long moment.
Then very deliberately lowered her gaze toward Maya’s overgrown fringe.
Maya sighed dramatically.
“Okay, maybe a little.”
“A lot.”
“A little.”
“A lot.”
Maya rolled her eyes.
Kate pointed toward the waiting chairs again.
“Sit.”
Maya turned to me and gave me an exaggerated look of sympathy.
“Good luck.”
I laughed despite myself.
“That’s not helping either,” Kate said.
Maya only laughed harder as she finally headed toward the waiting area.
“Fine. I’ll wait.”
“You’ll survive.”
“I make no promises.”
Kate shook her head, clearly used to this routine, and watched Maya settle into one of the chairs.
Then she turned back to me.
The change was immediate.
The playful teasing disappeared, replaced by the focused concentration she’d had earlier.
Not cold.
Not unfriendly.
Just professional.
Now I had her full attention.
Which, somehow, felt even more intimidating.
Kate stepped behind the chair again and rested a hand lightly against the ponytail.
“There.”
Her eyes met mine in the mirror.
“Much better.”
I wasn’t entirely convinced.
Kate, however, looked completely convinced.
And at this point, her opinion probably carried more weight than mine.
She reached toward her station once more.
This time her fingers closed around a pair of scissors.
The polished steel flashed beneath the lights as she lifted them.
I watched the blades catch the reflection from the mirror.
And suddenly everything became very real.
The cape.
The chair.
The ponytail.
The fact that I was actually about to get my hair cut.
My stomach did another nervous little flip.
Because there was no backing out now.
Kate stepped behind the chair again.
The scissors opened.
Closed.
Opened once more.
A soft metallic click.
Ordinary.
Harmless.
Yet somehow the sound made my pulse jump.
I watched her reflection in the mirror.
Watched her gather my ponytail firmly in one hand.
Not yanking it.
Just holding it securely.
The weight shifted against my scalp.
A familiar sensation.
One I’d felt every day for years.
Only now it felt different.
Temporary.
Like I was noticing it for the last time.
Kate lifted the thick blonde ponytail slightly.
It felt heavy.
Heavier now that I knew it was about to disappear.
A grin spread across her face.
“Oh, this is going to be satisfying.”
She gave my ponytail another appreciative lift.
“Look at this.”
The blonde length swung gently behind the chair.
“So much hair.”
There was something almost mischievous in her voice now.
Like she was enjoying this far more than she probably should have.
As she spoke, the bell above the shop door jingled.
Then again.
A few women had wandered in and taken seats in the waiting area.
They’d clearly arrived in the middle of something interesting.
I saw them glance toward the chair.
Toward Kate.
Toward the thick blonde ponytail in her hand.
A couple of them settled into their seats without taking their eyes off what was happening.
My face immediately grew warm.
Part embarrassment.
Part nerves.
Part the fact that there was suddenly an audience.
Kate caught my eye in the mirror.
“I swear, I love chopping a lesbian girl’s hair off.”
The women waiting nearby laughed softly.
Kate looked completely unapologetic.
She held up the ponytail slightly.
“You spend years growing it out, then one day you come in and let me take all of it off. It’s one of life’s great pleasures.”
My cheeks burned hotter.
I stared at my reflection.
At the women watching.
At Kate’s delighted grin.
I didn’t know where to look.
Kate wasn’t trying to hide how much she was enjoying this.
If anything, she seemed even more amused by my embarrassment.
The silver blades slid into position.
Right above the elastic.
Right below the nape of my neck.
Close enough that I could feel exactly where the cut was going to happen.
Kate’s smile widened.
“There we go.”
The first cut wasn’t a snip.
There was simply too much hair for that.
Instead there was pressure.
A dense crunching sensation.
The blades forcing their way through the thick blonde bundle.
I felt it through the ponytail.
Felt the vibration travel into my scalp.
My breath caught.
Kate cut again.
And again.
Each squeeze of the scissors sent another tug through the ponytail.
Crunch.
Crunch.
Crunch.
The sound seemed impossibly loud.
Steel forcing its way through years of growth.
I could actually feel the ponytail weakening.
The tension changing.
The thick bundle shifting in Kate’s hand.
Less resistance.
Less weight.
Every cut taking a little more of it away.
“Oh, that’s good,” Kate murmured.
Another crunch.
Another section severed.
She sounded almost delighted.
Around me the barbershop continued as normal.
Music drifted from the speakers.
Someone was chatting near reception.
Clippers buzzed somewhere behind me.
But all of it felt distant.
Muted.
My entire focus was on the scissors.
On the sensation at the back of my head.
On the knowledge that my hair was being cut off right now.
And on the awareness that several pairs of eyes were watching it happen.
Then suddenly—
The resistance vanished.
The pull disappeared.
The weight was gone.
Just gone.
My head felt strangely light.
So light that it almost startled me.
I blinked.
Trying to process the sudden absence.
The back of my neck felt cool.
Exposed.
Air touched skin that had been hidden beneath hair for years.
The difference was immediate.
Impossible to ignore.
Kate lifted the severed ponytail into view.
A thick rope of pale blonde hair.
Long.
Heavy.
Substantial.
Far bigger than it had seemed while attached to my head.
“Oh, that’s satisfying,” Kate said.
I couldn’t stop staring.
That had been my hair.
A minute ago it had been hanging halfway down my back.
Now it was just… separate.
An object.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the women in the waiting area watching too.
Even Maya had gone quiet.
Everyone seemed focused on the ponytail.
Kate turned it in her hand.
Admiring it.
Then she casually dropped it onto my lap.
The ponytail landed across the pink cape with a noticeable weight.
I looked down.
And froze.
It looked enormous.
A thick blonde bundle stretched across my thighs.
Far more dramatic than I’d imagined.
I reached out automatically.
My fingers brushed the cut end.
Soft.
Familiar.
Yet oddly disconnected.
Like it already belonged to someone else.
Meanwhile Kate had already moved on.
The haircut wasn’t finished.
Not even close.
She picked up her comb and began pulling the remaining hair down around my face.
The shorter lengths fell immediately.
Without the weight of the ponytail, everything moved differently.
Lighter.
Freer.
The remaining hair barely reached my cheeks.
Uneven blonde sections framed my face.
Some pieces brushed my jaw.
Others sat higher.
The shape was rough.
Messy.
Choppy.
A bob in its earliest stage.
I stared at my reflection.
The change was shocking.
My neck looked longer.
My shoulders looked broader.
There was suddenly so much more of me visible.
And every tiny movement felt different.
When I turned my head slightly, the hair moved instantly.
No delay.
No heavy sweep across my shoulders.
No curtain of blonde sliding down my back.
Just soft ends brushing my cheeks.
The sensation felt strange.
But not unpleasant.
Kate combed through it again.
The comb moved effortlessly now.
No tangles.
No endless lengths.
Just short blonde hair falling neatly into place.
“Much better already,” she said.
She stepped closer.
Studying the shape.
Then she began refining it.
The scissors returned.
This time the cuts were quick.
Precise.
Small sections falling away around my face.
Tiny blonde pieces drifted onto the cape.
Others landed on my shoulders before sliding down.
I could feel each adjustment.
The gentle touch of the comb.
The light snipping around my cheeks.
The occasional brush of Kate’s fingers against my skin.
The bob gradually became more deliberate.
More balanced.
Still messy.
Still textured.
But clearly intentional now.
Kate worked around the sides.
Then the back.
Lifting sections.
Removing weight.
Creating shape.
Every few moments she would shake the hair loose and let it settle naturally.
Each time it seemed shorter.
Lighter.
More alive.
I couldn’t stop noticing how different my head felt.
There was no heaviness anymore.
No constant awareness of long hair hanging behind me.
Instead everything felt airy.
Almost weightless.
The short layers bounced whenever I moved.
Kate finally stepped back.
A smile spread across her face.
“There we go.”
She ran both hands through the bob.
Not carefully.
Not delicately.
Just ruffling it.
The short layers shifted instantly beneath her fingers.
Lifting.
Separating.
Falling back into place.
The sensation made me smile despite myself.
