Legendary Head Shave Tales
This is a stand alone story of Sana the charecter from LUCKY lucky story… let’s begin, hope you enjoy it.
Sana’s world was chaos in disguise. Behind the walls of her middle-class home in Vizag, life was a slow-burning mess. Her father ruled with an iron fist, dismissing her dreams, and her mother drowned silently in chores and regrets. Sana often locked herself in her room, blasting music to escape the screams from the other side of the door. She felt like a stranger in her own home, gasping for space.
It was during one sleepless night, scrolling through videos of bikers riding through Ladakh, that something inside her snapped. The cold mountains, the open roads—they called to her. She took whatever savings she had, bought herself a second-hand bike, and just left. No notes. No goodbyes. Just the roar of her engine cutting through her past.
The ride was tough, liberating, and filled with moments of silence that she never had at home. She made it to Varanasi during her return trip. There, she sat by the ghats one morning, watching the sunrise, and something within her shifted. For years, she had carried pain, anger, and the weight of pretending to be okay. But that moment felt like a doorway to something new.
Without hesitation, Sana stood barefoot on the damp stone steps of Varanasi ghat, the morning sun barely rising above the misty river. Her heart pounded like a war drum. People were busy with their rituals, but a few turned to watch the girl with fierce eyes and a trembling jaw sit before the old barber. Her leather jacket was folded beside her. She said nothing—just nodded.
The barber dipped his worn brush into a metal mug, lathering her thick, shoulder-length hair with white foam. Cold, sticky soap touched her scalp, sending a shiver down her spine. Her breath caught. This is it, she thought. Let it all go. He picked up the straight razor, its edge glinting in the golden light. With a steady hand, he drew the first stroke from her forehead straight to her crown.
A hiss of metal against skin. A long, black lock slipped off and landed on her lap. The blade glided again, peeling away more foam and strands. Her eyes stayed open, fixed ahead. She felt everything—the sting of the blade, the chill of wind on exposed skin, the weight of her past falling with every pass. The crowd grew silent. More strokes. More clumps of hair tumbling down the steps.
Her scalp turned pink, raw, freshly exposed to the world. Her breath quickened, but she didn’t stop him. Not even once. In thirty seconds, she went from a girl carrying her past to a woman who had burned it clean. When the barber poured cool water over her head, she shut her eyes. It trickled like freedom. She stood up slowly, her gleaming bald head catching the morning light. The breeze kissed her bare scalp. People stared, some whispering. Sana didn’t care. She felt alive. Reborn.
A tourist captured the entire scene. Within days, the video went viral. Comments poured in—some mocking, many praising. But one message stood out. A brand offered her a modeling campaign. Then came more: interviews, collaborations, photo shoots. Sana embraced it. She became a symbol of boldness. No wigs. No hiding. Just her gleaming bald head, proud and raw.
She entered the world of bald modeling—an underground space of bold individuals and niche brands. From makeup tutorials for bald women to fashion shoots celebrating shaved heads, Sana carved a space for herself. She earned her own income, lived in her own flat, and for the first time, made choices for herself.
Head shave fetish communities across the world began celebrating her as a muse—her photoshoots, her videos, even her live shaves gathered millions of views. Sana wasn’t just a model anymore—she was an icon. She began her own brand line for razors, scalp care, and bold fashion, earning both fame and fortune. For many, she became the dream, the face of freedom through baldness.
Late at night, while scrolling through her explore page, Sana stumbled upon a meme from a quirky head shave page. The humor, the relatability—it instantly caught her eye. Curious, she clicked and began bingeing the posts, laughing softly to herself.
“This guy really gets it,” she thought, bookmarking her favorites. Every evening, she found herself secretly checking the page, even commenting anonymously once or twice. Though she never followed it publicly, the page had become her guilty pleasure. A quiet smile would form each time she saw a new post—Sana had unknowingly become a silent fan.
One rainy evening, riding back home, she gave a lift to a stranger stuck in the rain. They reached her place, and as he took off his helmet, he froze. Sana looked at him curiously.
“You’re… you’re Sana,” he stammered. She chuckled, “Yeah, last I checked.” His name was Lucky, admin of a popular head shave page she had unknowingly followed. They laughed. He told her how much her journey meant to him.
That’s how she met a good fan and lucky also met his admiration com hidden fan.
