Legendary Head Shave Tales
A cloudy Sunday morning in Bengaluru. Light drizzles tapped against the wide glass windows of their high-rise apartment. Inside their warm, soft-lit flat, Anvitha stood by the mirror, slowly oiling her thick waist-length hair. The scent of jasmine oil mixed with filter coffee filled the room. Darshan, sitting on the bed with a smile, watched her every move like it was a scene from a dream.
“Yen ree… why are you stare like that ha?” Anvitha laughed, her voice playful. “I’m just wondering… how can someone’s hair be so perfect?” Darshan teased, walking over to gently take the comb from her hand. “Let me do it today.” She smiled and sat on the floor, leaning against his legs as he parted her hair and started combing. The intimacy was tender — silent music playing in the background, the balcony door open to the scent of wet earth.
Over weeks, Darshan made it a routine — oiling her hair, massaging her scalp, braiding it tight, and styling it in various ways. He’d take pictures secretly, especially the ones where her hair fell freely across her back. But deep inside, his long-held desire stirred: to see her bald, to see her beauty beyond the hair.
One evening, as they cuddled on the swing in their balcony, Darshan showed her a random video on his phone — a woman gracefully shaving her head, smiling all the while. “Looks bold, ha?” he said casually. Anvitha looked, surprised. “Ayyoo ree… imagine me like that! My mother will faint only.” “But you’d look cute… no, no… you’d look like some goddess, promise ma.” She blushed but brushed it off.
“Go sleep, crazy fellow.” Darshan didn’t push. Just slowly, playfully, he let the thought linger. Over time, he brought it up during hair massages, telling her how beautiful her face was — sharp nose, soft cheeks — and how nothing could hide her grace. Weeks later, on a particularly humid day, Anvitha looked exhausted after cleaning the kitchen. Her tied bun was loose and sticky with sweat.
“Why not bob cut, at least?” Darshan offered. “I like my hair, ree… But sometimes it feels like too much.” He just smiled and passed her a cool towel for her neck. The turning point came when Darshan gave himself a clipper under cut one evening, and she helped trim the back. Seeing his calm expression, his clean-shaven sides, something stirred in her. She touched his scalp curiously. “You like this so much?” she asked. He nodded, softly. “It’s like heven… total peace. Want to feel it, once?”
After days of inner battle, she agreed. It was a lazy Sunday morning. The sunlight filtered softly through the white curtains as the city buzzed in the distance. Anvitha sat on the edge of their bed, towel wrapped loosely around her damp hair after a shower. Darshan walked in, holding two mugs of steaming filter coffee. She took a sip, then looked at him with a playful smile. “Ree… shall we really do it today?” Darshan didn’t react with excitement. He gently removed her jasmine braid. He ran his fingers one last time through her thick locks.
“You sure, ma?” She closed her eyes. “With you, always.” He set the mugs down, kissed her forehead, and helped her onto a stool in their bathroom. The air was filled with silence, only broken by the occasional honk outside. He draped a towel around her shoulders, his fingers lingering on her neck, soft and warm. Her breathing slowed. He plugged in the clippers. The first pass echoed softly in the bathroom as the buzzing sound filled the silence. Thick strands fell on the floor, like black silk. Anvitha didn’t open her eyes, only whispered, “Feels strange… but nice.”
Slowly, carefully, he shaved her head smooth, brushing away the strands from her shoulder. When it was done, he applied warm coconut oil, massaging her bald scalp tenderly. Anvitha looked in the mirror, stunned at first — but then smiled. “Different… but I feel beautiful.”
As Anvitha stepped out of the bathroom, a soft breeze brushed against her freshly shaven scalp. She wrapped a cotton saree around her body, leaving her shoulders bare. Her head felt light, free, and strangely sensual. She ran her palms over the smooth skin, shivering slightly at the unfamiliar yet thrilling sensation. Darshan was already waiting, leaning against the bedpost, eyes fixed on her with admiration and desire. His gaze wasn’t rushed—it was full of pride, affection, and awe.
“You look unreal, ma,” he whispered, walking toward her. Anvitha smiled shyly and came closer. He gently cupped her bald head in both hands, kissed the crown, and then traced his fingers along the curve of her scalp. Her eyes fluttered closed, her lips parted just slightly as she leaned into his touch. “Ree… I didn’t know it would feel this…so liberating ” she breathed. Darshan pressed his forehead against hers, skin to skin. “This is you. Raw, bold, and mine,” he whispered.
He carried her to the bed, laying her down slowly. Their bodies moved in rhythm, not rushed or wild, but deeply connected. As his hands explored her soft skin and her newly bare head, she pulled him closer, whispering his name. His kisses trailed from her cheeks to her neck and down… That night, there were no roles of husband or wife — only two lovers rediscovering each other, layer by layer, soul to soul. And in the soft shadows of their bedroom, the couple drifted into sleep — heads touching, hearts full — bald, bold, and beautifully in love.
The next day, when the neighbors saw them walking in the corridor — both bald, hand in hand — they whispered, curious. But Anvitha smiled with confidence. She wore a bindi and big jhumkas, her head shining in the sun. Darshan looked at her proudly, as though nothing in the world could match this moment. Soon, head shaving became their ritual — a private thing, once every few weeks. Sometimes playful, sometimes romantic. They would sit on their balcony, clippers buzzing as laughter and coffee filled the air.
Anvitha began experimenting — wearing sarees with bald head, adding bold makeup, feeling powerful and loved. They took pictures, framed them. Their walls didn’t show wedding pictures — they showed togetherness beyond the usual. Their love wasn’t about rules. It was about trust, freedom, and intimacy. Under the Bengaluru monsoons, with soft music and softer smiles, Darshan and Anvitha lived a happily bald-ever-after life.