With long hair, nobody could really do that.
There had simply been too much of it.
Now her fingers moved easily through the short layers.
Tousling them.
Fluffing them.
Giving the haircut even more texture.
“Oh, that’s cute,” Kate said.
She gave my hair one final playful scruff before stepping back.
The ends settled around my cheeks.
Soft.
Light.
Barely touching my skin.
I looked at myself in the mirror.
At the messy blonde bob.
At my exposed neck.
At the huge ponytail still lying across my lap.
The contrast was unbelievable.
One represented years.
The other represented a few minutes.
Yet somehow both belonged to me.
My stomach fluttered again.
Part nerves.
Part disbelief.
Part excitement.
I lifted a hand and touched the ends near my cheek.
They felt impossibly short.
Impossibly light.
And for the first time since sitting down, I found myself smiling.
Because the haircut was real now.
The long hair was gone.
Kate seemed pleased with my reaction.
Which was probably dangerous.
Because the smile she gave my reflection suggested she had absolutely no intention of stopping there.
“Alright.”
She picked up her comb again.
“Now we’re getting into the actual haircut.”
I looked at the messy blonde bob reflected in the mirror.
“The actual haircut?”
Kate laughed.
“That was just the preparation.”
That answer did absolutely nothing for my nerves.
She moved behind the chair and began combing through the short blonde hair again.
Without the weight of the ponytail, every movement felt different.
The comb glided through effortlessly.
The ends brushed my cheeks.
The back of my neck still felt strangely exposed.
Kate worked quickly.
The top section was lifted.
Then clipped.
A silver hair clip snapped into place.
Then another.
And another.
I watched in the mirror as more and more of the blonde hair was pinned up on top of my head.
The process felt oddly precise.
Methodical.
Like she was revealing the structure hidden underneath.
Soon, most of the hair on top was secured out of the way.
Only the lower sections at the back and sides remained loose.
The haircut suddenly looked much more serious.
Much more intentional.
Kate studied it briefly.
Then reached for the clippers.
My stomach immediately fluttered.
The guard snapped into place with a practiced click.
Then the clippers came to life.
Bzzzzzz.
The sound seemed louder now that they were meant for me.
The vibration buzzed through the air.
Steady.
Constant.
Unmistakably barbershop.
Kate stepped behind me.
“Head down.”
The instruction came calmly.
Matter-of-factly.
Like she’d said it a thousand times before.
I hesitated.
Just for a second.
The buzzing clippers in her hand suddenly felt very real.
Very close.
Very much intended for me.
Kate waited exactly long enough to realise I wasn’t moving.
Then her hand settled firmly against the back of my head.
“Head down, Ellie.”
There was still amusement in her voice.
But there was no mistaking the expectation behind it.
I swallowed.
My chin dipped slightly.
Not enough.
Kate immediately applied pressure with her hand.
Firm.
Certain.
Professional.
My head tilted forward whether I intended it to or not.
“Further.”
Before I could decide whether to obey, Kate pushed my head down another inch herself.
My chin dropped toward my chest.
“There we go.”
Her hand remained on the back of my head.
Holding me exactly where she wanted me.
Not hurting.
Not rough.
Just leaving absolutely no room for argument.
The position felt oddly vulnerable.
The mirror disappeared from view.
I couldn’t see my haircut anymore.
Couldn’t see Kate.
Couldn’t see the clipped-up sections on top of my head.
All I could see was the bright pink barber cape draped over me.
And resting in the middle of my lap—
My ponytail.
My blonde ponytail.
The one that had been hanging halfway down my back less than an hour ago.
Now it just sat there.
Detached.
Lifeless.
A thick bundle of blonde hair tied neatly with the elastic I’d worn that morning.
I stared at it.
Unable to look away.
It seemed impossible that it had belonged to me.
Impossible that it had been attached to my head.
Yet there it was.
Lying against the pink cape.
Proof of what I’d already let happen.
Kate’s hand stayed firmly against the back of my head.
Keeping my gaze lowered.
Keeping me focused on the cape and the severed ponytail in my lap.
Then I felt the clippers touch the back of my neck.
I jumped slightly.
The sensation was completely different from anything I’d expected.
Warm.
Vibrating.
The buzzing travelled through the short hair and into my scalp.
A strange tingling sensation followed the movement of the clippers.
Not unpleasant.
Actually…
Kind of nice.
The clippers began moving upward.
A soft rasping sound filled my ears.
Medium-length blonde strands immediately slid downward.
Not tiny clippings.
Actual locks of hair.
Sections that had still been reaching toward my chin only moments ago.
Some landed on the cape.
Others settled on top of the ponytail itself.
I couldn’t see the section being cut.
But I could feel it.
The vibration moving steadily upward.
The sensation of hair being removed.
The cool air following behind the clippers.
Kate guided the clippers all the way to the section line.
Then pulled away.
More blonde strands drifted down.
Several landed beside the ponytail.
The contrast was striking.
The long blonde hair I’d already lost and the chin-length blonde sections now joining it.
Instinctively, I started to lift my head but Kate’s hand immediately tightened.
“Stay there.”
My head stopped moving.
“We’re not finished.”
I swallowed.
“Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologise, just stay still.”
I felt the clippers buzzing against my scalp again as she made another pass.
The same pleasant buzzing sensation travelled across the back of my head.
More medium-length blonde strands fell.
The cape was beginning to collect them now.
Pale locks scattered across the bright pink fabric.
Some settled around the ponytail like a halo.
Others draped across it, almost blending into the thicker bundle of hair in my lap.
Kate worked methodically.
One pass beside the last.
Then another.
Each stroke removing more hair.
Each stroke making the back of my head feel lighter.
Cooler.
Cleaner.
The clipped-up blonde sections on top remained untouched, secured neatly away from the clippers while Kate concentrated on the back.
Every so often, as she changed angles, her hand would shift slightly against my head.
Guiding.
Positioning.
Keeping me exactly where she needed me.
The confidence with which she handled me made it obvious she was completely in control of the haircut.
And somehow that was reassuring.
Unable to see anything except the cape and the ponytail in my lap, I found myself focusing on the sensation instead.
The hum.
The vibration.
The feeling of the guard gliding smoothly through the short hair.
It was strangely relaxing.
Strangely satisfying.
Kate must have noticed.
Because I heard the smile in her voice.
“Oh.”
My cheeks immediately warmed.
“What?”
“You like the clippers.”
“I do not.”
“Mhm.”
Even without seeing her expression, I knew she didn’t believe me for a second.
And annoyingly…
She might have been right.
There was a brief pause as Kate adjusted her grip and inspected her work.
Then she chuckled softly.
“You know…”
I glanced down at the ponytail in my lap.
“What?”
“I saw you earlier.”
My stomach tightened.
“Saw me doing what?”
“Admiring someone’s haircut.”
I blinked.
Then immediately knew exactly who she meant.
Kate laughed when my silence gave me away.
“Thought so.”
My face grew warmer.
“I wasn’t admiring it.”
“Really?”
There was far too much amusement in her voice.
“You weren’t watching while Jade refreshed my undercut?”
I opened my mouth.
Then closed it again.
Because I absolutely had been.
I remembered standing there while Jade carefully cleaned up the shaved section around Kate’s head.
The clippers.
The precision.
The pattern Jade had carved into the side.
And the way Kate had seemed completely comfortable sitting in the chair herself.
“I was just looking.”
“Mhm.”
The clippers buzzed briefly as she cleaned up another section.
“I definitely wasn’t staring.”
Kate laughed outright.
“Ellie.”
I groaned.
“What?”
“What did you think of it?”
I hesitated.
“The undercut?”
“The undercut.”
Another pause.
Then I admitted it.
“It looked really good.”
Kate sounded pleased.
“Just good?”
I rolled my eyes despite myself.
“The pattern was cool.”
“Ah.”
There was unmistakable satisfaction in her voice now.
“So you were paying attention.”
“Maybe.”
Kate laughed again.
The sound mingling with the steady hum of the clippers.
And somehow, despite the growing pile of blonde hair covering the pink cape and the fact that half my own head was currently being shaved, I found myself smiling too.
