New City, New Hair, New Me

The sky outside is gray, the muted hum of traffic blending with the soft sounds of voices in the distance. I can feel my heart rate rise as Mark, my stepdad, pulls open the door to the salon. It feels sterile—too bright, too cold—with rows of identical black salon chairs reflecting the gleam of the fluorescent lights. I shift, tugging on the sleeves of my oversized sweater, my long braid heavy down my back, trying to shrink into myself as we step inside.

Mark looks as out of place as I feel. He scans the space, his boots clunking awkwardly on the polished floor. He’s doing his best to seem supportive ever since Mom’s passing after I turned 19, but I know why we’re here—he thinks a haircut will help me adjust to this new city, a fresh start before I begin at my new school.

As we approach the desk, I notice the stylist, Jamie, waiting by her station. She smiles, but it’s not a warm smile. It’s more like she already knows she’s in control. Her platinum-blonde hair is sharp, as is everything about her. Her presence is commanding, and immediately, I feel smaller.

“Hey,” he says, nodding at her. “I’ve got an appointment for my stepdaughter here. We just moved, and I figured she could use a fresh start. Thought a haircut might help with that.”

I feel his eyes on me, trying to be encouraging, but my stomach churns. I give him a weak smile, wishing I could just disappear into my sweater.

Her eyes land on my braid, and there’s something calculating in her gaze. Her smile widens, but there’s an edge to it as she takes in the sight of my hair, my oversized sweater, the way I’m trying to hide.

“Fresh start, huh?” she echoes, her voice smooth but authoritative. “How are we feeling about the length?”

I open my mouth, but before I can even think of what to say, he steps in. “She’s had this long hair for years,” he says. “Figured it’s time for something more practical. We just moved, and she’s starting at a new school, so something easier to manage would be good. Something different.”

The knot in my stomach tightens. I’ve had long hair for as long as I can remember. I tug at my sleeves again, my hands sweaty as she steps closer, lifting the end of my braid.

“Well,” Jamie says, her eyes gleaming. “You’ve got great hair, Lila. Thick, healthy, but I think it’s time for something lighter. Something that’ll show off your features.” She’s already leaning toward a decision, and I can feel the tension building in the air.

He nods, satisfied. “Yeah, something like that. I trust you.” He gives my shoulder a pat. “I’ve gotta run some errands while you do your thing. Make it practical. You know what I mean.”

I watch as he gives Jamie a final nod, clearly convinced he’s done the right thing. He looks at me with a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t ease the weight that’s settled on my chest. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. You’ll be fine, Lila. Trust Jamie—she’s the expert.”

And with that, he’s gone, the door chiming softly as it closes behind him. My heart sinks.

The second he leaves, I feel the shift in Jamie’s demeanor. Her smile sharpens, her eyes gleam with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken. “Alright, Lila,” she says, her voice firm now, no longer waiting for my input. “Let’s get you settled in.”

I swallow hard and sit in the chair, the weight of my hair pulling down over my shoulders. She moves swiftly, draping the black cape around me, fastening it tightly at my neck. The cool fabric feels like a trap. I can feel the weight of control slipping further from my hands.

Jamie’s fingers work quickly, undoing my braid and letting my long hair tumble loose. She runs her hands through it, admiring it for a moment, but there’s something predatory in her touch, like she’s already envisioning it on the floor. I shift uncomfortably, my hands clenching under the cape.

“I’m thinking something shorter,” she says, her tone casual but certain. “Your stepdad said to give you something practical. I know just the thing.”

I feel a jolt of panic, my voice catching in my throat. “A… a chop?” I ask softly, trying to mask my nerves. “How… short?”

She pauses, looking at me in the mirror with a smile that makes my heart race. “A trim?” she says, almost amused. She lets my hair fall back over the cape, the strands cascading down to my waist. “But honestly, Lila, isn’t it time for a change? Something lighter, more manageable?” She tilts her head, her eyes challenging me through the mirror.

“I…” My voice falters. I can’t bring myself to argue.

Jamie steps closer, her fingers lifting a thick section of my hair. “Trust me, a chop doesn’t have to be scary. Shoulder-length, maybe higher—it’ll feel so much lighter. You’ll look fresh, modern.”

I can see her determination, and with him gone, I realize there’s little I can do to stop what’s about to happen. My hands shake under the cape as she picks up her scissors.

“We’ll start with a good chop,” she says, her tone final, lifting the first section of hair. The gleam of the scissors reflects in the mirror, and I feel like the room is closing in on me.

“Wait—” I blurt out, my voice trembling, “Could you… just trim it instead? Please?”

Her fingers tighten slightly in my hair, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Lila,” she says, her voice lower now, “a trim isn’t what your stepdad had in mind. He trusts me to do what’s best.”

Her words hang heavy in the air as the cold steel of the scissors brushes against my hair. I feel a lump forming in my throat as she cuts through the first thick section of my long hair. The sound is sharp and final, the strands falling heavily into my lap.

