Aryel
On the first day of summer, as they stepped out through the iron gates of the college campus, all the winter fatigue hanging over them evaporated in an instant. Jen tossed her waist-length, richly wavy hair—gleaming like molten gold in the sun—over her shoulder. Hannah walked right beside her; her hair cut short at ear-length, refreshed by her mother’s hands at the start of every summer into that familiar, sharp, and dynamic look.
The two friends had spent months planning to spend this summer together. Hannah’s secluded, ivy-covered detached house just outside the city was a sanctuary for them.
Yet, behind this vacation lay a much darker, much more obsessive reckoning quietly orchestrated by their mothers.
When Clara picked up her phone to call Sarah, she was preparing to utter the most dangerous sentence of the invisible bridge they had secretly built over the years. Hearing Sarah’s voice on the other end, Clara gathered her breath and deepened the conversation:
— Sarah, my dear… You know Jen insisted on staying at Hannah’s place this summer. Of course I’ll let her go, but… You know how I’ve guarded her hair like a sacred relic up until now. But it has simply gotten too long, almost beating against her back. I’ve realized something, Sarah… Jen has never once willingly attempted to shorten her hair. Whenever I gently probed her at the salon to see if she wanted to try something shorter, I always got a terrified “Never!”
Clara continued without trying to hide the secret, provocative tint in her voice:
— Deep down, I wanted to see those magnificent blonde strands fall away as they were cut, just for once. And I know, Sarah… You do this best. Cutting that hair will give you a special kind of pleasure; I know you’ll take delight in doing it.
When Sarah heard these words on the other end, an obsessive, deeply satisfied smile spread across her lips. Her eyes lit up; Clara’s convoluted confession poured soothing balm onto the darkest corner of her soul. Her voice dropped low, almost to a whisper, yet it was remarkably clear:
— Don’t I know it, Clara… To be honest, every time I saw Jen, watching those golden waves cascading down her shoulders, only one thought crossed my mind: Running that sharp clippers through that gorgeous hair, slowly melting away all that thickness until her head was completely smooth… I’ve dreamed of it so many times. This isn’t just a routine salon job; abstractly speaking, watching that perfection being torn down, stripping away that heavy crown from a woman and setting her completely free from head to toe—it’s something else entirely.
Clara released a relieved breath and added:
— That is precisely what I want, Sarah. My only request is that Jen must never know this was my idea. She mustn’t hold me responsible for the loss of her hair, shouldn’t harbor any resentment toward me. Frame it to her as if it’s strictly your household rule, done completely out of your hands, so she believes it.
Sarah laughed softly in approval:
— Don’t you worry, Clara. She’ll think you had nothing to do with it. The moment she steps foot in my house, she’ll collide with the rigidity of our rules. Her hair won’t be lost in your hands, but entirely under my authority.
Jen was ecstatic with the permission granted by her mother. Once they arrived at the house, the two friends’ world narrowed down to that spacious garden. The first two days felt like an absolute dream. Lounging on the grass, they played with each other’s hair. Hannah admired and brushed Jen’s flawless, shimmering waist-length waves, tried out different braiding styles, and laughed together about how fast the hair grew and how heavy it felt.
On the morning of the third day, Sarah stepped into the garden holding her phone. As the girls sat in the shade, Sarah approached silently and captured a flawless photograph of those golden waves cascading down over the shoulders. She muttered to herself: *”This will be the last photo where her hair is this long :-)”* And she instantly messaged that moment to Clara. Clara looked at the photograph on her phone; the suppressed curiosity inside her gave way to an icy thrill.
When the sun climbed straight to its peak in the afternoon, Sarah’s cold, authoritative voice sliced through the stillness of the garden:
— Girls, playtime is over. Today is our traditional maintenance day.
Hannah froze where she sat. Deep down, she had hoped maybe this summer would be an exception, that her mother would spare her this time. But the professional clippers in Sarah’s hand and the iron chair beside her shattered those hopes in a single second.
— Mom, no… We just got here, Jen is a guest, please, not this summer! Hannah pleaded.
A millimeter of a smile appeared on Sarah’s face, but her eyes were ice cold:
— No objections, Hannah. The rules of this house apply to guests as well as you. Sit down.
Hannah stepped toward that executioner of a chair, swallowing back the tears stinging her eyes. Her hands trembled as the cape was fastened around her neck. The moment she sat down, her hands instinctively drifted to her own hair, brushing against that short yet familiar softness one last time. She imagined how even those modest locks would soon be shaved down to the root, leaving her skin entirely exposed. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
Without giving her daughter any room to dramatize, Sarah turned on the clippers. *Zzzzt!*
That first stroke right down the middle part sealed the fate of the hair. The dark clumps falling from Hannah’s head drifted through the air like feathers, piling up onto her lap and down onto the ground.