Kate finished another careful pass up the back of my head and then the clippers pulled away.
For a moment, the buzzing stopped.
The sudden silence felt strange after the constant hum that had been surrounding me for the last several minutes.
Tiny blonde hairs continued drifting down onto the cape.
A few tickled my neck.
Others settled across my shoulders.
Then I felt Kate’s hand on the chair.
A decisive push.
The large chrome barber chair rotated slowly to the right.
The shop shifted around me.
The mirrors.
The waiting area.
The row of barber stations.
The shelves lined with products.
Everything moved gradually out of my field of vision.
Until suddenly I was facing the front windows.
And the street beyond them.
My stomach immediately tightened.
“Oh no.”
Kate smirked.
“What?”
“Everyone can see me.”
“They can.”
That was not the reassuring answer I was hoping for.
Before I could say anything else, Kate stepped beside me.
Her hand settled against the side of my head.
Firm.
Unyielding.
Certain.
The touch wasn’t aggressive.
It was simply the touch of someone completely confident in what they were doing.
Someone who expected to be obeyed because they knew exactly how they wanted the haircut to proceed.
“Stay still.”
Then she turned my head sharply to the angle she wanted.
Tilting it away from her.
Positioning it precisely.
The movement was quick and practiced.
Not rough.
Just completely confident.
Like it never occurred to her that I might resist.
My head stayed there.
Held exactly where she’d put it.
“There.”
The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a perfect view outside.
Unfortunately, they also offered a perfect view inside.
And more specifically…
Of me.
Sitting in a barber chair wearing a bright pink cape.
With half my haircut missing.
And my head tilted obediently to one side while my barber prepared to shave the other.
The sight was almost ridiculous.
The top of my hair was clipped up in sections.
The back had already been cut dramatically shorter.
Loose blonde hair covered the cape.
The severed ponytail sat across my lap like evidence from a crime scene.
I looked unmistakably halfway through a major transformation.
And everyone walking past could see it.
I watched a woman walking past glance casually through the window.
Then glance again.
Her eyes lingering for a second longer than before.
A young man passing in the opposite direction did much the same.
Not staring.
Just noticing.
Noticing the enormous pile of blonde hair scattered across my lap.
Noticing the cape.
Noticing the ongoing transformation.
And then continuing on his way.
A couple walking together both looked inside.
The woman smiled slightly.
The man raised his eyebrows.
Then they kept walking.
Still.
I could feel my face warming.
Kate seemed entirely unbothered.
Her hand remained against my head.
Keeping it angled exactly where she wanted it.
The clippers buzzed back to life.
The familiar sound filled the shop once more.
Steady.
Mechanical.
Unmistakably barbershop.
Then Kate moved to my right side.
I watched her reflection in the glass.
The red hair.
The focused blue eyes.
The calm concentration.
One hand remained planted against the side of my head.
Firm.
Steady.
Making sure I didn’t move.
“There we go.”
The clippers touched my right sideburn area.
The vibration returned instantly.
That same strange buzzing sensation spread through the side of my scalp.
I felt the guard glide upward.
Then heard the soft rasp.
Hair falling.
Lots of hair.
The short blonde lengths that had been brushing my cheek moments ago began sliding downward.
Some landed against my shoulder.
Others drifted across the cape.
More followed.
The sensation was oddly fascinating.
I could actually feel sections separating from the rest of my hair.
Feel the weight disappearing.
One clipper pass at a time.
Kate worked methodically.
Each stroke moved upward from my ear toward the clipped-up section on top.
Each pass removed another strip of blonde hair.
The cape was collecting it quickly now.
The pale strands stood out vividly against the bright pink fabric.
I looked down.
And blinked.
There was so much of it.
The severed ponytail still rested across my lap.
Now surrounded by dozens of shorter blonde pieces.
Some were only a few inches long.
Others were long enough to curl slightly as they landed.
The evidence of the haircut was becoming impossible to ignore.
Another pass.
More hair slid down my shoulder.
Another.
More blonde strands drifted onto the cape.
Another.
A whole lock detached and fluttered downward in front of my chest before settling beside the ponytail.
I watched one section fall in the reflection.
A piece that had been long enough to brush my jaw only seconds earlier.
Now it floated downward before coming to rest beside the ponytail.
Gone.
Just like that.
Kate continued without hesitation.
The clippers hummed steadily.
The side of my head felt cooler after every pass.
Lighter.
Cleaner.
More exposed.
The air from the shop seemed to reach skin that had been hidden beneath hair only moments ago.
Every stroke revealed more of my ear.
More of the shape of my head.
More of the haircut Kate had planned all along.
And strangely…
I liked it.
A movement outside caught my attention.
A woman walking past slowed slightly as she looked through the window.
Her eyes flicked toward me.
Then widened almost imperceptibly.
Not in a bad way.
More in surprise.
Like she’d realised she was witnessing a dramatic haircut halfway through.
Which, admittedly, she was.
Another passerby glanced inside and visibly did a double take.
His gaze dropped to the mountain of blonde hair covering the cape.
Then lifted toward my head.
Then he continued walking.
I immediately looked away.
My face growing warmer.
Kate noticed.
“Embarrassed?”
“A little.”
She smiled.
“Doesn’t matter.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Everyone looks awkward halfway through a haircut.”
I glanced at the cape covered in blonde hair.
The clipped-up sections on top of my head.
The increasingly short side.
The pile of hair that seemed to grow larger every minute.
“That’s not very reassuring.”
Kate gave a short laugh.
“It isn’t supposed to be.”
The clippers continued their steady work.
More hair fell.
More weight disappeared.
Every now and then her hand adjusted my head slightly.
A small push.
A slight turn.
A gentle tilt.
Always directing me back into position before I could drift.
Always keeping me exactly where she wanted me.
The right side was beginning to feel dramatically different now.
The vibration travelled higher with each pass.
The coolness spread further.
And every time another lock detached and slid onto the cape, the contrast became more obvious.
Long blonde hair above.
Very little hair below.
The shape was emerging.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
One clipper stroke at a time.
And as another lock slid from my shoulder into my lap, I found myself staring less at the people outside and more at my reflection.
Because despite how unfinished it looked…
Despite how much hair was still falling…
Despite the embarrassment of being displayed in the front window halfway through such a dramatic haircut…
For the first time, I could actually begin to see the haircut emerging.
The clean lines.
The sharp contrast.
The deliberate shape hidden beneath all that blonde hair.
And I couldn’t stop watching it happen.
Kate finished another careful pass along the right side of my head and then pulled the clippers away.
A few loose blonde strands slid from my shoulder and drifted onto the cape.
Then I felt her hand settle on the arm of the chair.
The large chrome chair rotated smoothly again.
Away from the front window.
Away from the street.
Past the mirrors.
Until I was facing the barber chair directly to the left of Kate’s station.
The familiar stations slid into view one by one.
Sam’s station.
Anna’s station.
Jade’s station.
All three barbers were busy.
All three had clippers in their hands.
The steady hum that had become the soundtrack of the shop seemed to come from everywhere at once.
Bzzzz.
Bzzzz.
Bzzzz.
At Sam’s station, a client sat beneath a pink cape while Sam held her head firmly to one side, guiding it into position as she shaved around the exposed section above her ear.
At Anna’s station, another woman sat with her chin tilted downward while Anna pressed a hand gently against the crown of her head, running clippers upward through the side as blonde hair slid from her shoulders onto her lap.
Even Jade was busy again, one hand resting on her client’s forehead as she angled her head forward to clean up the back of a short haircut.
Everywhere I looked, clippers were buzzing.
Everywhere I looked, barbers were positioning their clients exactly where they wanted them.
Tilting heads.
Turning chins.
Guiding them into place.
And strangely…
I couldn’t stop watching.
There was something fascinating about it.
The confidence.
The certainty.
The way each barber seemed completely in control of the haircut unfolding beneath their hands.
The chair continued turning.
Then stopped.
Kate immediately stepped around to my left side.
The clippers were already buzzing.
Ready.
Waiting.
