Lena’s Little Nod

Lena stepped into the barbershop, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. The scent of aftershave and clipped hair filled the air, mixing with the low hum of conversation.

Her heart pounded.

She shouldn’t be here.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about it. The idea had crept into her mind months ago, refusing to leave. She had spent hours staring at pictures of women with shaved heads, feeling something twist inside her—half longing, half terror.

A chair opened.

“Next,” called a voice.

Lena turned toward it. A female barber stood by the chair, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Claire, her name tag read.

Lena’s stomach twisted. This is your last chance to leave.

But her feet moved forward.

She sank into the chair, her long, silky blonde hair cascading over her shoulders like a golden veil. It had always been her signature, the thing people complimented the most. It made her feel beautiful.

So why did she want it gone?

Claire ran a comb through her thick strands, tilting her head slightly. “What are we doing today?”

Lena opened her mouth, but her throat had closed up.

Claire smirked. “Bit nervous?”

Lena swallowed. Her fingers dug into the armrests.

“Thinking of chopping it off?” Claire asked, almost teasing. She lifted a thick handful of Lena’s hair, letting it cascade through her fingers.

Lena nodded, though her stomach lurched at the action.

Claire’s smirk widened. “All of it?”

Lena’s pulse spiked. She should say no. She should ask for a bob, a pixie, something safe. But the words wouldn’t come.

Her nod was barely perceptible.

That was all Claire needed.

She didn’t ask again.

Click.

The clippers roared to life.

Lena flinched.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Oh God.

Before she could breathe, Claire shoved her head forward, pressing her chin to her chest.

Cold steel touched her nape.

BZZZZZT.

Lena gasped.

The vibration rattled through her skull as the clippers plowed up the back of her head, mowing away the first strip of hair. Her stomach twisted violently. She could feel it—the air hitting her freshly bare skin.

“Oh my God,” she choked out.

Claire ignored her. The clippers returned, carving higher, higher, higher, sending thick golden locks tumbling down her back, onto the floor, gone forever.

Lena tensed, her nails digging into the chair.

This was too fast.

“Wait—”

Claire tilted her head to the side, exposing more of her neck. The clippers mowed through again, the buzzing loud in Lena’s ears, swallowing her protests.

Her hair was disappearing.

She squeezed her eyes shut, her breathing shallow. Thick sheets of blonde tumbled past her shoulders, slipping onto her lap, onto the floor.

Claire pushed her head upright again, meeting Lena’s wide-eyed stare in the mirror.

“Not backing out now,” she murmured, pushing the clippers against Lena’s temple.

BZZZT.

Lena’s stomach dropped as the machine carved through the side of her head, erasing her hairline. Long strands slid down her shoulder, her delicate features becoming stark, exposed.

“Shit,” she whispered.

Claire didn’t slow down. She moved methodically, shearing away everything, her expression unreadable. Lena twitched, her heart hammering as the last remnants of her length were stripped away.

Finally, Claire stepped back.

Lena stared at herself.

Her hair was gone.

Her scalp was nearly bare, shadowed with nothing but the faintest dusting of blonde.

She lifted a trembling hand to touch it.

Smooth. Alien. Exposed.

Claire smirked. “Well?”

Lena’s lips parted, but no words came.

Her heart still raced. Her stomach still twisted.

But deep inside that fear, something else burned.

Something she didn’t fully understand.

Something that terrified her.

And yet—

She didn’t regret it.

Not yet.

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