Each snip feels like another piece of me being taken away. I sit frozen, my heart pounding as more and more hair falls away

The cold sound of the scissors slicing through my hair rings in my ears, echoing louder than the hum of the salon around us. I feel each cut vibrate through my body as she works, her hands steady and confident. Thick strands of my long hair, once a part of me, fall into my lap, lifeless and heavy. I glance down, unable to stop myself from staring at the growing pile of dark, silky hair that used to tumble down my back.

Jamie’s face is calm, collected, and focused as she continues cutting, seemingly unaware of the turmoil building inside me. I want to say something, anything to stop her, but my voice feels stuck in my throat, choked by the weight of what’s happening. Instead, I sit there, frozen in the chair, watching in silent horror as the woman in the mirror—me—slowly changes into someone I don’t recognize.

“It’s just hair,” I try to remind myself, but it doesn’t help. Every time the scissors snap shut, another part of my identity feels severed.

She works quickly, but she’s not rushing. She’s confident, sure of herself and of the transformation she’s creating. I can tell from the way she moves that she’s done this a hundred times before, each time with the same quiet authority. Her fingers tug gently at what remains of my hair, combing through the thick locks as she cuts it shorter and shorter, ignoring the lingering fear in my eyes.

She takes a step back, her hand holding up what’s left of my hair—now just barely brushing my shoulders. “There,” she says, as if this is the halfway point, but I know there’s more to come. I can feel it in the air, in the way she hasn’t yet put down her scissors.

“You’ll feel so much better without all that weight,” Jamie continues, her voice smooth and reassuring. She reaches for a hair clip, gathering what’s left of the long strands into sections, leaving the back and sides exposed. “We’ll go shorter. Just a bit more off the length. Trust me.”

I nod, barely able to muster the strength to respond. My chest feels tight, the panic swirling inside me, but I can’t seem to stop it. I bite my lip and close my eyes, trying to shut out the sight of my hair on the floor.

There’s a click behind me. My heart leaps into my throat.

The clippers.

The unmistakable hum fills the air, vibrating softly in my ears. My stomach flips, and my fingers dig into the armrests of the chair. I’ve never had clippers near me before. Never imagined they’d be used on my hair. I always associated them with guys, with military buzzcuts or sleek undercuts. But now, they’re meant for me.

“Wait, clippers?” My voice comes out in a panicked whisper, my eyes flying open to meet hers in the mirror.

Jamie’s smile is calm, almost soothing, but there’s something off about it. “It’s just to clean up the sides and back,” she says, her tone smooth. “Nothing drastic. A pixie cut is all about contrast—short and sleek around the edges, but you’ll still have plenty to work with on top.”

Before I can protest, she places a firm hand on the back of my head, tilting my chin down toward my chest. “Just relax,” she murmurs, as if that’s possible in this moment. “You’ll feel so much lighter.”

The cold metal of the clippers touches the nape of my neck, and I suck in a breath. The buzzing grows louder, vibrating against my scalp, and then I feel it—the first sweep of the clippers up the back of my head. The sensation is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, a strange mix of tingling and numbness. It’s not painful, but it’s so foreign, so wrong that my body tenses, my hands gripping the chair so tightly my knuckles go white.

Thick tufts of hair fall to the floor in soft, dark waves, disappearing beneath the cape. My scalp feels cold, exposed, and the feeling spreads as she moves the clippers higher and higher, working her way around the back of my head.

“You’re doing great,” she says, her voice barely audible over the buzzing. She tilts my head slightly to the side, guiding the clippers around to my temple. “Just a little more…”

The clippers glide effortlessly up the side of my head, stripping away the last remnants of the hair that once covered me. I feel each pass of the blade like a wave of lightness and dread, the cool air hitting the freshly shorn skin.

I can barely look at myself in the mirror. The girl staring back at me looks so different. The sides of my head are clipped down short—so short—and my long hair is no longer there to frame my face. I’m exposed in a way that feels terrifying.

The clippers finally stop. The silence that follows is deafening. she sets the clippers aside, stepping back to assess her work, her fingers gently brushing through the short hair left on top of my head.

“We’ll just add some texture,” she says, grabbing her scissors again. She starts snipping away at the top, shaping it into something softer, more feminine, but it still feels so short. Shorter than I ever imagined for myself.

My mind is spinning as she cuts. I feel the tears welling up behind my eyes, but I blink them back, trying to hold myself together. There’s no turning back now. It’s done.

Jamie steps back, the scissors finally resting in her hand. “There we go,” she says, her tone almost proud. “You look fantastic, Lila. Fresh, modern, and ready for anything.”

I don’t feel fantastic. I feel exposed, raw. My hands shake as I reach up to touch my head, my fingers grazing the buzzed sides. It feels so foreign, so bare, like I’m missing a part of myself. I glance at the pile of hair on the floor—years of growth, now reduced to a few scattered clumps.

Before I can process everything, the door chimes softly, and I look up to see Mark stepping back into the salon. His boots echo on the floor as he walks toward me, his eyes widening in surprise as he takes in the sight of me.

“Lila?” His voice is filled with disbelief, his gaze darting from my freshly buzzed head to the hair scattered across the floor.

I swallow hard, trying to find my voice, but the lump in my throat makes it difficult. I can see the shock on his face, and it only makes me feel worse.

