Akshai
When I think of where it all began, my mind always returns to those noisy, sun-soaked days of childhood. I was just Akshai — a boy who didn’t understand what love was, but understood that his world lit up every time she walked into the classroom.
She wore a cute little bob haircut, always bouncing as she walked, always paired with a smile so sweet it made my chest warm for reasons I didn’t yet know. I didn’t know if it was love, admiration, or just the magic of being young — but whenever I saw her, something inside me danced.
Even though we were “rivals” in academics, fighting for the first rank, I never once truly saw her as competition.
Ava exam-la mark vaanginaalum, naan romba sandhoshama irundhuten.
(Even when she scored more than me, I was still happy.)
But I never knew how she looked at me. I only knew how I saw her — my first, innocent glow.
Everything changed when my parents shifted me to a new school in 6th grade.
It felt like someone had shut a door in my life.
I couldn’t talk to her.
I couldn’t see that bob haircut.
I couldn’t hear her giggle anymore.
Life moved on.
So did she.
I heard from distant friends that she had grown into a beautiful young girl. Meanwhile, I grew into a boy who loved something unusual — my headshave. Each time I got a mottai at the temple, I loved the smoothness, the lightness, the raw freedom it gave me.
Years slipped by. School became college. My childhood feelings faded into a soft corner of my heart.
One college vacation, my family planned a Tirupati trip with a huge group of relatives — some of whom I didn’t even remember. The bus stand was crowded, voices bouncing everywhere, when suddenly…
I saw her.
A girl with long, thick, shining black hair walking toward me confidently. I thought she was just passing by. But she walked straight to me.
“Hey Akshai! Epdi da irukka? Unna paathu evlo naal aachu! Naa yaar nu theriyudhaa?”
(“Hey Akshai! How are you? It’s been so long since I saw you! Do you know who I am?”)
I stared, confused and amazed.
“S-Sathya?”
Her face lit up.
“Aamam da! Sathya dhan! Epdi irukka?”
(“Yes! It’s me! How are you?”)
We talked non-stop while boarding the bus. She said, laughing,
“Aama da Akshai, neenga ellarum enga relatives-am. Ippo dhan un amma-ta pesnen. Unna paakara opportunity kidaichirukku!”
(“Yes Akshai, you’re all our distant relatives. I just talked to your mom. I finally got the chance to see you!”)
Her excitement made my heart strangely happy.
Hours later, we reached Tirupati. Some of our relatives planned to shave their heads, but I wasn’t thinking about it. Suddenly my mom turned to me.
“Akshai, neeyum mottai pottukalaama?”
(“Akshai, shall you also shave your head?”)
“Ada amma… ippove naa?!”
(“Oh mom… right now?!”)
She rolled her eyes.
“Ennada, enaku mattum dhan paavam-aa? Nee kooda pottukko da! Velena theriyum.”
(“Why should only I feel tired? You go shave too. You’ll feel cool.”)
I shook my head dramatically.
“Ma, please maa, ippadi sudden-aa kaapadatha ma!”
(“Mom, don’t ambush me like this!”)
Sathya watched everything and giggled, biting her lip to stop laughing.
Later, when I was alone, she approached me with a strange shyness.
“Akshai… naan unakku oru vishayam sollanum.”
(“Akshai… I need to tell you something.”)
“What?”
She looked away for a moment before speaking.
“I… loved your mottai when we were kids. I used to secretly admire it.”
Then quietly,
“Innikki nee mottai pannikitta… I’d be very happy. Romba romba.”
(“If you got a headshave today… I’d be very, very happy.”)
My heartbeat stuttered.
“Sathya… unakku en mottai pidikkumaa?”
(“You like my shaved head?”)
Her cheeks warmed.
“Romba pidikkum.”
(“I like it a lot.”)
Something melted inside me.
For her — I said yes.
I went to my mom.
“Okay maa… mottai pannikaren.”
(“Okay mom… I’ll shave my head.”)
She slapped my back happily.
“Athu dhan en pulla! Poi poi podu!”
(“That’s my boy! Go get it done!”)
Sathya held my hand — not gently, but firmly, like she feared I’d run.
“Va da Akshai. Naan kooda varen.”
(“Come, Akshai. I’ll come with you.”)
We slipped into a different kalyanakatta where none of our relatives were. She bought the ticket for me, refusing to let me pay.
While waiting in the line, she leaned in.
“Akshai… I can’t believe I’m seeing this. Un mottai face-ku naan ready aa iruken.”
(“I can’t believe I’m seeing this. I’m ready for your bald look.”)
My cheeks heated.
“Sathya… nee romba tease pannre.”
(“Sathya… you’re teasing me too much.”)
“Tease pannave varen da.”
(“I came only to tease you.”)
Finally, my turn came.
As I went to sit, she suddenly said:
“Dai! Shirt kalatitu utkaaru da! Mottai-na full experience dhan!”
(“Hey! Remove your shirt before sitting! Bald means full experience!”)
The barber chuckled.
“Sir, unga ponnu romba strict-u.”
(“Sir, your girl is very strict.”)
Sathya snapped playfully,
“Naan avaroda ponnu illai, aana avarukku nalla smooth-a mottai venum.”
(“I’m not his girl… but he needs a very smooth shave.”)
I was dying inside.
The barber dipped his blade into the water and began.
Slow, firm strokes glided across my scalp.
Hair fell in soft bunches, and Sathya watched every second with glowing eyes.
She whispered,
“Semma da… romba cute aa irukka.”
(“Amazing… you look very cute.”)
When the barber finished the head, he looked at me.