I barely had time to look up before her hand settled against the side of my head.
Firm.
Certain.
Professional.
“There.”
My head tilted automatically.
Apparently not enough.
Kate applied gentle pressure.
Guiding me further.
The angle changed until my left ear was fully exposed.
Exactly where she wanted it.
“Perfect.”
The instruction was calm.
Matter-of-fact.
I stayed still.
The clippers touched my left sideburn.
The familiar vibration returned immediately.
Warm.
Buzzing.
Pleasant.
The sensation travelled through the short hair and into my scalp.
I found myself relaxing into it almost instantly.
The guard glided upward.
A soft rasp followed.
Another section gone.
Another lock detached.
Another piece of blonde hair floating downward.
This time I barely noticed.
My attention had drifted elsewhere.
Toward the other clients.
Toward the women sitting obediently while their barbers adjusted their heads and continued shaving.
Toward the piles of hair gathering across pink capes throughout the shop.
There was something oddly fascinating about it.
Watching someone become something slightly different.
Watching a haircut take shape.
Watching hair disappear.
Watching a barber gently but confidently move a client’s head exactly where it needed to be before another pass of the clippers.
The clippers moved upward again.
More blonde hair fell.
Kate continued working methodically beside me.
But I wasn’t looking at myself at all.
Instead I found myself watching Anna tilt her client’s head lower before running the clippers cleanly up the side.
Watching Sam turn her client’s face away so she could shave neatly around the ear.
Watching Jade steady her client’s forehead before cleaning up another section at the back.
The whole shop seemed alive.
Focused.
Busy.
A rhythm all its own.
Another clipper pass.
More hair fell.
Another.
More blonde strands drifted down.
But my eyes stayed fixed on everything else.
Apparently for long enough that Kate noticed.
Because she suddenly chuckled.
A quiet, amused sound.
I blinked.
“What?”
Kate followed my gaze across the shop.
“Finding the rest of the shop more interesting than your own haircut?”
I laughed softly.
“Maybe.”
“At least you’re honest.”
The clippers continued humming as she worked around my ear.
“I guess it’s just interesting watching everyone.”
“It is.”
I glanced at her reflection.
“You don’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
She brushed away a few loose hairs from my temple.
“Most people spend the whole appointment staring at themselves in the mirror or staring at me.”
“And I don’t?”
Kate smiled.
“Not even a little.”
The clippers travelled upward once more.
A fresh shower of blonde hair drifted onto the cape.
I barely registered it.
Kate noticed.
“See?”
“What?”
“You didn’t even look down.”
I glanced at my lap.
Hair was everywhere.
Far more than I’d realised.
“Oh.”
Kate laughed.
“Exactly.”
I shook my head slightly before remembering she was still cutting.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise.”
She gently repositioned my head.
“Just stay still.”
I obeyed.
The clippers buzzed upward again.
More hair floated down.
“You seem pretty relaxed now.”
I thought about it for a moment.
“I guess I am.”
“A lot more relaxed than when you first sat down.”
“That’s probably true.”
Kate smiled at my reflection.
“I can usually tell.”
“Tell what?”
“When someone stops worrying about the haircut and starts enjoying the experience.”
I looked at her through the mirror.
“And you’ve think I am?”
“I don’t think, I know.”
Her grin widened.
“I think the evidence is sitting under a pink cape covered in blonde hair.”
I laughed despite myself.
“Fair point.”
“Besides,” she continued, “if you were nervous, you wouldn’t be busy watching everyone else’s haircut.”
The teasing in her voice was light and playful.
I rolled my eyes.
Kate laughed.
“There it is.”
“There what is?”
“That look.”
“What look?”
“The one that says you know I’m right.”
I shook my head.
“You really enjoy this, don’t you?”
“Enjoy what?”
“Teasing your clients.”
Kate pretended to consider it.
“Of course, its one of the best parts of the job. But for the record, I only tease the entertaining ones.”
I groaned.
She laughed again.
The clippers buzzed steadily.
The other barbers continued working.
Heads tilted.
Chins lowered.
Hair continued falling throughout the shop.
And somehow, sitting there beneath the pink cape with blonde hair covering my lap and Kate steadily shaving away the left side of my head while I watched the other barbers confidently work on their clients…
I found myself smiling too.
Kate finished the last pass on the left side.
The clippers pulled away.
For a moment, the buzzing stopped.
Then I felt the chair move again.
The large chrome barber chair rotated smoothly beneath me.
The stations drifted out of view.
The waiting area disappeared from my peripheral vision.
Until finally I was facing the mirror once more.
Directly.
Fully.
For the first time since the clipper work had started, I got a proper look at myself.
And I froze.
“Oh.”
The word escaped before I could stop it.
The sides of my head were gone.
Not completely shaved.
But close enough that the difference felt shocking.
The blonde hair that had framed my cheeks only minutes earlier had been reduced to a soft layer of pale stubble along both sides of my head.
Neat.
Clean.
Even.
The contrast with the top was dramatic.
All of the remaining hair had been clipped neatly out of the way.
Held securely on top of my head by several silver clips.
Waiting.
The shape looked unfinished.
Technical.
Like the framework of a haircut rather than the haircut itself.
Yet even now I could see it beginning to emerge.
The shorter sides immediately changed the shape of my face.
Changed my silhouette.
Changed me.
My eyes remained fixed on the reflection.
Trying to process just how much hair was gone.
The back and sides felt impossibly light.
Every slight movement allowed cool air to brush across areas that had been hidden beneath hair for years.
It felt strange.
And surprisingly good.
Kate seemed pleased by my reaction.
She stepped around the chair and stopped in front of the mirror.
The clippers were still in her hand.
I watched as she examined them briefly.
Then she reached for a small brush on the counter.
Short, practiced strokes swept across the clipper blades.
Tiny blonde hairs fell away.
She brushed the guard.
The sides.
The teeth.
Methodical.
Efficient.
Focused entirely on what she was doing.
As she stood there cleaning the clippers, my gaze drifted for a moment.
Just a moment.
Kate was facing the mirror, her back partially toward me as she worked.
The fitted black jeans she wore left little to the imagination.
My eyes dropped before I could stop them.
Taking in the curve of her hips.
The way her stance shifted as she brushed away the loose hair.
One hip angled slightly outward.
Relaxed.
Confident.
Comfortable in her own skin.
My gaze lingered.
Following the line of her waist down to the perfectly fitted denim.
The jeans hugged her figure closely enough that every movement was noticeable.
Every shift of weight.
Every step.
The rounded shape of her ass was impossible to ignore.
Especially from where I was sitting.
I told myself I was only looking because she happened to be standing directly in front of me.
That there wasn’t exactly anywhere else for my eyes to go.
Unfortunately, even I didn’t believe that excuse.
Not when I caught myself noticing the way the fabric stretched as she leaned slightly toward the counter.
Not when I found myself staring for a second longer.
Then another.
Long enough to appreciate the shape of her hips.
Long enough to realize I was definitely staring.
And still not quite long enough to make myself stop.
Then, in the mirror, I caught another reflection.
Maya.
She was sitting off to the side, arms folded across her chest.
And she was staring directly at me.
Her expression was unmistakable.
Annoyed.
Very annoyed.
One eyebrow was raised.
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
The look practically screamed, “Really, Ellie?”
My stomach dropped.
Heat rushed into my cheeks.
Maya’s eyes flicked briefly toward Kate.
Then back to me.
The message couldn’t have been clearer.
She knew exactly where I’d been looking.
And judging by the jealous edge in her expression, she wasn’t happy about it.
Not even a little.
I immediately snapped my gaze back up to Kate’s face in the mirror.
Trying desperately to look innocent.
Maya rolled her eyes.
I pretended not to notice.
Thankfully, Kate seemed completely oblivious.
If she noticed anything, she gave no sign of it.
She set the brush down.
Then reached into a drawer beside her station.
A different guard appeared.
Smaller.
More compact.
Click.
The old guard came off.
Click.
The new one snapped into place.
I frowned slightly.
Trying very hard to look like I’d been paying attention the entire time.
“What are you doing?”