“I didn’t think… it’d be this short,” he mutters, running a hand through his own hair as he takes another step closer.

Jamie steps in with her practiced smile, the same confident tone she’s had from the beginning. “I know it’s a big change, but I think Lila looks amazing. It’s practical, just like you asked for. Perfect for a fresh start.”

His gaze lingers on me for a moment longer, his brow furrowed, but then he turns to her with a hesitant nod. “Yeah, I guess… It’s just… different.”

He looks back at me, his expression softening. “You okay, Lila?”

I try to nod, to smile, but my emotions are too raw. I manage a weak nod, blinking back the tears that are threatening to spill over.

I glance at my reflection one more time, seeing the unfamiliar girl staring back at me. The sides of my head are buzzed down to almost nothing, and the short layers on top barely cover the stark difference. It’s so far from the person I used to be. But it’s done. There’s no going back.

I nod weakly, though my heart is still pounding in my chest. The girl in the mirror looks like a stranger. I barely recognize myself beneath the sharp angles of this new haircut, the soft buzzed sides framing my face in a way that feels too…exposed. I can’t help but notice how the sharpness of the cut contrasts with the softness I always associated with my long hair.

He watches me closely, concern etched across his face. His brow furrows as he tries to process what he’s seeing. “You sure you’re okay, Lila?”

I want to say something, anything that sounds reassuring, but the words won’t come. Instead, I glance back at Jamie, who’s now confidently brushing off the last stray hairs from my neck and shoulders, her movements quick and efficient as though this was just another day at work for her. She seems proud of the transformation, even if I’m still struggling to accept it.

“You’re in good hands, Lila,” Jamie says, flashing me a smile in the mirror. “I know it’s a lot to take in right now, but trust me—you’ll feel better once you get used to it. Short hair is freeing.”

I nod again, but it feels hollow. My fingers instinctively reach up to touch the freshly buzzed sides of my head, brushing against the soft stubble that now covers what used to be long, thick strands. The sensation is strange, almost surreal, and I can’t help but shudder at how different it feels.

Mark clears his throat, shifting awkwardly beside me. “It’s, uh… definitely a fresh start,” he mutters, clearly unsure of how to respond. He glances back at her, his uncertainty still evident. “I didn’t think it’d be this… drastic.”

She shrugs, unfazed by his hesitation. “A big change was exactly what she needed,” she replies smoothly. “And now it’s practical, easy to manage, and stylish. Trust me, she’ll thank you once she sees how much easier it is.”

Her confidence leaves little room for argument, and I can see Mark slowly coming around to the idea, even if he’s still processing it. He looks at me again, trying to gauge how I’m really feeling. His eyes soften with concern, but I force a small smile, hoping to ease his worry.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” I manage to say, though my voice wavers slightly. “It’s just… different.”

Jamie’s smile widens, satisfied with the result. She steps back, dusting off her hands as if to say her work here is done. “Give it a few days, Lila,” she says confidently. “You’ll start to love it. And if you want to style it differently or add some texture, come back, and I’ll help you out.”

Mark shifts beside me again, still looking a bit out of place. “You ready to head out?” he asks gently.

I glance at the mirror one last time, still unable to fully process the drastic change staring back at me. The short layers sit neatly on top, framing my face, while the sides are cropped down to nothing but soft fuzz. My hair feels lighter than ever, but there’s a strange weight pressing down on my chest.

I take a deep breath and nod. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

He smiles awkwardly and gives a small nod to Jamie. “Thanks,” he says. “I guess we’ll see how she likes it in the long run.”

Jamie smirks, waving us off. “She’ll love it,” she says, her voice dripping with certainty. “Trust me.”

As we leave the salon, the cool breeze hits the back of my neck immediately, brushing against my exposed scalp in a way that feels unsettling. I reach up again, my fingers grazing the buzzed sides once more, and the reality of what’s happened starts to sink in. My hair—my long, thick hair that had been a part of me for so long—is gone.

We step onto the sidewalk, and he looks over at me, his brow still furrowed with concern. “You really okay, Lila? If you’re upset, you can tell me.”

I swallow hard, feeling the weight of his concern. I want to tell him that it’s fine, that I’ll get used to it, but the truth is, I don’t know how I feel yet. It’s not just the haircut—it’s everything. The move, the new city, the new school… it all feels too overwhelming, and this haircut feels like the final straw.

“I’m fine,” I say, my voice barely audible. “It’s just… a lot to get used to.”

He looks at me for a long moment, then nods, seeming to understand. “Alright,” he says quietly. “Well, if it’s any consolation… you do look great. I mean, you look… different, but in a good way.”

I force another weak smile, but inside, I’m still reeling. “Thanks.”

We walk in silence for a few minutes, the sound of the city buzzing around us, but all I can think about is the reflection in the mirror—the girl who looked so different, so unfamiliar. The weightlessness of my head, the cool air against my scalp, the way my fingers can now trace the shape of my skull without any hair in the way. It’s overwhelming, but at the same time, there’s a strange sense of finality to it.

I don’t know if I’ll ever love this haircut. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like myself again with short hair. But for now, all I can do is get used to it.

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