“Beard, moustache venuma sir?”
(“Shall I shave your beard and moustache too?”)
Before I could reply —
“Podunga anna!” Sathya said gleefully.
(“Do it, brother!”)
“Sathyaaaa!” I groaned.
“Idhu vechikumaa di!”
(“At least leave this!”)
“No chance da, full smooth venum.”
(“No chance, I want full smooth.”)
When everything was done, I touched my face — unbelievably smooth.
But Sathya reached first.
Her fingers slid over my head tenderly.
“Ayyooo… epdi smooth-aa irukku da! Naan apdiye adichu adichu rub pannalaam pola irukku.”
(“Oh my god… how smooth you are! I feel like rubbing it nonstop.”)
I blushed like a tomato.
“Podhuma di, eriyudhu!”
(“Enough, it’s burning!”)
Laughing, she pushed me toward the bathing area.
“Poi kulichu va da mottai kumaran.”
(“Go bathe and come, my bald prince.”)
After the bath, she ran to me again — and this time, rubbed my head so hard it turned red.
“AYYOO SATHYAAA! PODHU DI!”
(“ENOUGH, SATHYA!”)
She laughed and applied thick sandal paste over my shiny head.
Her touch was gentle, almost loving.
As we walked back to the bus, relatives stared.
“Ayyayyo Akshai! Semma mottai!”
(“Oh my god Akshai! What a bald head!”)
“Mottai babu!”
“Ivaru romba mugam prakaasamaa irukkaru!”
(“He’s glowing so much!”)
I rolled my eyes while Sathya giggled behind me, whispering:
“En mottai hero.”
(“My bald hero.”)
When we stood in the queue for darshan, she didn’t move away.
She stood right next to me.
Her arm brushed mine.
Her voice softened.
“Akshai… naan un kooda irukum pothu romba safe-aa, romba happy-aa irukken.”
(“Akshai… when I’m with you, I feel very safe, very happy.”)
I replied quietly,
“Enakku kooda adhe feeling di.”
(“I feel the same too.”)
That was the moment — the exact second — when everything between us changed
As the trip ended and the bus rolled back into the city, the night breeze drifted in through the windows. Most of the relatives were half-asleep, but Sathya and I sat awake, the soft bus lights glowing on her long, dark hair and on my freshly-shaved head.
She looked at me for a long time.
Not teasing.
Not laughing.
Just… looking.
“Akshai…”
“Hmm?”
“Un mottai lighting-la semma glow aa irukku.”
(“Your bald head is glowing beautifully in this lighting.”)
“Sathyaaa,” I groaned, “konjam serious-ah pesu.”
(“Sathyaaa, speak seriously for once.”)
She bit her lip.
Her voice dropped to a softness I had never heard before.
“Naan serious-aa dhan da… but I need to tell you something honest.”
My heart thumped.
“Sollu di.”
(“Tell me.”)
She reached out and gently touched my freshly shaved head — not playfully this time, but slowly, like she was afraid to hurt me.
“Akshai… naan unna romba pidikkum.”
(“Akshai… I really like you.”)
I froze.
Her thumb brushed my cheek.
“Childhood-la un mela crush irundhudhu. Aana ipo… ipo adhu love aa maari pochu.”
(“I had a crush on you in childhood. But now… now it has turned into love.”)
I swallowed.
She looked into my eyes, steady and unblinking.
“Un kooda irukkuradhu… enakku romba special-aa irukku. Nee pesina, sirichina, en mela care katti kaatrina… ellathayum naan love pannuren.”
(“Being with you feels special to me. I love the way you talk, laugh, care for me… everything.”)
My chest tightened with emotions I’d locked away for years.
“Sathya… naanum unnai love pannuren di.”
(“Sathya… I love you too.”)
She blinked fast, smiling like she’d waited for this her whole life.
I continued,
“School-la irundhu ipo varaikkum… I think it was always you. Naan un boba haircut-a marakave mudiyala. Aana ipo… un love-a vida athu onnum illa.”
(“From school till now… I think it was always you. I could never forget your bob haircut. But now… even that is nothing compared to your love.”)
She leaned her head on my shoulder.
My heart finally felt settled.
After a long silence, she whispered mischievously:
“Akshai… next mottai eppo?”
(“Akshai… when is your next headshave?”)
I jerked.
“Diiii! Love confession mudinjudhu… and you’re asking about the next mottai?”
She smirked.
“Of course. Naan en boyfriend ah mottai lover aa maintain pannanum.”
(“Of course. I need to maintain my boyfriend as a bald beauty.”)
“Boyfriend-aa?” I teased.
She looked up, blushing.
“Aamam da. Naan thaan sonnen.”
(“Yes. I already said it.”)
I laughed, pulling her closer.
“Sari… next mottai, nee sonna time-la podren.”
(“Okay… I’ll shave next whenever you say.”)
Her face brightened like I gifted her the moon.
“Correct-aa sollu da, serious-aa kekren. Naan sonna udane poduviya?”
(“Tell me clearly, I’m seriously asking. Will you do it the moment I ask?”)
“Sathya… unaku pidichirundha, daily mottai pottukaren.”
(“If you like it… I’ll shave daily.”)
Her breath caught — and she kissed the top of my head.
“En mottai hero… I love you.”
(“My bald hero… I love you.”)
I whispered back into the night breeze:
“I love you too, Sathya.”
And just like that, our story — which started with a bob-haired girl and a shy boy — became something deeper, sweeter, funnier, and stronger than we ever imagined.
And somewhere inside us, we both knew…
this was only the beginning.
