Feliks
Ever since they met thirty years ago, the relationship between Juan and Ana had always been a constant in both their lives. There had never been anything explicitly romantic or sexual between them, but there was a latent spark, a mutual desire that remained in the background, like a melody neither of them dared to interrupt. Juan admired Ana in silence—her strength and that long mane that used to fall well below her waist, like a banner of freedom. But a year ago, Ana had cut it short, like a boy’s, and since then, her hair had grown out in a messy, shaggy way, unable to find its shape again.
One afternoon, while wandering aimlessly, Ana stumbled upon a barbershop almost hidden among the narrow streets of the old town. The glass door displayed the barber’s name in gold letters: “Piluca.” At first glance, it looked like an ordinary place, but inside, with its old mirrors and worn leather chairs, it had a nostalgic charm that drew her in. She decided to enter, perhaps not just seeking a change of style, but also trying to reconcile with her own image.
The night before, Juan and Ana had been talking on the phone. He sensed that something was on her mind.
“What if I cut my hair again, Juan?” Ana asked, her tone a mix of insecurity and a certain playfulness.