Kate looked up.
“Changing guards.”
That explained absolutely nothing.
She seemed amused by my expression.
“What for?”
Kate held the clippers up slightly.
“So I can fade it.”
The word sounded familiar.
Mostly because I’d heard people say it before.
That didn’t mean I actually knew what it meant.
Apparently Kate realised that immediately.
Because she smiled.
“The sides are all one length right now.”
I nodded.
That much I could see.
Kate pointed toward the reflection.
“I’m going to make the bottom shorter.”
Then she traced a line upward with one finger.
“And gradually blend it into the longer sections above.”
I looked back at the mirror.
Trying to imagine it.
Unfortunately, I also caught Maya’s reflection again.
She was still watching me.
Still looking mildly irritated.
I quickly focused on my haircut instead.
Kate noticed.
“Trust me.”
That answer really shouldn’t have been as reassuring as it was becoming.
“But why?”
Kate grinned.
“Because details matter.”
The smaller guard clicked once beneath her thumb.
“A good haircut is the shape.”
She pointed toward the clipped-up hair on top of my head.
“A great haircut is everything around it.”
I found myself watching her hands as she spoke.
The confidence.
The certainty.
The complete ease with which she discussed something that clearly mattered to her.
It was strangely attractive.
Dangerously attractive.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Maya’s expression tighten again.
I immediately forced my attention back to the mirror.
Kate switched the clippers back on.
The familiar buzz returned.
This time sounding slightly sharper.
More precise.
She stepped behind the chair once more.
“Chin down.”
I obeyed automatically.
Kate smiled.
“See?”
“What?”
“You’re getting good at following instructions.”
My face immediately warmed.
Kate looked entirely too pleased with herself.
Then her hand settled lightly against the back of my head again.
Guiding me into position.
The vibration of the clippers grew closer.
And as I stared at my reflection—with my clipped-up blonde hair waiting above, the newly exposed sides visible for the first time, and Maya still shooting me annoyed looks from across the shop—I realised something.
I wasn’t nervous anymore.
I was excited to see what happened next.
The clippers touched the very bottom of my neckline.
The sensation was sharper this time—closer, more precise.
She guided the guard upward in a short, controlled motion, then flicked it away.
Not the long sweeps from before.
Short strokes.
Careful.
Another pass.
Then another.
Tiny blonde hairs drifted onto the cape.
Most were so short I barely noticed them landing.
The pink fabric was covered in them now.
Short hairs.
Long hairs.
The severed ponytail.
The evidence of my transformation sat directly in front of me.
Yet somehow it didn’t bother me anymore.
Kate moved around my right side.
The vibration travelled through the clippers and into my scalp as she carefully worked around my ear.
Then she spoke.
“So.”
I looked at her reflection.
“So?”
A smile appeared.
“How long have you known Maya?”
I laughed softly.
“There it is.”
“There what is?”
“The Maya question.”
Kate grinned.
“I was wondering when we’d get there.”
The clippers buzzed upward.
Another careful pass.
Another dusting of blonde hairs drifting down.
“We’ve known each other about six years.”
Kate’s eyebrows lifted.
“That’s a long time.”
“Yeah.”
The answer came easier than I’d expected.
“We met in college.”
Kate nodded.
“I can see that.”
“What does that mean?”
The corner of her mouth twitched.
“It means you already look like you’ve spent years putting up with her.”
I couldn’t help laughing.
Kate looked entirely too pleased with herself.
“That’s unfair.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
Kate gave me a look in the mirror.
A look that clearly said she didn’t believe me.
The clippers moved behind my ear again.
A few more tiny hairs floated down.
“No,” I admitted eventually. “Actually that’s pretty accurate.”
“Thought so.”
I glanced toward the waiting area.
Maya was still sitting on the couch.
Scrolling through her phone.
Completely relaxed.
Every now and then she glanced over to check the progress of the haircut.
Then immediately went back to whatever she was doing.
Kate followed my gaze.
“She’s not worried.”
I smiled.
“No.”
“Not even slightly.”
“Definitely not.”
Kate laughed quietly.
The clippers buzzed upward again.
“She’s been coming here long enough to know I won’t let her down.”
The confidence in the statement should probably have sounded arrogant.
Instead it just sounded true.
I watched her reflection.
The concentration in her eyes.
The precision of every movement.
And honestly…
I believed her too.
“How long has she been coming here?” I asked.
Kate tilted my head slightly.
“Look left for me.”
I turned.
The clippers immediately resumed their work.
“A few years now.”
“Always to you?”
Kate smiled.
“Always.”
That answer seemed to amuse her.
“She’s loyal.”
“Stubborn.”
“Loyal.”
“Both.”
I laughed.
“Okay, both.”
The clipper work continued.
Slowly moving around the left side of my head.
Refining.
Blending.
Perfecting.
The conversation settled into something comfortable.
Easy.
The kind of conversation that somehow felt natural despite the fact I’d only met Kate half an hour ago.
“Have you always had long hair?” she asked.
I nodded carefully.
“Pretty much.”
“No dramatic teenage experiments?”
I smiled.
“No.”
“That’s disappointing.”
“Sorry.”
“There you go apologising again.”
I rolled my eyes.
Kate laughed.
Then nudged my chin down slightly with two fingers.
“Stay there.”
The clippers moved upward once more.
Another shower of tiny blonde hairs landed on the cape.
For a moment neither of us spoke.
The music continued playing overhead.
Scissors snipped somewhere behind me.
A hairdryer started and stopped.
The familiar rhythm of Barber La Femme carried on around us.
Then Kate switched the clippers off.
Silence felt strange after the constant buzzing.
She stepped back.
Studying the haircut.
One side.
Then the other.
Then the back.
I watched her expression carefully.
Trying to work out what she thought.
Finally she nodded.
Satisfied.
“Yeah.”
I looked at my reflection.
The fade now wrapped neatly around the entire lower half of my head.
Clean.
Sharp.
Professional.
The clipped-up blonde hair on top looked even longer by comparison.
Almost like it belonged to somebody else.
Kate followed my gaze.
Then smiled.
“Ready for the interesting part?”
My eyes went to the clips holding the remaining hair in place.
The last untouched section.
The part that would decide what the finished haircut actually looked like.
For the first time since sitting down in the chair, I felt excitement instead of nerves.
I smiled.
“Yeah.”
This time, I genuinely meant it.
Before I could ask anything else, her fingers moved to the silver clips holding the remaining hair on top of my head.
The hair I’d almost forgotten was still there.
The last untouched section.
The hair that would actually become the finished style.
Click.
The first clip came free.
Then another.
And another.
The tension holding everything in place disappeared.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then gravity took over.
The hair fell.
Soft blonde strands tumbled downward, spilling over the top of my head and settling naturally across my forehead and around my face.
Not long anymore.
Not even close.
But after seeing the shaved back and sides, it suddenly looked much longer than it really was.
The contrast was dramatic.
The top swept forward and down.
The faded sides made every strand seem more noticeable.
More important.
I found myself staring.
Trying to imagine what Kate could possibly do with it.
She lifted the spray bottle and gave it a test squeeze.
Pssht.
A fine mist drifted into the air.
I watched her reflection.
Then looked nervously at the bottle.
Kate noticed immediately.
The smile returned.
“It’s water, Ellie.”
“I know.”
“Mhm.”
I rolled my eyes.
Kate laughed softly.
Then she began spraying.
The first mist settled across the blonde strands.
Cool droplets darkened the hair slightly as they soaked in.
A second spray followed.
Then another.
She worked methodically, moving section by section until the top of my head was evenly damp.
The cool water felt surprisingly nice after the warmth of the clippers.
Especially around the sides where the fresh fade was still exposed.
Every now and then a stray droplet landed on my forehead or cheek.
The air carried the clean scent of water mixed with the faint smell of shampoo and styling products that seemed to live permanently inside Barber La Femme.
Soon the remaining hair was damp throughout.
Not soaked.
Just wet enough to work with.
Kate set the spray bottle down and picked up her comb.
Then she started combing.
Vigorously.