Jen sat off to the side, watching the scene unfold. As she witnessed her friend’s painful moment, a strange, jittery flutter stirred inside her. Her heart was pounding hard; while Hannah’s helpless state tugged at her sympathy, the sharp, rhythmic buzz of the clippers and the fluid motion of falling hair hypnotized her. Deep down, she instinctively patted the secure, heavy weight of her own hair still cascading down her back and thought, *”Thank goodness my mom would never do something like this to me, I’m just a guest here,”* deriving a deep, illicit thrill from the forbidden drama.
When Hannah’s session ended, she stood up in a daze, rubbing her newly bare scalp with her hands. Her eyes were tearful yet utterly disoriented.
Without switching off the clippers, Sarah turned her gaze toward Jen, smiling with that icy authority:
— Alright, Jen. You’re up.
Jen’s laugh caught in her throat, the hidden amusement on her face instantly replaced by frozen terror:
— Me? But… My mom didn’t mention any rule like this when she let me come! I’m just a guest, I’m calling my mom tomorrow!
Sarah grabbed Jen by the wrist and shoved her down onto the still-warm chair. Her voice was firm and absolute:
— You must think your mother knew nothing of my rules, my dear, but everyone who enters my house obeys them. And this summer, those blonde strands stay here.
Jen tried to scramble up in a panic, but Sarah’s weight pinned her in place. As Jen shuddered, wondering how her own mother could let this happen, Sarah wanted to savor those exquisite golden waves just one last time before powering the clippers back on. She ran a comb through the hair repeatedly, feeling that magnificent length slipping through her fingers with silky smoothness.
— Such breathtaking hair… whispered Sarah with the obsessive delight of playing with a work of art. — This is the first time in my life I’ve ever had the chance to crop such thick, flawless blonde hair down this short. It feels unbelievably gratifying, Jen.
Jen’s eyes widened with dread. Just as she opened her mouth to hurl accusations at her mother, Sarah pressed the clippers firmly against the very crown of her head.
*Zzzzt!*
The sound cracked like lightning in Jen’s ears. That first path carved right down her center part created an irreversible chasm. A single tear slipped down Jen’s cheek, but the relentless vibration of the clippers scrambled every thought inside her head. Dark blonde clumps—those luminous, heavy waves—began tumbling into her lap in thick masses.
Sarah guided the clippers across every inch until not a single strand remained, then switched to a straight razor, revealing the sleek, immaculate expanse of bare skin. With every sweep, the weight on Jen’s head and her past identity vanished, replaced by a brand new, pure, and naked self.
When it was finished, Sarah pulled out her phone. She stood between the two bald, bewildered girls who had no choice but to hold onto one another, and captured a flawless video. She sent this victory clip straight to Clara.
When Clara opened the video that landed on her phone, her breath hitched. The girl on the screen was her own daughter, Jen; gone was the legendary waist-length golden cascade. Her head gleamed like a clean, smooth sphere, staring at the screen with huge, startled eyes. When that dark fantasy inside Clara materialized into reality, a deep, satisfied smile curved across her lips. Later, when her daughter called her crying, *”Mom, Sarah forced this on me, how could you let this happen?”*, Clara replied in an exceptionally calm and sorrowful tone to comfort her, entirely shifting the blame onto Sarah, while secretly reveling in the absolute perfection of her plan.
As the evening chill settled over the garden, Jen and Hannah sat in their room, hands resting on their smooth scalps as they looked at each other. Hannah watched Jen’s stunned face—still trying to process everything—and let out a deep sigh, breaking the silence:
— Look… Jen… I know you’re furious right now and everything happened so fast, but…
Jen fixed her eyes on Hannah:
— What are you talking about, Hannah? My mom tricked me and threw me in here, my hair is gone!
Hannah swallowed hard, her eyes carrying a mix of guilt and a strange, bald-headed glow:
— You’re right, but… As much as I adored your hair, you became the first friend to share this exact experience with me. Your hair really was gorgeous, and while a part of me is incredibly sad… watching my mom take your hair down to the skin with the clippers somehow gave me an involuntary thrill. The two of us ending up like this… it feels like something entirely different.
Jen paused for a moment, weighing her friend’s bizarre yet sincere confession. Then she lifted her hands to her own smooth, cool head. For the first time, the breeze struck her scalp directly. As the anger inside her slowly gave way to the freeing lightness of this strange complicity, an involuntary smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
The two girls looked at each other and burst into laughter. Floating up from the garden toward the mothers’ window, the sound of that laughter was the sweetest music of the secret victory the two women had engineered for years. As Clara approved the message reading *”Splendid. She will definitely stay with you again next summer,”* Sarah’s final reply gleaming on her phone screen summed it all up:
*“It’s a deal, Clara. But next summer, it’s your turn… We need to come up with a brilliant plan for those long locks of yours. Better get ready.”*
English is not my native language, so please overlook any mistakes; I am open to your suggestions. Thanks for reading.