The teeth of the comb moved through my wet hair with quick, practiced strokes, pulling it forward, then to one side, then back again.
She worked fast and confidently, separating sections, flattening others, and forcing the damp strands to fall exactly where she wanted them.
The motion was firmer than before.
Less delicate.
More decisive.
The comb moved through the wet blonde hair again and again, each pass making the shape clearer.
The haircut was finally beginning to feel real.
Not a collection of separate stages.
Not a ponytail and some clipper work.
A hairstyle.
My hairstyle.
Kate caught my eyes in the mirror.
A small smile appeared.
“There she is.”
I frowned.
“What?”
Kate lifted the damp fringe away from my forehead with the comb.
“The haircut.”
She smiled.
“I can finally see it now.”
And judging by the confidence in her voice…
She liked what she saw.
Kate then reached for her scissors.
The polished steel caught the light as she opened and closed them once, the blades making a soft, precise click.
Testing them.
Preparing.
Something about the sight immediately made my stomach flutter.
The clippers had been one thing.
The clippers removed hair in broad, blunt strokes, all vibration and noise and sudden loss.
The scissors felt different.
More deliberate.
More intimate.
More final.
Kate seemed to notice the way I went still.
“You’re doing that thing again.”
I glanced at her in the mirror. “What thing?”
“The one where you look like you’re about to negotiate with me.”
I let out a small breath. “I am not negotiating.”
Kate gave me a look that said she absolutely did not believe me.
“Good,” she said. “Because I’m not taking requests at this stage.”
That made me laugh despite myself.
Kate combed the damp blonde hair forward again, smoothing it down over my forehead and toward my cheeks before lifting a section between her fingers.
I watched carefully.
Trying to judge how much she intended to cut.
The answer was:
A lot.
She held the section up between her index and middle fingers, measuring it with a quick, practiced glance, then tilted the scissors into place just beneath her knuckles.
Snip.
The sound seemed louder than it should have.
A thick section of damp blonde hair detached instantly, the ends falling unevenly for a split second before the whole piece slid from Kate’s fingers and landed across the pink cape.
I stared.
The section looked enormous.
Kate didn’t hesitate.
The comb moved again, parting another section from the rest of the damp hair.
She lifted it cleanly, fingers steady, and aligned the scissors with the line she wanted to create.
Snip.
More hair fell.
This time some of it landed on my shoulder, cool and wet against my skin before slipping down onto the cape.
A few damp strands stuck briefly against my cheek before sliding downward.
The sensation made me blink.
Kate noticed immediately.
“Already getting sentimental?”
I snorted. “No.”
“Because your face says otherwise.”
“My face is lying.”
“Mm. Very convincing.”
She smiled to herself and kept going.
Comb.
Lift.
Snip.
Comb.
Lift.
Snip.
The rhythm established itself quickly.
Methodical.
Confident.
Professional.
Each section was combed up, held taut between her fingers, then shortened with a clean, decisive cut. The scissors moved with tiny flashes of reflected light, opening and closing in neat, efficient motions as Kate worked her way across the top of my head.
Large pieces of damp blonde hair continued dropping into my lap.
Some landed on the cape in soft, heavy clumps.
Others brushed my forehead or jaw on the way down, sticking for a second before falling away.
A few strands caught in the curve of my ear and tickled there until I shifted slightly.
Kate’s hands never faltered.
She kept combing the hair smooth, lifting each section with the same careful precision, then cutting it off in measured lengths that slowly changed the shape of the whole style.
One particularly stubborn strand clung to the side of my nose and made me wrinkle it.
Kate saw that too.
“Oh no,” she said, sounding far too amused. “Don’t start.”
“I didn’t start anything.”
“You just made that face.”
“What face?”
“The one right before you sneeze.”
I froze.
That was unfairly accurate.
A few more loose hairs had drifted across my upper lip and nose, tickling just enough to make my eyes narrow.
“I am not going to sneeze.”
Kate lifted another section of hair and snipped it cleanly. “That’s exactly what someone says right before they sneeze.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
She was smiling now, clearly enjoying herself.
The pink fabric was rapidly disappearing beneath a fresh layer of hair.
I found myself staring at the growing pile.
The blonde strands looked darker while wet.
Heavier.
More substantial somehow.
They clung together in thick, uneven ribbons where they had fallen, some pieces curling slightly at the ends, others lying flat and glossy against the cape.
Kate noticed.
“Still counting?”
I looked up. “What?”
“The hair.”
My cheeks warmed.
“I wasn’t counting.”
“You were absolutely counting.”
I might have been.
A little.
Kate smiled.
Then immediately removed another substantial section.
Snip.
A heavy lock slid down the front of the cape, landing near my lap with a soft, damp thud.
My eyes followed it automatically.
A few strands brushed my cheek on the way down and stuck there for a second before slipping free.
I made a face and tried to blow them away.
That only made one strand flutter up and stick to the tip of my nose instead.
Kate laughed.
“Oh, that’s cruel.”
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Maybe a little.”
“Kate.”
“What? I’m just saying, you look very dignified with hair on your nose.”
I glared at her in the mirror.
She grinned back.
“Hold still.”
“I am holding still.”
“Then stop looking like you’re about to explode.”
“I am not about to explode.”
The tickle on my nose intensified.
I inhaled carefully through my mouth.
Bad idea.
The loose hairs shifted against my face and made my nose twitch.
I squeezed my eyes shut for a second and tried to ignore the itch.
It did not help.
Kate, who was either ignoring my suffering or didn’t notice, continued her work.
Another section was combed upward, the damp strands stretching smooth between the teeth of the comb before she lifted them into place.
Another clean line.
Another confident series of snips.
More blonde hair drifted downward in soft, wet clumps, some pieces catching on the edge of the cape before sliding into my lap.
A few strands landed directly across my cheek and stuck there, cool and irritating against my skin.
One brushed the edge of my nostril.
That was enough.
My nose twitched hard.
I sucked in a breath.
Kate stopped mid-motion and looked at me in the mirror.
“Don’t you dare.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I really can’t.”
She leaned slightly closer, scissors paused in one hand. “If you sneeze on my cape, I’m charging you extra.”
That almost made me laugh.
Which only made the tickle worse.
I pressed my lips together and tried to hold it in.
My eyes watered a little.
Kate’s expression shifted from teasing to mock concern.
“Oh, this is getting serious.”
“Kate—”
“Do you need me to stop?”
I shook my head quickly, which was a mistake because it sent the loose hairs on my face sliding again.
My nose twitched violently.
Kate burst out laughing.
“You’re doomed.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are absolutely not fine.”
“I am—”
The sneeze built fast.
Too fast.
I clamped a hand over my mouth just in time.
“Hh—huhh—”
Kate stepped back instinctively, still laughing.
“Bless you.”
I lowered my hand and glared at her through watery eyes.
“That was your fault.”
“My fault?”
“You kept talking about it.”
Kate looked entirely unrepentant.
“I was trying to warn you.”
“You were trying to make me sneeze.”
“Maybe a little.”
I shook my head, trying to dislodge the remaining strands from my face.
One stubborn hair still clung to the side of my nose.
Kate noticed and reached up with the back of her fingers, brushing it away before returning to the haircut.
The touch lasted only a moment before she went back to work.
More sections.
More careful cutting.
More damp blonde hair collecting on the cape.
Kate combed the top forward again, then lifted a thicker section near the crown and held it out from my head so she could see the length against the rest of the cut. The scissors opened once, then closed with a crisp snip that sent the ends dropping in a neat line. She adjusted her grip, combed through the next section, and cut again, this time taking a little more off to blend the shape into the shorter sides.
The movement was so controlled it almost looked effortless.
She would comb the hair smooth, pinch it between her fingers, angle the scissors just so, and then the blades would flash and the section would fall away in one clean piece. Sometimes the cut strands slid down in a single heavy sheet. Sometimes they broke apart as they fell, scattering across my shoulders and the cape in damp, uneven wisps. A few landed against my cheekbone and stayed there until the next movement shook them loose.
With every falling lock, the haircut looked less like something being removed and more like something being created.
The shape on top was changing now.
The blunt weight was disappearing.
The hair was becoming lighter, more layered, more intentional, the damp blonde strands falling into a style that actually framed my face instead of hiding it.
Kate stepped slightly to one side, studying the balance in the mirror before combing another section straight up from my forehead.
This one was longer.
She measured it with her fingers, then trimmed the ends with a series of quick, precise snips, taking off just enough to let the fringe fall forward without swallowing my eyes. The cut pieces drifted down in a soft curtain, some catching on my lashes before sliding away.
I blinked.
Kate smiled.
“That’s the bit.”
“What?”
“That part.”
She tapped the air near my fringe with the comb. “That was the important bit.”
I looked at my reflection.
The front was already changing the whole look.
The sides were tight and clean from the fade, and now the top was starting to fall into something softer and more deliberate, the damp strands separating into pieces that moved when I breathed.
Kate combed through it again, then lifted another section from the side of the part she was building.
Snip.
A fresh cluster of blonde hair dropped onto the cape and stuck there in a glossy, tangled patch.
I watched it settle.
Watched the pile grow.
Watched the haircut take shape.
And for the first time since the ponytail had been cut off…
I wasn’t watching the hair that was falling.
I was watching the haircut that was appearing.
Kate continued working around the top of my head with the same steady confidence.
The comb lifted another section.
The scissors followed.
Snip.
More damp blonde hair slid down onto the cape.
The pile in my lap had become ridiculous at this point.
Long strands from the ponytail.
The shorter pieces from the clipper work.
Now thick clumps from the top.
Every few seconds another section joined them.
The steady rhythm of comb, lift, and cut seemed almost hypnotic.
I found myself watching Kate’s hands in the mirror.
The way her fingers moved.
The way she seemed to know exactly where every section needed to sit.
Nothing looked rushed.
Nothing looked uncertain.
She simply worked.
Every cut bringing the shape closer to whatever she had envisioned the moment I’d sat down in her chair.
The remaining damp hair on top was growing noticeably shorter now.
Lighter.
The weight I’d carried for years was disappearing with every snip.
Even my head felt different.
Less burdened somehow.
Cooler.
Lighter.
Free.
Kate stepped to one side.
Studied the shape.
Made another adjustment.
Then another.
A few final pieces drifted onto the cape.
She combed everything into place once more.
Checked the balance.
The fringe.
The crown.
The connection into the faded sides.
Then finally…
The scissors stopped.
For the first time in several minutes, the steady snipping ceased entirely.
Kate stood back.
Examining her work in the mirror.
Her eyes moved over every detail.
Searching for flaws.
Searching for anything out of place.
Apparently she found nothing.
Because after a moment she nodded.
Satisfied.
“There we go.”
The words sent a small flutter through my stomach.
Was it finished?
Not completely.
But close.
Kate placed the scissors down on the station.
The comb followed.
The sound of metal settling against the countertop seemed strangely significant.
Like we’d reached the end of one stage and were about to begin another.
I looked at my reflection.
The haircut was fully visible now.
Short.
Much shorter than I’d ever worn it.
The faded back and sides made the longer top stand out beautifully.
The shape framed my face in a way my old hair never had.
I barely recognised myself.
Not in a bad way.
Just…
Different.
Kate caught me staring.
A small smile appeared.
“Wait until it’s styled.”
Then she turned toward her workstation.
A moment later, she picked up a can of mousse.
A soft hiss filled the air as a generous amount of foam expanded into her palm.
The clean scent reached me almost immediately.
Fresh.
Professional.
The kind of smell that instantly belonged in a barbershop.
Kate rubbed her hands together.
Then stepped behind me.
Without warning, both hands disappeared into my short hair.
The sensation caught me off guard.
After the clippers.
After the scissors.
After all the careful sectioning and cutting.
This felt completely different.
Kate worked the mousse through the top with surprising energy.
Her fingers pushed deep into the freshly cut blonde hair, lifting sections from the roots and working the product evenly throughout.
My head gently rocked with the movement.
Not enough to be uncomfortable.
Just enough that I could feel how firmly she was styling it.
The short strands moved easily beneath her hands.
Far more easily than my old long hair ever had.
Kate raked her fingers through it again.
And again.
Working quickly.
Confidently.
The mousse disappeared into the hair as she built texture and shape.
Every pass changed something.
One moment the hair was lying flat.
The next it had volume.
Movement.
Structure.
My head bobbed slightly each time her hands swept through the top.
The sensation was oddly relaxing.
Like a vigorous scalp massage combined with styling.
Kate seemed completely absorbed in the process.
Her fingers lifted sections near the front.
Then worked through the crown.
Then back through the fringe again.
The short blonde strands separated naturally as the mousse took effect.
The haircut suddenly looked more alive.
More intentional.
More modern.
I watched in the mirror as Kate continued shaping it with her hands alone.
No brush.
No comb.
Just confident fingers directing the hair exactly where she wanted it.
A few final adjustments.
Another pass through the top.
Then another.
Kate stepped slightly to one side, studying the shape.
Apparently not satisfied yet.
Both hands immediately returned to my hair.
Ruffling.
Lifting.
Refining.
My head rocked gently once more.
The scent of the mousse lingered around me.
The cool product had almost completely disappeared now, leaving only texture and hold behind.
Kate’s hands finally left my hair.
For a moment, everything was still.
The mousse had given the haircut shape and texture, but the hair was still damp from the spray bottle. Darker than its natural blonde and sitting exactly where Kate had left it.
She studied it in the mirror.
Tilted her head slightly.
Then nodded.
“Almost there.”
Kate picked up the round brush in one hand and the hairdryer in the other.
The dryer clicked on.
Warm air immediately filled the space around me.
The sound wasn’t nearly as intimidating as the clippers had been, but it still made me sit a little straighter.
Kate stepped behind the chair.
“Head up.”
I obeyed automatically.
The brush disappeared into the damp hair at my forehead.
Then, instead of pulling it forward, Kate drew the brush backward.
The dryer followed.
Warm air rushed across my scalp.
The short blonde strands lifted away from my forehead.
For the first time all morning, there was nothing hanging in front of my eyes.
Nothing brushing my cheeks.
Nothing falling across my face.
The sensation was strange.
And surprisingly freeing.
Kate repeated the movement.
Brush.
Lift.
Dry.
The hair rose from the roots before being directed backward over the top of my head.
I watched in the mirror as the style began taking shape.
The shorter sides made the longer hair on top stand out even more.
Not long anymore.
Not even close.
But long enough to create movement.
Texture.
Shape.
Kate continued working methodically.
The round brush rolled beneath the hair while the dryer followed closely behind.
Each pass created more volume.
More lift.
The style gradually moved away from the soft, damp haircut I’d been looking at moments earlier and began resembling something far sharper.
Far more deliberate.
Far more modern.
The hair at the front was lifted away from my forehead and directed back toward the crown.
The top followed.
Sweeping naturally backward while still retaining texture.
Not slicked back.
Not flat.
Just styled.
The fade beneath it looked even cleaner now.
The contrast between the closely clipped sides and the textured top made the haircut feel distinctly barbershop rather than salon.
Confident.
Intentional.
Kate moved around the chair as she worked.
Occasionally lifting a section.
Occasionally adjusting the angle of the brush.
Every movement seemed purposeful.
Every pass seemed to improve the shape.
The warm air flowed over the freshly faded sides of my head.
I could actually feel it reaching my scalp now.
Something that would’ve been impossible with my old hair.
The sensation made me smile slightly.
Kate noticed immediately.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“You’re starting to like it.”
I looked at my reflection.
At the steadily emerging haircut.
At the face I could suddenly see properly.
And realised she was right.
A few more passes with the brush.
A little more volume through the front.
A final sweep backward through the top.
Then the dryer clicked off.
Silence settled over the station.
Kate lowered the brush.
I stared.
The hairstyle was exactly what she’d been building toward all along.
The back and sides faded short and clean.
The top longer, textured and brushed back away from my face.
My cheekbones looked more defined.
My eyes seemed more noticeable.
Even my posture looked different.
Kate caught my expression in the mirror.
A satisfied smile appeared.
“Now,” she said, setting the brush down, “you look like you’ve actually got a haircut.”
Kate stepped slightly to the side and reached for the hairspray.
The can gave a soft metallic shake as she lifted it.
I watched it in the mirror immediately.
At this point, I knew enough not to assume anything was “the final step” until she said so.
She tested the nozzle once.
A quiet hiss.
Then she moved behind me again.
“Hold still,” she said lightly.
I did.
The first spray hit the top of my hair in a fine, even mist.
Cool at first.
Then almost invisible.
It settled into the short blonde strands, locking in everything she’d just shaped.
Kate worked in controlled passes.
Left to right.
Front to crown.
Each spray reinforcing the texture she’d built with the mousse and blow-drying.
The hair stopped shifting so freely under the air now.
Instead, it held.
Staying exactly where she placed it.
The front lifted slightly.
Brushed back.
Not stiff.
Just structured.
Intentional.
I could see the difference immediately in the mirror.
The haircut didn’t just sit anymore.
It stayed.
Kate tilted her head slightly as she sprayed another section.
“Perfect,” she muttered to herself.
The shorter top kept its shape, while the faded sides stayed sharp and clean against my head.
The contrast was now unmistakable.
This wasn’t long hair that had been cut.
It was a style.
A proper one.
A barbershop cut.
Exactly the kind you’d see on the images I’d half-noticed earlier in my mind without realising I was being guided toward them all along.
Kate stepped back finally and lowered the can.
“There.”
I kept staring at my reflection.
Like if I looked away, it might turn back into what it had been an hour ago.
But it didn’t.
It stayed.
The short back and sides were clean and tight, fading up smoothly into the longer top that Kate had styled back with just enough lift and texture to give it shape. It wasn’t flat. It wasn’t messy. It sat exactly where it was supposed to.
Deliberate.
Finished.
Real.
I lifted a hand slightly—then stopped myself before touching it properly.
It still didn’t feel fully real.
Kate noticed the movement in the mirror.
“Go on,” she said simply.
I hesitated.
Then finally reached up and lightly touched the top of my hair.
It felt completely different.
Shorter than anything I’d ever had.
The texture was soft but structured, holding its shape under my fingers instead of collapsing the way my old hair always had. I ran my hand over the top again, slower this time.
My breath caught slightly.
Because it was my hair.
But not the same version of it anymore.
I let out a small laugh without meaning to.
“I… wow.”
Kate leaned against her station, watching me.
“That good?”
I shook my head slightly, still looking at myself.
“I don’t know what this is.”
Kate smiled faintly.
“It’s a haircut.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
I turned my head a little in the mirror, watching how the sides stayed sharp while the top moved just enough to follow the motion.
“It actually suits me.”
That part surprised me more than anything else.
Kate didn’t look surprised at all.
“Yeah,” she said. “It does.”
From the waiting area, Maya finally looked up properly.
She’d been relaxed the whole time, almost like she already knew what the end result would be.
Now her expression changed.
“Oh—wait.”
She stood up immediately.
“I need to see this.”
Kate gestured casually.
“Be my guest.”
Maya walked over behind the chair and leaned in slightly, studying my hair in the mirror first before looking at it directly.
Her eyes narrowed in concentration.
Then widened a little.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “That’s actually insane.”
I blinked.
“Is that good or bad insane?”
“Good,” she said immediately. “Definitely good.”
She reached out without asking and lightly touched the top of my hair.
Her fingers brushed through it once, then again, feeling the texture.
“It’s so different,” she said, almost impressed. “Like… I can actually see your face now.”
“Is that a compliment?” I asked.
“Yes,” Maya said. “A very strong one.”
Kate gave a quiet laugh from the side.
“Told you,” she said simply.
Maya kept looking at it, turning my head slightly by the chin so she could see the fade properly from the side.
“Oh my god,” she muttered. “Kate, this is actually ridiculous.”
Kate shrugged.
“She sat down. I fixed it.”
“That’s not just fixing,” Maya said, still staring. “That’s… a transformation.”
I looked between them in the mirror.
Still slightly stunned.
Still adjusting to the fact that this was my reflection now.
Maya finally stepped back a little, still smiling.
“You look really good, Ellie.”
I swallowed.
“Yeah?”
She nodded.
“Yeah. Like… properly good,”
“See?” Kate said, giving her scissors a small idle spin between her fingers. “Nothing to worry about.”
Kate stepped behind me once more.
Without another word, her fingers found the fastening at the back of my neck.
Click.
The fastening came loose.
Immediately, I felt the gentle pressure around my neck disappear.
Kate lifted the bright pink barber cape away in one smooth, practiced motion.
The fabric billowed slightly as she whisked it backwards, carrying dozens of tiny blonde clippings with it. For a moment they hung in the air before drifting lazily onto the black floor around the chair.
Without the cape, I suddenly felt oddly… exposed.
And incredibly light.
Kate reached up once more, slipping a finger beneath the paper neck strip.
A gentle tug.
The tissue peeled away cleanly before she crumpled it into one hand and dropped it into the bin beneath her workstation.
“There we are.”
For the first time in what felt like forever, nothing was touching my neck.
No cape.
No tissue.
No long hair.
Kate stepped to one side, leaving the space in front of the chair clear.
“You can stand.”
I pushed myself up from the large pink leather barber chair.
The movement felt surprisingly different.
My head felt lighter.
My shoulders somehow freer.
Almost instinctively, my hand lifted toward my hair.
The movement felt… different.
Not because of the haircut itself.
But because I felt so much lighter.
Years of weight had simply disappeared.
I instinctively rolled my shoulders once.
Nothing brushed against them.
No hair.
That alone made me smile.
I turned back towards the mirror, admiring the haircut from another angle.
The fade looked impossibly clean.
The textured top sat exactly where Kate had styled it, brushed back away from my face with just enough volume to soften the look without hiding it.
I couldn’t stop smiling.
Almost absent-mindedly, my hand drifted upwards again.
This time I wasn’t checking the haircut.
I already knew what it looked like.
Instead, my fingertips brushed lightly over the faded side of my head.
The sensation immediately made me grin.
Soft.
Velvety.
Tiny, fuzzy bristles barely resisting my fingertips.
I rubbed them again.
Then again.
It was strangely addictive.
Every pass of my fingers produced the same gentle, velour-like feeling.
I’d never experienced anything like it.
My long hair had always been something I could brush.
Tie back.
Play with absent-mindedly.
This was completely different.
It wasn’t the hair itself I was feeling.
It was the shape of my head beneath it.
The neat, even stubble almost seemed to massage my fingertips as I ran them over the fade once more.
Without thinking, I smiled again.
“…I can’t stop doing this.”
Kate laughed.
“I know.”
She sounded completely unsurprised.
“It happens every time.”
I looked over at her.
“Seriously?”
She nodded.
“Everyone spends the next week rubbing the sides of their head.”
I immediately did it again.
Almost proving her point.
“Oh…”
Kate folded her arms, smiling.
“See?”
I laughed, unable to argue.
“It just feels…”
I searched for the right word as my fingertips swept over the soft stubble one more time.
“…really nice.”
“It does,” Kate agreed.
“And tomorrow it’ll feel even softer.”
That somehow made me even more curious.
I gave the fade one last absent-minded stroke before finally forcing my hand away.
Maya, who’d been watching the entire exchange with an amused smile, shook her head.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone fall in love with their own haircut quite that quickly.”
“I haven’t,” I protested.
Even as my fingers unconsciously found the side of my head again.
Maya pointed immediately.
“You’re doing it again.”
I looked down at my hand and laughed.
“…I am, aren’t I?”
Kate chuckled.
“Don’t worry.”
She gestured towards Maya with a grin.
“She did exactly the same thing after I gave her an undercut.”
“I absolutely did not,” Maya replied.
Kate simply raised an eyebrow.
Maya paused.
“…Okay, maybe for a couple of days.”
Kate smiled victoriously before turning towards the now-empty barber chair.
“Right then,” she said patting the pink leather seat. “Maya, it’s your turn…”
